Secrets at Court. Blythe Gifford

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      No. She straightened her back. There was no risk. She had lived her whole life without a man. That would not change because a passing warrior stole a kiss.

      * * *

      Nicholas settled himself at the other end of the log and sat in silence, relieved when she did not speak, as he struggled to put ground and sky back in their accustomed places.

      Fool that he was, he had kissed her. And when he did, the world turned upside down, exposing the weakness he thought safely buried. The same weakness that had blinded his father to the truth about the woman he married.

      Yet she thought he wanted only to dally with her and then cast her aside. He should have let her think so. Would that he were so unmoved.

      This woman had a way of flinging him from kindness to anger to desire and back before he could understand what had happened. But, it was clear, she wanted an entanglement no more than he did.

      Why?

      At the other end of the log, she sat, back straight, studying the shaded shelter as if she might be forced to describe it later. Deprived of her accustomed needle, she tapped her restless fingers together without looking at them. He wondered whether she even knew she did so.

      What was she thinking now?

      He was a man of action, yet he had learned that understanding another man’s reasons and impulses was the key to gaining his co-operation. The man who sold wine strictly for money could be persuaded to sell for the right price. The man who was more concerned about his castle’s protection might be persuaded to trade in exchange for his loyalty.