She halted right in front of Arclath, chin to chin, not quite pressed against him, and said fiercely, her breath on his face hot with anger, “And hear me well, Arclath Delcastle-that borrowing is fine with me. So, if you care about my feelings and my freedom at all, it should also be fine with you.”

Arclath stared into her eyes, going pale, his sword sinking forgotten in his hand.

“If you can’t accept that,” his Rune added, “perhaps you’d better instead accept that none of this is really your business at all.”

The young noble lord studied her face, and then he shook his head and backed away, sword coming up again.

“No,” he said. “No. You’re not my Rune. These words are coming from Elminster, seeking to trick me. Wizard, what have you done to my lady?”

Amarune clenched her fists at her sides and leaned forward to let out a shriek of frustration.

Arclath fell into a fighting stance, sword up. “You’ll have to do better than that!”

“Why?” asked a gentle voice from just behind his right ear. “Can’t we all calm down and sit by the fire to chat about this? I’ve made some tea.”

Storm Silverhand! How had she-?

Arclath spun around, sword slicing the air to lash out And came to a sudden halt, shaking and aghast.

Not only had he almost struck down a naked, unarmed woman, but during his whirling turn, fingers like iron fangs had come out of seemingly nowhere and done something to his wrist to make his sword fly free, then taken his sword arm in a grip he very much doubted he could break.

Storm was stronger than he was. Not to mention much more beautiful than he’d ever be, and pressed against him.

“Applying a binding over clothing won’t keep captive someone willing to shed her garments,” she murmured. “You might with advantage remember that, Lord Delcastle.”