Demon Angel

stairs and found Hugh asleep, his back against the parapet, his chin hanging against his chest. His helm lay next to him, and he'd wrapped his arms around himself as if cold mail could warm him.
    He stirred. She had formed no real plan when she'd sought him, and she had but a moment to decide to appear as Marie or Isabel—and though sense and purpose demanded Isabel, her vanity overwhelmed them and she remained Marie.
    Hugh looked up, scrubbing his hands over his face and squinting against the darkness. She knew the moment he saw her. He rose awkwardly to his feet, still half-asleep, his arms and legs at odds with his intention to stand.
    "And this is how you guard your lord and his lady?" she chided, and though her tone was light, he flushed. She sent the heavens an exasperated sigh. "Truly, I don't care should the walls fall down around them."
    Hugh smiled drowsily. Tapping his heel against the battered stone, he said," 'Tis possible they will."
    She pretended to examine them. "They would not even hold a man tied."
    "Is that why you ventured into the cold night?" He gave a short laugh and hunkered down again, as if respect to a lady must only go so far against frigid air, and rubbed his hands together. "Sir William has a much more comfortable alcove than I."
    "I could warm you." She caught his hands in hers, held them clasped between her palms. His shivers eased as her heat enveloped him.
    "Aye, my lady," he said. For a moment she thought he was agreeing to something more, and unfamiliar lust twisted in her belly. "You burn like hellfire, and I fear you would reduce me to ashes."
    "I do. I would." She lifted his hand, slipped his forefinger into her mouth. He drew in a sharp breath between his teeth, and she straddled him, seating herself in the cradle created by his raised knees and body. Her skirts settled over his legs like a blanket, her skin radiating heat through her clothes. "Shall we bargain?"
    A low, tortured groan escaped him, rumbling against her chest. "God, no."
    She laughed but persevered. "I'll keep you warm."
    "And I will owe you doubly? A lie and… a kindness?"
    Rocking against his arousal with a wicked smile, she said, " 'Tis not kindness I offer you, but pleasure. Or temptation. Or pain, depending on how you take it."
    "To me, it would be comfort and warmth only," he replied, then pulled back to stare at her face as if intrigued. "What would bring comfort to a woman such as you? What would be kind?"
    She stilled. Felt her mask of amusement slip. He must have seen her—desperation? Regret? She dared not name them, even to herself. "Naught you can give."
    "Who could? Mandeville?—but no, you have already rejected him," he said with a smile, gently prodding deeper. "The baron, or one like him? To offer you power and riches? Success… but in what?"
    "No man or woman," she said, her eyes on her fingers as they traced his throat. "He who does not cower."
    He watched her, as if trying to determine whether she spoke truth or merely toyed with him. "The bargain cannot be struck," he said with regret. "Though I would offer kindness, it seems equality in this exchange is impossible."
    "And would you take the temptation if I were like Isabel? Beautiful and pure?" Her voice challenged him, sought to call him a liar.
    "If you were like Lady Isabel, you would be married," he said. "And it would be a betrayal of fealty to my lord and God. Will you betray your liege in return? To whom do you owe loyalty, that it would be equal?"
    She remained silent for a moment. "Do not be kind to me," she said finally.
    The stone floor was hard and cold beneath him—the harder and colder for having had Lilith's softness and heat and then losing them. As the ache of arousal slowly subsided, Hugh realized himself a halfwit. What was he, that an eager woman sat upon his lap and he spoke of kindness ?
    He would have called her back, but she'd disappeared into the darkness, and he daren't alert the castle to their activity by making noise or seeking her out.
    Pushing to his feet with a frustrated sigh, he tucked his hands into his underarms and stepped to look over the wall. The bailey was empty, save for outbuildings and—
    A man crossed the distance between keep and wall, and for a moment Hugh thought it was Mandeville, searching for revenge upon Hugh for what he thought had taken place at the ruins. The dread of such a meeting was neatly cut off as the figure came closer and he recognized Georges—and seconds later, a