He raised his head.

Her eyes flew wide, she looked at him as if he was a ghost.

"Lady preserve me."

Her words were a fervent whisper, condensed by the cold, they misted the air between them She searched his face-tor what, Richard could not guess; with his customary arrogance, he raised one brow.

Lips, soft and rosy-much rosier now than before-firmed "By the Lady's veil! This is madness!"

She shook her head and pushed against his chest, bemused, Richard set her down carefully, then released her. Frowning absentmindedly, she stepped around and past him, then whirled to face him "Who are you?"

"Richard Cynster" He sketched her an elegant bow. Straightening, he trapped her gaze "Entirely at your service"

Her eyes snapped "Do you make a habit of accosting innocent women in graveyards?"

"Only when they walk into my arms."

"I requested you to put me down."

"You ordered me to put you down-and I did. Eventually."

"Yes. But…" Her tirade-he was sure it would have been a tirade-died on her lips She blinked at him "You're English!"

An accusation rather than an observation Richard arched a brow. "Cynsters are"

Eyes narrowing, she studied his face. "Of Norman descent?"

He smiled, proudly arrogant. "We came over with the Conqueror." His smile deepening, he let his gaze sweep her. "We still like to dabble, of course." Looking up, he trapped her gaze. "To keep our hand in with the occasional conquest."

Even in the weak light, he saw her glare, saw the sparks that flared in her eyes.

"I'll have you know this is all a very big mistake!"

With that, she whirled away. Snow crunched, louder than before, as, in a flurry of skirts and cloak, she stalked off. Brows rising, Richard watched her storm through the lychgate, saw the quick, frowning glance she threw him from the shadows beneath. Then, with a toss of her head, chin high, she marched up the road.