He felt a shudder pass through her, heard her ragged moan escape when he reluctantly eased himself away from her.

Madelyne's eyes were misty with passion and her lips, red and swollen, beckoned him to taste her again. Duncan knew he shouldn't have started what he couldn't finish. His loins throbbed with want and it took a supreme act of will to move away from her.

With another groan of frustration Duncan rolled to his side. He wrapped his arm around Madelyne's waist and pulled her up against him.

Madelyne wanted to weep. She couldn't understand why she kept letting him kiss her. More important, she couldn't seem to stop herself from kissing him. She was as wanton as a wench.

All Duncan had to do was touch her and she went to pieces. Her heart raced, her palms turned hot, and she was filled with a restless yearning for more.

She heard Duncan yawn and concluded then that the kiss hadn't meant much to him at all.

The man irritated her just like a rash. Madelyne determined to keep her distance from him even as she contradicted the decision by adjusting herself into the curve of Duncan. When she was almost settled to her satisfaction, Duncan let out a harsh groan. His hands moved to her hips and he held her firmly.

What a contrary man he was! Didn't he realize how awkward it was to sleep in her walking gown? She moved again, felt him shudder, and thought then that he might be getting ready to snap at her.

Madelyne was too weary to worry about his temper. With a yawn of her own, she fell asleep.

It was, without a doubt, Duncan 's most difficult challenge. And if she moved her backside just one more time, he knew he'd fail this test.

Duncan had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Madelyne. He closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. Madelyne wiggled against him again, and he began to count to ten, promising himself that when he reached that magic number, he'd be more controlled.

The innocent cuddled up against him had absolutely no idea of her jeopardy. Her derriere had driven him to distraction all week long. He pictured the way she walked, saw again the gentle sway of her hips as she strolled around his fortress.

Did she affect others the way she affected him? Duncan frowned over that question, admitting that she most certainly did. Aye, he'd seen the looks his men had given her when her attention was directed elsewhere. Even faithful Anthony, his most trusted vassal and closest friend, had changed his attitude toward Madelyne. At the beginning of the week Anthony had been silent and taken to frowning, but by week's end Duncan noticed his vassal was usually the one speaking. And he didn't trail behind Madelyne any longer either. Nay, he was always right by her side.

Just where Duncan wanted to be.

He couldn't fault Anthony for his weakness in falling under Madelyne's charms.

Gilard, however, was of a different cloth altogether. It appeared that the youngest brother was taken with Madelyne. That could present a problem.

She started squirming again. Duncan felt as though he'd just been branded. A painful longing claimed his full attention. With a growl of frustration he threw off the covers and got out of bed. Though Madelyne was jarred by the sudden movement, she didn't wake up. "Sleeps like an innocent babe," Duncan muttered to himself as he walked over to the door.

He was going back to his lake and realized with a hefty shake of his head that he'd find true pleasure in this second swim.

Duncan wasn't a patient man. He wanted the issues resolved before he claimed Madelyne for his own though. He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably be swimming in his lake more often. It wasn't a challenge that sent him outside now, but a release from the fire burning in his loins.

With a mutter of disgust, Duncan closed the door.

"And sometimes, Adela, if a babe was born with any noticeable flaw, why, the Spartan fathers would just throw the newborn child out a convenient window or off the top of a nearby cliff to get rid of him. Aye, I can see you're properly shocked, but my uncle Berton did relate the tales about those fierce warriors of times gone by, and he'd not exaggerate the telling just to please me. It was his duty to recount them with accuracy, you understand."

"What were the Spartan ladies like? Did your uncle Berton tell you all about them?" Adela asked, her voice quite eager. Duncan 's little sister sat on the edge of her bed, trying her best to stay out of the way while Madelyne rearranged the furnishings in her bedroom. Adela had given up trying to convince Madelyne that it wasn't at all usual for her to work like a serving wench. Her new companion had a stubborn streak and it was useless to argue with her.

It had ben over three weeks since Madelyne had forced the confrontation with Adela. Once Adela had told the truth about her ordeal, the pain and guilt had truly lessened. Madelyne had been right about that. Madelyne hadn't seemed the least shocked by the story. Odd, but that helped Adela as much as the telling. Madelyne sympathized with Adela, yet she didn't pity her.

Now Adela followed Madelyne's lead, trusting her to know what was best. She accepted that the past couldn't be undone and tried to put it behind her, just as Madelyne suggested. That was easier said than done, of course, but Madelyne's friendship, so unrestrictive and so giving, helped Adela take her mind off her problems. Adela had finally started her monthly flux a week ago, and that was one less worry to concern her.

Madelyne had opened a new world to Adela. She told the most wonderful stories. Adela was amazed by the wealth of information in Madelyne's memory and eagerly awaited each day's new tale.

Adela smiled as she watched Madelyne now. Her friend did look a sight. A smudge of dirt had settled on the bridge of her nose, and her hair, though tied with a piece of blue ribbon behind her neck, was gradually gaining freedom from the binding.

Madelyne stopped sweeping the dust from the corner and leaned against the handle of her broom. "I can see I've caught your interest," she remarked. She paused to brush a stray curl away from her face, making a new mark of dirt on her forehead, and then continued on with her story. "I do believe the Spartan ladies were most undignified. They'd have to be as horrible as their men, Adela. How would they ever have gotten along if they weren't?"

Adela answered the question with a giggle. The sound warmed Madelyne's heart. The transformation in Duncan 's sister was most pleasing. There was a sparkle in her eyes now and she smiled quite often.

"Now that the new priest has arrived, we must be careful not to talk like this in front of him," Adela whispered.

"I've yet to meet him," Madelyne answered. "Though I'm looking forward to it. It's high time the Wexton brothers had a man of God looking after their souls."

"They used to," Adela said. "But when Father John died, and then the church caught fire well, no one did much of anything about it." She shrugged and then said, "Tell me more about the Spartans, Madelyne."

"Well now, the ladies had probably all gone to fat by the time they were twelve or so, though that is just a supposition on my part and not a dictate from my dear uncle. I do know, however, that they took more than one man to their beds." Adela gasped and Madelyne nodded, thoroughly satisfied by her friend's reaction. "More than one at a time?" Adela asked. She whispered the question and then blushed with embarrassment.

Madelyne nibbled on her lip while she considered if that was possible.

"I don't think so," she finally announced. Her back was to the door, and Adela's full attention was centered on her friend. Neither noticed Duncan now stood in the open doorway.