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    Refusing to consider the chilling possibility Détra might have given her heart to another, he countered, "You bewail having no choices, and yet it looks to me you have made yours. You have chosen to deny the marital rights that are due to me as your lord and husban d — "
    "A bastard son of a village witch shall never be my true l ord nor husband," she spat.
    The slur slapped Hunter with such a force he almost staggered back, his heart slamming against his chest. Finally the truth was revealed, lifting the veil from his eyes. Fool that he had been to think a highborn lady would overlook the circumstances of his birth. Mad that he had been to think Détra could love him.
    Wounded pride made Hunter square his shoulders. The old mask of indifference fell over his face like a well-worn glove.
    "A bastard I am," he whispered. "And yet, I am also your husband and lord. Keep your heart to yourself, my lady wife, if that is your wish, but your loyalty and obedience I shall have. You would do well to remember that."
    If wooing Détra had proved impossible, he would try no more. But by God, she was his wife, and though their marriage had turned out to be naught akin to what he had once envisioned, his wife she would remain.
    Rain began falling outside with swift violence. Lightning dazzled the chamber with sparkling streaks of light as thunder reverberated within the stone walls.
    A tempest outside to match the tempest in his heart.
    He reached to Détra but she evaded his hands, running away from him and tripping over his garment chest. With the lid ope n — h e had fo rgotten to shut it the night be for e — a nd Détra' s weight, the trunk toppled over, its contents spilling out.
    Hunter lifted Détra from the floor but she fought his hold of her. "Cease your struggles," he demanded. "I will do you no harm."
    "Bastard!" she hissed, pounding his chest with her fists.
    The slur hurt him anew as ire rose in his heart. He fought against the debilitating emotion, warring against the need to take Détra to bed and consummate his marriage as quickly as possible, knowing that by doing so he would terminate the dream he had cherished for most of his adult life.
    Out of the corner of his eye Hunter noticed his chalice lying on the floor amidst his spilled garments. He had always kept the heavy pewter chalice hidden from prying eyes. He pushed Détra away, hoping to reach the chalice before she noticed it, but when he darted a glance back at her, he realized she had already seen it.
    Now he would have to find another hiding place for it. Still, Détra could not possibly know of the chalice's significance to him, or its supposed magical powers. Hunter had never spoken of it to her, or anyone else for that matter. The only remaining possession of his mother, and as such invaluable to him, Hunter would share the chalice with no one, least of all Détra.
    As Hunter took the chalice in his hands, memories of his mother gifting it to him on his fourteenth birthday, days before she had passed away, flooded him. Her words of that long-ago day echoed in his mind. "This is a gift from the heart," she had said. "Your heart it shall read, and your wishes it shall fulfill."
    Heart wishes! Hunter snorted. His mother had believed in the chalice's magic powers, though it had never benefited her, as it had not him, for naught had been given freely to him or by magical powers. He had paid a dear price for all he had accomplished in his life.
    Their overlord had taken an interest in him and paid for Hunter's fostering, his horse and knightly accouter m ents, and to this day, Hunter stil t owed the man knightly services. Hunter had obtained the golden spurs of knighthood after long years of hard work and enduring endless taunting by the noble young men who believed he had no birthright to be a knight. And his latest largesse in lif e — Windermere Castle and Détra— w as a just reward for Hunter having saved the king's life in battle.
    Nay, the