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Then it is yours. The only thing more surprising than Marion’s declaration was his own. He did want that claim.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, pulling Marion into an alcove just before the hall’s entrance. “There are only two ways a man can claim a woman. And neither of those are acceptable for us. I spoke rashly—”

Marion reached out and took his hands. The familiar gesture nearly tore Court in half.

“As did I,” she said. “But how can we deny there is . . . something . . . between us?”

“Mayhap that something is the stone,” he said. “A connection forged because of it.” It was a thought that had entered his mind on the sleepless nights he’d spent away from her.

When he looked down to where it lay, her gaze followed.

“May I?” she asked.

He could not deny her. He disengaged one hand and took the stone from its pouch, pulling the gold chain upward so that the emerald green shone and spun. He handed it to her. While passing it, a strange jolt coursed through his body. Judging from her expression, she had felt it too.

“It belongs with me,” she said.

You belong with me.

With the chain still wrapped around her delicate fingers, Marion reached for his hand once again. When they joined hands this time, the chain between them, Court saw a glimpse of the two of them in this same pose. They wore different clothes, however, and Marion’s expression was one of contentment, not concern. The vision left him as quickly as it had come.

“You’ve had another vision,” she guessed correctly.

“Aye,” he said, unable to bring himself to describe it to her. He could not allow himself to hope. How could they have a future together when Edmund’s decree stood between them?

If he attacked Moordon, he would lose her. If he didn’t, he would lose everything he’d worked to achieve. And perhaps his head along with it.

Court leaned toward her, and when her eyes closed, he was nearly felled by the trust she put in him. He didn’t deserve it. But he kissed her anyway. When her mouth opened for him and her tongue hesitantly explored his mouth, he pressed himself against her. Wanting to be closer, to feel all of her. The need to be inside this woman was so strong that Court vowed it would happen. She would be his, one way or another.

He broke the kiss and stood back, taking the stone with him. “Come,” he said.

“What will you do?”

An agreement had passed between them, one he had initiated. But how that agreement reconciled with his mission, Court could not begin to contemplate.

“We must go,” he said, turning. He had no answers yet.

“We?”

Marion followed him into the great hall, where his guest was due to arrive at any moment. Perhaps Edmund could be convinced of another way, but he didn’t dare voice such a hope to Marion. For if it didn’t work . . .

“Stay with them.” Court gestured to the men who stood on both sides of the entrance.

Marion, who was clearly no less confused than he was by his inclusion of her, stood to the side. He walked toward the high table and took a seat in his usual place, opposite the chair that had been positioned in front of it. Court nearly laughed at Marion’s attempt to mesh with the others. She might as well be dancing in the middle of the hall. She was like a lone white cloud in a sea of blue, evident from every direction to all who chanced to look. Beautiful and untouchable but certainly noticeable.

They didn’t have to wait long. Court heard Almain’s retainers before he could see them. As they streamed into his hall, he counted no less than thirty men.

When Almain entered, Court stood and waited as the short, beady-eyed earl made his approach. Bowing as the man came closer, he silently rued that he should have to be subservient to a man who had never served in battle, never once bloodied his own hands.

“Well met, my lord,” he said, straightening.

Rather than respond, Almain looked around the hall with an assessing gaze.

“You do well by Camburg,” he said.

“To honor the memory of Richard, I would do anything,” Court said. And meant it.

“The girl and her husband are lucky to have you.”