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young man who spoke her name and realized he must be Edmund Mortimer. He had been a gangling youth the last time she had seen him. “Indeed it is, Edmund. Welcome to Warwick.” She gave him a dazzling smile, hoping it would affront his loutish brother. “They are serving ale in the hall. You must be parched. Come, Brutus!”
    The wolfhound trotted to her side and Brianna turned and said coldly, “Keep your wild beast in the stables. He is not welcome in the castle.”
    â€œShe is a bitch,” Edmund corrected gently.
    â€œShe is indeed,” Wolf Mortimer declared. “A bitch who needs taming.” He touched his cheek where she had slapped him, then threw back his head and laughed insolently.
    Brianna took Edmund’s arm and walked briskly toward the castle. “Your brother is uncouth.”
    He looked down at her apologetically. “I’m afraid it is a Mortimer trait.”
    â€œI don’t believe that. Your father is one of the most charming men I have ever met, and I’m not the only female to think so. He is renowned for his fatal attraction.”
    Wolf Mortimer stared after the pair until they entered the castle. The impact of the beautiful female had been like a blow to his solar plexus. The moment she slapped him, a raging lust ignited and ran through his veins like wildfire. His nature was both impulsive and decisive, and he knew instantly that he wanted her. Not only was she exquisite to look at, but she was all fire and ice. She was a spirited female who would give as good as she got, rather than being meek and submissive, and the thought excited him. I recognize your towering pride, since I have the sinful trait myself, Brianna de Beauchamp. Your challenge is irresistible!
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    At the evening meal Brianna’s brother, Guy Thomas, almost two years younger than she, sat with Mortimer’s sons. Their talk was all about horses and hunting and weapons. Brianna had chosen to sit with her mother’s ladies, rather than up on the dais, and it gave her an unimpeded view of her parents and their guests.
    Her mother, Jory de Beauchamp, was an exquisite beauty who easily held the attention of every male in the hall, including their guest of honor, Roger Mortimer.
    Brianna gazed at the handsome Marcher lord with her heart in her eyes. Her glance was suddenly drawn against her will to Wolf Mortimer. The pet wolf is not the only reason for his name. He has the look of a dark, lean predator. I warrant he is both dominant and dangerous when the mood takes him. His pale gray eyes are startling in his swarthy face. When the bold devil looks at me his gaze is so penetrating, he seems to discern my thoughts. Brianna gave a delicate shudder of distaste and forced her eyes away from him.
    Her mother’s ladies were speaking of how much they missed being at the Queen’s Court. Brianna missed Queen Isabelle and longed to see her again. She began to daydream about how lovely the gardens would be at Windsor Castle. Before the month of March was over, spring would arrive. The queen always had exciting masques portraying Queen Guinevere and King Arthur, and she and Isabelle had fun choosing the costumes and playacting in the roles. There was lively music and dancing and Brianna was at an age to attract a great deal of male attention and had never lacked for partners.
    Brianna also missed the company of Prince Edward, whose household was at Windsor. She often rode out with him and shared in his hawking lessons and watched as he was taught swordsmanship and how to shoot with a longbow. She sighed and wished they could soon return to Windsor. She longed to see Queen Isabelle’s new baby. Joan had been born in the Tower of London and would soon be a year old.
    Her thoughts were brought back to the present when she realized that the meal was over. Her mother rose from the head table to withdraw and leave the men to their wine and their plans. This was the signal for her