The hurt that swirled inside Ryen left her listless. She had dressed in the samite blue dress and velvet blue surcoat she had picked and prepared to break her fast, absently combing the soft waves of hair that hung like a trellis around her face.
Ryen rose and moved to the window. The sky was blue; the sun warmed her cheeks. People were moving about, entering and leaving the castle. Ryen leaned forward, resting her palms on the ledge, and leaned over to look straight down. A group of children ran past the window far below; a man herded a flock of sheep toward the gates. Then all was still for a moment. Ryen was about to pull back into the room when a movement caught her eye. Something in the shadows of the wall around the castle. Ryen frowned, staring hard. But the seconds ticked by and there was no sign of anyone.
Ryen straightened, about to turn back, when a man stepped from the exact spot she was staring at, moving into the bright light of morning. Startled, she jerked back into the safety of the room. The alabaster skin was unmistakable. It was Jacques Vignon! Her advance scout, the man who had recaptured Bryce after the fire had broken out in her camp. What was he doing here?
Ryen leaned against the wall, placing a hand on her pounding heart. Vignon! After a moment, doubt pressed in on her mind and she dropped her hand. Maybe it wasn’t him. After all, what would he be doing in England? Had he come to rescue her? Ryen peered out the window once again. But the man was gone, the courtyard empty. She pressed her palms against the stones to support her weight as she leaned out the window.
The door to her room opened.
Ryen whirled, her eyes large with expectation. She half expected Vignon to walk in and greet her.
Bryce stepped into the room, and met her gaze with a frown.
Her pounding heart was replaced by a different rush as her body heated. She hated him. He was an English dog with no warmth in his entire body, she had repeated to herself, over and over, preparing herself for just this moment. But now, faced with his scorching gaze, her blood did indeed boil, but it was not with anger…
He wore, in total disregard to conventional fashion, a roomy white cotton tunic, open at the throat to reveal just a trace of his broad, tanned chest. It was enough to ignite Ryen’s imagination. Her gaze traveled over the rest of his body. The muscles of his strong legs were clearly visible beneath the hose he wore. They clung to his legs, leaving nothing to the imagination. On his feet he wore calf-length black leather boots.
Ryen felt her knees trembling. She tried to recall the rage she had felt yesterday, tried to remember the sting of his words as he told her of her brothers’ deaths. But he was staring at her with those black eyes, enflaming every nerve of her body.
Bryce lifted a hand to her, palm up. It was an open invitation to take what he was offering. Including his apologies.
For a moment, she stared at his hand. She began to reach out. What am I doing? she thought, and brought her hand down so hard that it slapped against her thigh. She raised her chin in defiance, eyes flashing like brilliant sapphire gems, and straightened her shoulders.
He crossed the room in three strides, until he stood before her, his stare piercingly hot.
Ryen had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his gaze. She could feel the heat from his body as they stood, barely touching. She watched his dark, angry eyes melt into pools of hot oil.
Then, his hand lifted. Ryen could sense the movement of his corded muscles. He was going to touch her, to put his warm hand on her body. She waited, never taking her eyes from his deep gaze, anticipating the gentle feel of his caress.
And waited.
Finally, she tore her stare from his and glanced at his hand. It was near her shoulder, palm up, patiently awaiting her hand.
Ryen stepped away from him, unable to bear his arrogance. No sooner had she turned her back on him, than his amused voice came to her. “Ryen.”
She refused to acknowledge him, instead embracing her elbows.
Silence engulfed her for long seconds. When next his voice came to her, it was whispered on a bed of clouds. “Angel.”
She turned hesitantly, the soft timbre of his voice casting a spell over her body that she was unable to break. She expected to see victory and laughter in his eyes. But his expression startled her. It was warm and soft and caring. Everything she had ever wanted of him. Everything she had ever needed from him…except, of course, love. Confused, Ryen moved toward what she wanted to see, needed to see, in those inky depths. She placed her hand in his.
The jolt that rocked her body as she felt the heat of his flesh against hers made her dizzy.
Bryce watched her lower her eyes to their clasped hands. The gesture was simple, demure, and innocent, and he found himself aroused beyond reason. He felt his hand, the hand that held her fragile one so carefully, begin to tremble. Ah, God. How he wanted her. His grip tightened around her small fingers as he willed the shaking to cease.
Alarmed, Ryen glanced up at him, her eyes wide and questioning.
Bryce turned toward the door, quickly tucking her wrist under his arm.
As they moved, her hand resting on the inside of his arm, Ryen could feel the subtle tightening of his muscles as he reached to open the door. His chest brushed her knuckles and she took in a sharp breath.
Bryce paused slightly, to glance at her. But when she did not meet his gaze, he continued on.
The door opened and a draft of cool air engulfed Ryen. It was fresh and smelled vaguely of flowers. She paused in the doorway, inhaling the invigorating scent.
Bryce glanced back at her. He misread the look on her face as trepidation and reassured her, “You needn’t worry. No one will touch you as long as you’re at my side…”
Ryen frowned at him. Worry? She had not thought of that. Not since Bryce had entered her room. But now that he’d brought it up, she knew she should be concerned. Last time she had entered his hall, she had been assaulted and ridiculed.
Suddenly, Ryen had no desire to leave the safety her room offered.
“They won’t harm you, Ryen. You have my word,” Bryce told her softly.
At his tender earnestness, Ryen felt some of her doubt fade away, and she let him lead her down the hallway.
The doors to the Great Hall gaped wide, and a loud clamor spilled out from within.
Ryen glanced sideways at Bryce and he squeezed her fingers in encouragement.
Together they entered the room, England and France, the Prince of Darkness and the Angel of Death. Immediately, talking ceased and all eyes focused on them. Bryce led Ryen down the center of the room to the seat she had occupied before, amidst his men.
When Ryen glanced up, she saw that Talbot was in the seat across from her, his intense gaze upon her. She knew he saw not her, but the enemy. She looked away from him and noticed that McFinley’s seat was occupied by…
Her mouth dropped open as she stared into the black eyes of Jacques Vignon! She fell into her seat, quickly closing her mouth, and looked away, unable to stare her countryman in the eye.
She hadn’t been imagining! Why was he here? Was he a spy? Or an Englishman?
As Bryce left her side, she followed his movement to his table at the front of the room. Ryen spotted his chair, and to either side sat the same two women who had been there before. Her heart sank. His whores still had the place of honor. Suddenly, unreasonably, she felt miserable. She looked away and her eyes locked with Talbot’s. For a moment, her hurt showed clearly on her face before she could mask it with indifference.
Talbot frowned as Ryen met his gaze, chin slightly uplifted, shoulders thrown back with pride.
Ryen could feel the eyes upon her, watching expectantly. She felt the pressure of the silence, the weight of their hate. Ryen’s gaze moved past Talbot to eye the people about her. Although she purposely ignored Vignon, her mind could not. What was he doing here? Was he a traitor? Had she placed her trust in a spy?
Then, near the door at the rear of the hall, she spotted Polly among a group of servants carrying trays and pitchers of ale. When she noticed Ryen’s gaze, Polly’s lips turned up and she smiled encouragement before disappearing out the double doors.
Ryen’s heart sang with joy. She had made a friend among these people who hated and loathed her. Then, like a stone crashing heavily to the earth, guilt fell over her shoulders and she swiveled her eyes to Vignon, who was sipping ale from a mug. He was her reminder of France. Of her men, of her duty. Of honor. She should try harder to escape.
Suddenly, a tingling along her spine made her swivel her head to the front of the room.
Bryce’s gaze was locked on her. He was watching her. Had he somehow seen her reaction to Vignon? Was Vignon indeed English? Had he been a spy in her own camp? Was this some sort of test of her loyalty? And if so, who was testing her – Bryce or France? She knew that last question would go unanswered for now and turned her attention back to the scene before her.
Ryen scanned the table to find it strangely empty of trenchers. She lifted her eyes again to Bryce. He was still staring at her, but an amused look had settled over his features. She noticed movement at the rear of the hall and turned her head. The servants were beginning to come forward, carrying large platters of bread.
One girl bent over Ryen to place the plate in the center of the table. Ryen’s stomach grumbled at the sight of the small bread loaves piled high on the tray. As soon as the girl moved back, Ryen reached her hand out for a piece of bread. She had not made it halfway when a low growl startled her. She looked toward the noise to see the wild-looking man sitting on her right leap toward the platter.
Ryen pulled her hand back quickly, seconds before the other men dived for the food. Chairs scraped and tumbled, wild cries filling the room as she pulled herself as far away from the food as her chair would allow. Then the men sat back, each with a portion of bread. Ryen’s stomach grumbled and she reached for the platter.
It was empty!
She sat back, stunned. Just moments before, the tray had been full. If it weren’t for the crumbs on the platter, Ryen would have sworn her eyes were playing tricks on her. Barbarians, she thought. She pulled her hand to her chest, massaging her fingers as if in preparation for the next round. She lifted her eyes to Bryce. He was still watching her, casually bringing a piece of bread to his lips. Ryen frowned at him. Her hungry stomach grumbled as her eyes watched pieces of bread fall from his lips onto the table and roll to the floor, where two hounds lapped up the crumbs.
Her eyes shifted to Vignon. He was clutching a piece of bread in each hand, eating them with a tenacity that surprised her. Obviously he was not new to this.
Her head jerked to the side as a grunt sounded. Like a starved wild dog just thrown a bone, the soldier on her left gobbled the bread that was smashed in his clenched fists, his eyes darting savagely from side to side. Ryen could swear that he held two loaves in his large hands. Her eyes scanned the faces of the men around her, noticing that each had the same savage-eyed look, and each had at least two, if not three, loaves.
Her eyes shifted to Talbot. He had only one loaf, and his body curled protectively around it, his wounded arm shielding the bread as best it could.
Ryen’s lips drew down in an alarmed pout. Were these people starving?
Her head swiveled around the room, watching with disgust the manners of these barbarians, or the lack of them. Until her gaze came to the back of the room. In the shadows she saw men and women milling, pacing. One small girl was sitting dejectedly, her thin legs crossed, her large eyes staring straight ahead. Ryen frowned in confusion. What was going on here?
She shifted her gaze to Talbot. He was just finishing up his bread. He might hate me, she thought, but he has never lied to me. “Why don’t the peasants eat?” she wondered.
“They eat when we are done,” Talbot answered, wiping a sleeve across his mouth.
Ryen’s eyes shifted to the empty platter. Her stomach rumbled and she rubbed it absently. “There’s no food left.”
“They eat the kill,” he replied.
A small girl reached over Ryen’s shoulder to fill her cup. As she straightened, her stomach bumped Ryen’s arm. Ryen glanced up and noticed her protruding abdomen. Good Lord, Ryen thought, the poor girl is with child! And from the looks of her size, ready to deliver now! She could barely stretch across the table for the mound of belly that jutted before her. As the girl went to replace Ryen’s cup, Ryen took it from her hand so that she wouldn’t have to reach across the table.
The girl froze, staring at Ryen. In her brown eyes, Ryen could see fear. Ryen set her cup back on the table and reached for the next cup. No sooner had her fingers encircled the goblet than a large hairy hand slammed down around her wrist.
Ryen’s startled eyes quickly followed the hairy arm up to a snarling face. The man to her left still held bread in one hand as he glared at her. His eyes narrowed hotly and his grip tightened. For a moment no one moved.
Anger slammed through Ryen’s body. He thought she was stealing his property! What in heaven’s name would she want with a goblet? Other than to club him in the head with. Ryen tore her wrist away from him and turned to the girl, extending the goblet to her.
Shuddering, the girl lifted the pitcher and poured. As the beer ale filled the cup, Ryen could feel the man’s form rising behind her. When the girl finished, Ryen turned and sloshed the cup into the man’s hands, returning his accursed goblet. The man’s furrowed eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion as he stared at the goblet.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ryen saw that Bryce was also standing. She ignored both of them and reached for the next cup. The knight did not protest, and Ryen had the cup back to him in a second. She stood, moving down the row, filling each of their cups. She felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up to see Polly at her side. The large woman reached out and took the cup from her hands, saying, “Ya return ta your seat. This is no job for a lady.”
Ryen stared hard at her for a moment until Polly smiled and urged, “Go on, now.” Ryen hesitantly returned to her seat. She felt every eye on her, suspicion and confusion in every look. Anger burned through her veins. These barbarians! Didn’t they know how honored a pregnant woman should be? She had to be careful lest she lose the life inside her. But these pigs made her lean over them, stretching and bending. They refused even to lift a finger!
Ryen turned her gaze to Bryce. He was taking his seat, but she saw a glimmer in his eyes…was it pride? Or worry and doubt? She could not be sure, so she raised her chin and turned back to the soldiers. Most had finished eating and were watching her.
They didn’t know what to make of her. She could see it in their eyes! They were surprised she had helped the servant. The woman was English, after all. But she was a commoner, treated no better than the dogs beneath Bryce’s feet. Ryen shook her head sadly.
Suddenly, the swarm of servants surged forward again. They were carrying trays of fruit. Again a platter was placed before Ryen, in the center of the table. She didn’t even reach for the luscious-looking apples. Not after last time. If starvation was Bryce’s punishment, then so be it.
She cringed as the men descended over the mound of fruit, pushing and shoving each other in their desperation to reach the food.
Suddenly there was a growl. At first, Ryen thought it was the hounds, but as she turned her head she saw two men rising, one’s hands outstretched toward the second man’s throat. The table cleared instantly and the wild-looking man on her right pulled Ryen out of her chair as a fist barely missed her chin. It was appalling. She sucked in her breath as a fist connected with a jaw. The grunting and growling should have come from two animals, not two men.
Ryen glanced at Bryce. He was sitting in his chair, his gaze upon her as his soldiers fought each other for food. Why did he do nothing?
Ryen watched Elli bend to him, lay a hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Together they turned to her again. Bryce nodded. Ryen wanted to rip out the woman’s throat as well as cut off her hand for laying it on Bryce. She stared hard at the woman, at her fingers caressing his arm, until she removed her hand. When Ryen turned her gaze back to the fighting men, she saw they were rolling across the floor, through the rushes, away from the table. One by one, the soldiers who had been sitting around her began to take their seats, ignoring the struggle.
She turned her gaze again to Bryce. He was still watching her, taking a large bite from an apple. But he wore an amused look. He casually tossed a slice of fruit over the side of the table, where the hounds sat at attention, staring at him. The youngest and most agile of the dogs leapt up and caught the slice in his mouth, swallowing it whole.
Ryen became distinctly aware that she was the only one standing. Slowly she made her way to her seat. When she was seated, a large roasted pig was carried in, supported by a spit. Ryen watched as Bryce stood and moved around the table toward it. She watched his body as he walked, the slight swing of his muscular arms, the confident gait of his legs, the tightness of his leggings over the bulge –
She felt heat rise inside her and looked down, hoping to hide her discomfort, but found that she could not keep her eyes from him, and they lifted, centering on his wavy hair and then slowly perusing his body.
He turned his back to her and her eyes were drawn to his firm buttocks. He was the most attractive man she had ever known. She felt her insides warming; the anger dissipated, replaced by a dreamy sensation as her eyes lazily examined his strong body.
An impish grin tugged the corners of her lips. He was so handsome and she knew she could watch him all day…as long as he didn’t know.
Then he turned and stared directly into her eyes.
Ryen’s eyes widened with guilt, and her face paled. She watched the knowing grin spread across his smug face. She wished she were dead. She wished she could disappear. She wished she could run a hand over those rounded muscles. She blanched. Where had that thought come from? She quickly dropped her gaze to the table.
When she cautiously raised her eyes again, Bryce was walking toward his chair. He was carrying a plate, on which was a slab of the swine. Ryen saw Lotte’s back straighten with vanity as Bryce stopped before her and lobbed a hunk of meat into her dish. Ryen’s shoulders slumped slightly, her lips drooping. Lotte’s face glowed as she cast Ryen an arrogant look.
Bryce then moved to Elli, who smiled coyly at him. He dropped a large piece of the pig onto her plate. Ryen was dismayed to find hurt swirling inside her; she forced her face into a blank mask, hoping to convey disinterest.
Bryce turned to her then, his dark eyes pinning her to her chair. Ryen hoped that the ache she felt did not show. Her mind replayed Elli’s hand running over the length of Bryce’s arm. His lover, she thought with a jolt. He had been with her as Ryen recovered. She felt the pain rise in her throat and fought desperately to keep it from her face. I don’t care, she told herself over and over. But she did.
Something flashed across his face as he stared at her, and then he was walking toward her, his powerful legs carrying him quickly over the space between them. When he stood before her, Ryen raised her chin and met his gaze with a haughty indifference.
A smile curved his lips and melted her heart. He picked up a large portion of the meat and held it out to her.
Murmurings spread like wildfire across the tables.
Ryen’s mouth watered like a river; her stomach grumbled. Bryce waited patiently as she lifted trembling hands to take the pork. She could barely keep herself from ripping into it. She licked her lips and raised her eyes to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, so softly that only he and the closest knights could hear.
Bryce’s eyes smiled at her, glinting in the torchlight. He turned and went to his seat.
He had no sooner sat than the room exploded in motion. All the men dived for the center of the room, grabbing handfuls of meat, chopping with their daggers. They were like ants covering a fallen piece of bread.
Ryen stared, shocked at the sight: the men hovered around the spit, the strongest in front gorging themselves. As one finished and moved away, the next strongest took his place. Fighting was common.
Ryen took one bite of her meat, and then a second. She felt out of place, eating daintily. When she took her third bite, she noticed the peasants. They were edging forward from the shadows at the rear of the hall, circling the men and meat, waiting for their chance.
Surely there must be more kill for the peasants, Ryen thought. But as the commoners edged closer and closer, their eyes anxiously scanning for an opening, Ryen realized this was their only meal. Outrage rocked her body, and slowly she stood. She watched as one of the peasants reached a hand to the pig to rip off a piece of meat. The soldier closest to him snarled before he backhanded the man across the face.
Ryen’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.
“They eat what’s left. It is our way,” the man on her right said around a piece of meat in his mouth.
“You mean the peasants are no better than your hounds?” she gasped. “At least you throw the dogs food!”
“The strongest survive,” the man said, wiping his hand across his mouth.
Ryen pushed away from the table, unwilling to see more. She didn’t understand why they acted this way. She moved toward the doors, feeling disgusted. No one should go hungry, she thought. Unless for some reason Bryce’s lands were not prospering.
As she approached the giant wooden doors, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and swiveled her head. There, in the shadows, hiding behind a bench that lay on its side, was a boy. His hair was matted, his clothing too small. He was eyeing Ryen with hungry, hollow eyes. Ryen looked down to see what the boy was staring at. She was surprised to find that she still held the pork in her hand. Immediately, she held out the meat to him. He started forward, licking his lips.
Suddenly, Ryen’s wrist was seized. She looked up and locked eyes with Bryce’s dark gaze. The boy jumped back, taking cover behind the table.
“That is your food,” Bryce told her. “Give it away and there will be no more.”
Ryen yanked her arm free. “He’s starving,” she snapped, and again stretched out her hand.
The boy hesitated this time, his large eyes turning up to Bryce for permission.
“Come on,” Ryen coaxed. “It’s all right.”
The boy took a tentative step forward, those haunted eyes returning to Ryen.
“You can have it.” She bent at the waist and reached out to him. The boy ripped the meat out of her hand and retreated to the overturned bench to hide and eat.
Ryen straightened, a satisfied grin tugging at her lips. She watched the boy for a moment, certain that he was well on his way to finishing it. Then she turned to face Bryce, who was watching her, expressionless. “Are all the children thus starved?” she wondered softly.
Bryce’s shoulders lifted slightly, his eyes never wavering from her face. “Not the strong ones.”
“But why? Aren’t your lands thriving?”
“We’ve had the best harvest thus far.”
“You live like savages,” she whispered harshly, so only he could hear. “Fighting for your food. I have never seen such barbarism.”
His body stiffened and his jaw clenched. His black eyes narrowed. “Then it is lucky you will be leaving.”
Ryen felt her chest tighten. His words had stung her. She had not meant to insult him. Still…she had no right to feel hurt. She was nothing to him except a conquest. He had made that clear the first day she was here when he’d announced to all that he had taken her maidenhood.
She turned away from him and her eyes locked on the small boy who was licking his dirty fingers. Her heart twisted. Perhaps before she left she could make at least one change. The peasants and servants…the children…did not need to be hungry. There were ways and simple foods that would satisfy them. They shouldn’t need to carry weapons or learn how to fight just to eat.
“Bryce.” She turned back to him, stepping closer. “Allow me to enter your kitchens. There is a dish –”
His eyes narrowed, his look darkening. “So you can poison all of us? I think not, Angel.”
Ryen’s mouth dropped. She had not thought of poison. But as she stood staring into his suspicious, accusing eyes, the thought became very appealing. Her own eyes narrowed, mirroring his. “You are the most evil man I have ever known. I would never hurt a child. I even trusted that spy you snuck into my camp – your son.”
Bryce stepped toward her, his eyes burning into hers with anger.
Ryen retreated a step. She could not take her eyes from his; they demanded her attention, lest he strike.
His voice was so soft as he towered over her that she barely heard his words. “I did not sneak him into your camp. He came of his own free will. Like a true Princeton. Like a wolf.” He was walking away before she could breathe again.
Bryce must have loved the boy very much. She wondered what it took to get him to care that much.
She pushed herself from the wall, doubting she would ever know.
A pair of dark eyes watched the enemy cross the room. Lotte straightened her bodice, causing her large breasts to thrust out. She would not allow this French bitch to take her place as Prince’s favorite. No matter what Prince said, she knew she would win him back.
“He likes her,” a voice cooed.
Lotte whirled to find Elli smiling at her. Lotte snorted and turned back to picking at the pork before her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? I think she’s quite pretty. Nothin’ like I woulda expected.” Elli shifted her eyes from Ryen to Lotte. “Don’t you think?”
“She’s too thin. And her hair is unruly. Look how she looks down her nose at the men. She owes her life to Prince, and she doesn’t even try to be nice to him.”
“Would you rather she be nice to him?” Elli wondered.
“I’d rather she was out of the castle. For good.” Lotte stopped as Elli’s soft laughter reached her ears and tore her eyes from Ryen to glare at her.
“Sounds to me like the green-eyed monster has a hold on you.” Elli put a finger to her chin, pondering. “Or perhaps ye’re just scared. After all, Prince has already bedded her. How long do you think it will be before he does again? And you, with yer high morals. Never letting any of the other men touch you, saving yerself for Prince. And turnin’ McFinley out, ta boot. It looks like you might be the one turned out, after all.”
“Shut up,” Lotte hissed. Her gaze darted back to Ryen. “It’ll only be time before he tires of her. Then he’ll come back ta me.”
“Are you sure? Are you so sure?” Elli’s tinkled of laughter reached Lotte and she cringed.
Lotte’s dark eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at Ryen, her lips turned down. She was not going to let some French tart replace her. Lotte would do anything to prevent that. Anything.
“It’s time to return.”
Ryen turned from her seated position at the table to see Talbot standing beside her. She made no effort to object or to quarrel with him. On the contrary, she was anxious to return to Bryce’s room. The savagery of these people disturbed her; the total disregard of the peasants upset her. To see children starving was more than she could tolerate.
As they turned to leave the Great Hall, another knight rushed up to them. “Sir Talbot! Cooper and Darcy are fighting in the barracks.”
Talbot grimaced. “Wells! Pavia! See her to Prince’s room.”
Ryen turned to see a large, burly man approaching her. When she turned back to the departing Talbot, she was shocked to see Vignon standing right beside her. She swallowed a gasp, awaiting a comment of some kind, but he remained silent, his eyes averted from her gaze.
The burly man ushered her toward the doors with a firm hand at the small of her back.
Silently, Vignon followed her, the other man beside him. What was Vignon doing here? Was he truly English? Or was he some kind of spy for King Charles? If he is a spy, why hasn’t he sought me out to confide in me? Ryen wondered. The realization came all too swiftly.
Because I am a traitor.
Ryen’s feet suddenly felt like lead and she almost stumbled. She righted herself as they turned a corner. What if he is English and he was a spy in my camp? She asked silently.
Ryen wanted to turn and question him directly. But she knew she couldn’t.
Then a thought occurred to her. Wells and Pavia. Talbot had said that Wells and Pavia would escort her to Bryce’s room. So Vignon must be using another name. Unless, of course, Wells or Pavia was his real name.
She halted before the door to Bryce’s room. She had never truly trusted him. Had her instincts been right all along?
Vignon reached around her to open the door.
Stoically she stepped through the entryway. Has he been sent to rescue me? she wondered, before the door was closed and locked behind her. Or to kill me? Either possibility made her nervous. Very nervous indeed.