Dominique was not certain. If not within the chateau, the two certainly had the entire countryside to conduct their trysts. Her memory recalled with annoying clarity his strong, confident body, that tall, battle- hardened torso. Her hands still held the memory of his long, muscular back and its obvious male member, so arrogantly jutting, taunting her to touch it, to stroke it as she so fervently desired. Her dreams, some of them anyway, revealed again and again his proud chin and intelligent dark eyes. The other dreams . . . lately they had been unpleasant, though she could not identify exactly why. When she awoke, her memory of them would be blurred with only an impression left of a forewarning. Ever since Paxton's arrival she had felt disoriented. Apparently not Paxton. Was his energy, the energy of the violent warrior, stronger than her own? And what was his design on Esclarmonde? A design to infiltrate himself into the French court at Avignon?
