"That, too."

Rain beat against the walls, the shutters. Honoria straightened. "If you light the fire, I'll heat some water and wash away the worst of the blood." The suggestion earned her a surprised look; she met it with implacable calm. "If he has to die, then at least he can die clean."

For an instant, she thought she'd shocked him-his gaze appeared truly arrested. Then he nodded, his permission so clearly implied she could not doubt that he considered the injured youth in his care.

She headed for the hearth; he followed, soft-footed for such a large man. Pausing before the fire, Honoria glanced over her shoulder-and nearly swallowed her heart when she found him directly beside her.

He was big-bigger than she'd realized. She was often referred to as a "Long Meg"; this man towered over her by a full head, cutting her off from the candlelight, his dramatic face in deep shadow, his black hair a dark corona about his head. He was the Prince of Darkness personified; for the first time in her life, she felt small, fragile, intensely vulnerable. "There's a pump near the stable." He reached past her; candlelight glimmered on the curved contours of his arm as he lifted the kettle from its hook. "I'd better check Sulieman, too, but I'll get the fire going first."

Honoria quickly shifted to the side. Only when he had crouched before the hearth, laying logs from the woodbox in the grate, did she manage to breathe again. At close range, his voice reverberated through her, a decidedly unnerving sensation.

By the time he had a blaze established, she had her attention firmly fixed on the dressers, discovering clean cloths and a canister of tea. She heard him move past; reaching high, he lifted a bucket from a hook. The latch clicked; Honoria glanced around-he stood in the doorway, bare to the waist, silhouetted by a searing flash of light-an elemental figure in an elemental world. The wind funneled in, then was abruptly cut off; the door shut and he was gone.