"I put the last of my enemies in the ground before I left Scotland," he told her. He stared at his hands for a long moment. "No one will challenge me for what is mine."

Jayr knew he wasn't talking about the Realm now. "At least permit me to investigate further," she said. "We don't know these newcomers. During her spell Lady Alexandra spoke of vengeance. Perhaps she can tell me more about the one from whom these killing thoughts came. I vow I will be discreet."

"You will report only to me," he said finally. "Whatever you learn. Say nothing to Cyprien, Alexandra, or the men."

Did he distrust her? "As always, my lord." She thought of the Italian's ill-chosen colors. "Could this killer be involved in a jardin war vendetta?"

"I think not," Byrne said. "After Harold was slain and the six took control of the jardins, Richard rounded up and executed all of the traitors."

"Perhaps someone survived." Jayr felt a strange sensation across the back of her neck, almost as if someone behind her were glaring at her. She glanced around the room, but they were alone. "One of the newcomers may be an old enemy."

"I begin to think this tourney cursed." Byrne strode to the door. "It's late, and there is no more we can do this night. Come."

Phillipe woke early that afternoon and, after he dressed, went to check on Cyprien and Alexandra. He found them both still asleep in the adjoining master bedroom. Before her abduction, Alexandra had rarely slept through the day, and did not seem to have the same need for rest as other Kyn. Her ordeal in the hands of the high lord had resulted in making her more restless, and subject to being awakened by the slightest of sounds.

That she was sleeping so deeply here pleased Phillipe. She needed the respite; she had suffered too much these last months.

It would not be difficult for her to rest here at the Realm. A king might have been comfortable in the chambers Byrne had prepared for them, the seneschal thought as he drew the heavy brocade drapes to block out the last rays of the sun. Delicate violet enamel had been applied to the outlines of the white marble stones in the chamber walls, with a stalk of heather cunningly painted in the center of some of the blocks.

A mural of the Scottish Highlands had been painted on the wall facing the east, and the artist must have been Kyn, for Phillipe recognized features of the land that had not existed in centuries. Around the mural were small black circles representing the sun, moon, and human eye, filled with green triskele, which symbolized the land, sea, and sky. Byrne had the motif repeated throughout the castle, and like his ancestors believed it to invoke balance and harmony.

The enormous bed had been carved from English fir and decorated with different types of spirals, stars, and knots, with several symbols inlaid with gold and garnet to emphasize their importance. Each post on the bed had been worked at the top and bottom to mimic the entwined branches and roots of the tree of life. Whisper-soft white linens draped the bed from all sides, with bejeweled tassels adorning the golden satin drape cords.

A trio of ancient decorated chests lined one wall, each embossed with the intricate knotwork of the Celts, but Phillipe appreciated the more modern addition of white oak cabinetry. As sturdy as the old chests were, modern garments needed to be hung to avoid wrinkling. Bouquets of fresh roses and lavender, bound with silk ribbons tied in lovers' knots, had been placed on the tables and in the wall vases as a quiet tribute to Cyprien and Alexandra.

Phillipe set out clean garments for his master and mistress, and made sure there was enough bagged blood stored in the refrigerated wall unit discreetly hidden behind a painting of a beautiful Highland woman. Seeing his master and mistress entwined together in their bed reassured him as nothing else could. He had witnessed with his own eyes how much the forced separation had hurt both of them, but especially Alexandra, who had never before experienced a testing of the bond between her and his master. Then, too, he thought she had not told Cyprien everything that had happened to her in Ireland. Still, whatever ailed her, Phillipe felt sure his master's love and care would set it to rights.

As he quietly closed the bed curtains, he spotted Alexandra's medical case on her bedside table. He picked it up to move it out of the way, and found a copper-tipped syringe behind it. He held the needle up to the light. It appeared empty, the plunger almost completely depressed, but he could smell her blood on it. He pressed the plunger down, and a drop of blue fluid appeared on the tip of the needle.

Little wonder she slept so soundly. She had given herself a shot of nickel sulfate hexhydrate—what she called "vampire Valium"—a substance lethal to humans, but which rendered the Kyn unconscious for hours.

Phillipe opened her medical case, in which she carried her instruments, and found it filled with dozens of vials of the liquid blue tranquilizer. Alexandra always carried the drug with her, but never in such quantity. He was tempted to remove them, for the thought of his mistress drugging herself to sleep disturbed him, but it was not his place to do so.

If she does so again, I will tell the master, he thought as he took one of the vials and tucked it into his pocket. He will know what to do.

For his part, Phillipe could contact an old friend at Dundellan. Richard's men were intensely loyal to him, but Korvel owed Phillipe a blood debt from long ago. The captain would tell him what had been done to Alexandra during her captivity.

Securing the chamber door behind him, Phillipe walked out into the corridor and paused when he smelled another familiar Kyn nearby. "They still sleep, my lord."

"Is that what they're doing?" Robin of Locksley came around the corner with his seneschal. "I had thought that since being made seigneur, Cyprien never closed his eyes."

"Even God rested on the seventh day." Phillipe bowed, and then turned to clasp hands with Scarlet. "I had hoped to meet you in the lists, William. My arm wants loosening before the tournament begins."

"My joints are so rusty that I doubt I will give you much sport." Will's narrow features acquired a long-suffering expression. "Some lords, you see, do not believe in following the old ways."

"Some seneschals dwell too much in the past," Robin replied loftily. "One no longer need ride into battle and swing a sword to acquire power. This era is far more civilized. Raiders confine themselves to acquiring corporations. Hostile takeovers no longer involve holding hostage members of the loser's family. The only decent, wholesale pillaging accomplished these days is on the stock market."

"Do not ask him about the stock market," Will advised Phillipe in a mock stage whisper. "I beg you."

As Cyprien's seneschal, Phillipe was accustomed to Kyn lords treating him and every other seneschal with a sort of distant acknowledgment. Both he and Will had been lowborn peasants; Phillipe's family had served Cyprien's for ten generations. When their noble masters had taken up the cross and joined the Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon, their families had persuaded Phillipe and other villeins to take vows as well. The seneschal did not have to be told to sacrifice their lives on the battlefield to protect their masters. Preserving the lives of the highborn was practically second nature.

Robin of Locksley, however, treated every Kyn the same, regardless of the circumstances of his birth. He regarded the humblest member of the garrison as important as Cyprien, and spoke to every man as though he were his equal. This did not sit well with those Kyn who believed in the preservation of rank, but Phillipe often thought Locksley also took some private pleasure in that.

"What are you doing up before sunset?" Locksley wanted to know.

"I must retrieve the rest of the master's luggage," Phillipe told the suzerain. "In the confusion last night I forgot to secure it."

"Jayr likely had the men take it from your car before it was put away," Will said. "She will see to it that it is brought to Cyprien before nightfall."

"If you two are finished fretting over garment bags, I have some news," Locksley said as he walked with Phillipe down the corridor that led to the center of the keep. "Will is weary of being soundly beaten on the ranges. What about you, Navarre?"

Phillipe nodded to a passing guard before he replied, "I have no skill with the bow, my lord, and I believe the last time we met I promised your seneschal a thrashing in the lists."

Will snorted. "Go back to sleep, Navarre, for such a thing will happen only in your dreams."

"I can wait for Lord Halkirk, I suppose," Locksley said. "Will, did you find out when he is to arrive?"

"Jayr told me that he took a commercial flight, and it has been delayed," his seneschal said. "He will not arrive until tomorrow, Christ preserve him." He crossed himself.

Like Scarlet and most of the Kyn, Phillipe also disliked flying. It did not seem a natural method of travel for human or Kyn. The private jets Cyprien and the most powerful Kyn used were some of the best in the world, but not all of their kind could afford the luxury of keeping a private aircraft.

Commercial airliners were more dangerous because they enclosed the Kyn in a small, poorly ventilated space with many human passengers. Phillipe had heard darkly comic stories of what happened when dozens of passengers succumbed to Kyn scent simply by close proximity. More troubling were the number of commercial airlines that crashed for one reason or another. Such a disaster might kill every human on board, but unless completely dismembered, Kyn passengers survived. If a flight went down in a remote, unpopulated area or in the deep ocean, it almost guaranteed any surviving Kyn a slow, painful death by starvation.

"I shall have to find Jayr and… ask her if…" Locksley came to a halt and stared over his head. Hatred flared in his amethyst eyes. "Tell me I am imagining that thing."

Will looked up. "Bloody hell."

Phillipe followed his gaze and saw an overlarge banner of purple and gray silk. It was the Sherwood colors, the likes of which he had not seen since the end of the jardin wars.

Sherwood had once belonged to Robin of Locksley. When he had become an outlaw the king had taken it, along with all of his family's holdings, and had bestowed it on Lord Guisbourne, Robin's worst enemy. Like Robin, Guisbourne had also died of plague, only to rise again as Darkyn.