“What?”
“What are the numbers on the dice?”
She bit her lip and let her eyes drift to a soft focus. “Three and a five. So eight. Is that what you wanted?”
He didn't turn back to her. She heard the dice roll again. “Now what?”
“One and one.”
“Snake eyes,” he muttered. “Again.” She heard the dice roll again.
“Seven. A four and a three.”
“And now?” he said, but she didn't detect the sound of dice rolling.
“Seven again. Two and a five.” He rolled the dice after she spoke and then glanced down at them. When he turned around, his mouth curved into a satisfied smile. He looked at her musingly. She had a flash of doubt, suddenly, that what she'd Seen was real.
“Look, I don't know—I don't play dice,” she said pleadingly. “But I promise you that what I spoke at the tavern was premonition, not anything I heard anywhere. I didn't know your men were there, and I didn't mean to reveal your secret. I just didn't like the soldier I was with and wanted to throw something in his face, that's all.”
The prince said nothing. Mayhap he'd never believed her. He might be planning her torture in hopes of learning who had informed. She rubbed her feet together nervously, the tension in her growing. “Do you believe me?” she asked, her voice cracking.
The prince's face softened suddenly. “Relax, Danewyn. I know truth from lies. You've told three lies to me. Four, if I count the fib that you have friends in London. The rest is truth.”
Relief swept over her.
He looked at Sir Ferrum. “Take her. Punish her for the lies,” he said with a dismissing nod. Sir Ferrum stepped toward her, and she stood to meet him, relieved to move away from the intense scrutiny of the Red Fox.
“Gently,” the prince called to their retreating backs, modifying his order.
Punish her gently? What on earth did that mean?
* * *
It had been incredible the way Danewyn knew the numbers on the dice Phillip had thrown, even predicting correctly before he threw. Even more incredible to Ferrum was that someone with that ability whored at a tavern in London, apparently with no family or friends to speak of. In the times of King Arthur, before Avalon disappeared into the mists, a woman like her would have been highly revered. Fortunately, Phillip was like that great king—unafraid to use magic if it served him. He understood how valuable a woman like her might be for his campaign for the throne. He would keep her—Ferrum saw his foster brother's strategy clearly.
He brought her to his tent. Sir Godfrey and his squire Henley were there, and he told them to take all their things and find somewhere else to sleep. Phillip hadn't said, but he assumed he was responsible for keeping her through the night. He led her back to the fire to confiscate a stool from the soldier who was perched on it and then escorted her back toward the tent, never taking his hand off her, but keeping it gentle.
She was smart. She didn't struggle with him—surely knowing she couldn't win any battle of strength—but he saw her eyes dart around as if she were measuring her escape routes. She took in the location of the horses and the men. He could practically sense her making her plans to get away.
He took off his sword belt and slipped the scabbards from it as he sat down on the stool with an arm around her slim waist. She was exquisitely beautiful. Her coloring was very light—clearly she was of Saxon or Angle blood. It was said the Angles had been so named because they looked like angels. If that were true, she was surely Angle born—he'd never seen anyone who looked so lovely. Her hair was a pale blond and her skin light. She had wide-set blue eyes that were angled down at the outer corners, giving her a childish, innocent look, with lashes that were so pale they were almost invisible.
He'd seen no smile from her since they arrived, although he'd seen a fake-looking one when she was trolling for men back at the tavern in London. The pinched, serious look to her face appeared to be a habitual expression for her. He had a strong desire to discover just what would ease that worry for her—to protect her from the life that had obviously given her hardship.
“Let's get your punishment over with, shall we?” he asked.
She eyed his belt as if she'd just realized what sort of chastisement he had in mind. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked warily, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“I'm going to give you a thrashing.”
She swallowed and stared down at him with her beautiful eyes widened. She looked so innocent, so childlike, that it pained him to have to punish her. Her eyes traveled from his face to the belt and back.