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it to wash over him without reacting to it. Drakkar had more physical and supernatural powers at his command than any mortal should be allowed to possess.
    Lisette opened the chamber door the moment he scratched. Just the sight of him aroused her without his lifting a finger. Her hands were already on the fastenings of her gown, which curiously were all at the front. Beneath the gown she was naked.
    Though the chamber was shadowed, lit only by the square candle by the carved bed, he saw that her body was lush. As his hands removed his linen shirt, her deft fingers unfastened the laces of his codpiece. His marble phallus sprang out at her and she filled her hands with his cods and stones, marveling at the size of him.
    His powerful hands stroked down her body from her breasts to her thighs and she shuddered at the callused roughness of them on her soft skin. She drew him toward the pool of candlelight, then drew in a sharp breath at the look of him. His powerful body was tempting as original sin. With a moan she lifted her arms about his neck, then wrapped her legs about his torso. The sight of his hard-muscled body had made her so wet she impaled herself upon him. She cried out her pleasure. It was the tightest fit she’d ever known.
    He braced his legs and stood impassively as Lisette thudded her body onto his. He understood perfectly that she could wait no longer. When she shuddered her release and collapsed upon him, he carried her to the bed and spread her upon its silken covers. Then he proceeded to play her body like an angel plays a harp, plucking strings she never knew she had. She climaxed again and felt deliciously sated. Her pride was piqued, however, for she knew with a certainty he had not yet spent.
    He rolled with her until her body was sprawled on top of his. She raised up onto her knees on either side of his thighs and looked down at him in wonder. His face was fiercely feral. He resembled a raptor. A curl of delicious fear spiraled inside her belly. How many men had he killed? He looked as if he had been trained since childhood to kill. She flushed. He still wore his chausses with thecodpiece removed. She hadn’t been able to wait for him to fully undress.
    His fingers touched her with fire as she sat gazing down into a face that looked carved from mahogany.
    “What manner of man are you?” she breathed.
    “A man with control,” he said simply.
    “How did you learn to control your body so completely,
mon amour
?”
    His lips twitched with amusement. “Controlling the body is child’s play. The emotions and the mind are slightly more difficult. Controlling others, however, took years of practice.”
    “What are you?” she whispered, half afraid.
    “Sometimes an Arab, sometimes a Norman.” His finger flew from her mons to her lips and his eyes slewed to the heavy door. A moment’s focused concentration told him St. Lô approached. The door latch moved, but the bar prevented it from swinging open. Then a low knock came. Lisette gasped. He had felt the presence long before there was any sound. She pointed to a door that led out onto the battlements and reached for a robe. “Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of him. Just give me a moment.”
    The cool evening breeze dried the sheen of sweat that glistened upon his dark skin. He gazed toward the sea where England lay beyond. The French and the English hated each other with a vengeance. The English thought all French unmanly fops who cared more for clothes than war. The French thought the English uncouth, uncultured, ale-swilling louts.
    In that moment Hawksblood experienced a revelation. His blood was half Anglo-Norman. He could not sell his sword to France. He would go to England to seek out the Earl of Warrick. Did not England’s laws of primogeniture award the eldest son the title and the whole of the estate?
    Christian took a step toward Lisette’s turret chamber, then halted in his tracks. A picture of his “lady” shimmered so brightly before