Odd, too, that an Italian living as a recluse would wish to be addressed as Nottingham to honor an English father. That would draw more attention from the humans around him, not less.

"I wish you well." She eyed the Saracens, all of whom carried cooper-plated scimitars. "Your lord has curious taste in bodyguards."

"Ah, yes, the guard." He cast a rolling glance at the ceiling. "Christians were not the only souls cursed on the sands of Jerusalem, you know. The heathens were equally stricken. Most lost their heads, but some escaped to the mountains and lived very well there. They were even worshiped for a time as gods by some of the primitive local tribes."

"Why are they not there still?" Jayr asked.

"They were forced to flee their homeland when the Jews invaded it after the second of the humans' world wars. They found their way to my lord's home and begged to be made useful. Since we were only two, my lord allowed them to make their oath to him." Skald spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "They are quite loyal to my lord, and will cause no trouble. I swear it."

Over Skald's rounded shoulder, Jayr spotted Nottingham going from table to table, nodding and clasping hands with other lords as he apparently introduced himself to his peers. The reception he received seemed lukewarm at best, but none yet chose to give him their shoulder. His guards followed and were completely ignored, but did not appear troubled by that, or the many angry looks being directed at them.

"How many Kyn lived in Florence?" Jayr asked as she signaled for one of the servers.

"Only my lord Nottingham. His mother was the last of an old and honored family," Skald told her. "His wealth and resources remain quite vast. The seigneur could do much worse in choosing a suzerain."

Now it became clear. Nottingham had not come to beg. She instructed the server who came to her to bring in a table and chairs to seat the Italian and his guard. To Skald she said, "You heard a great deal before you fled Florence."

"I serve my lord with all my heart. I fell stricken in Florence, you see, and he brought me to his home and helped me through the change. I would have died in the gutter where they left me." Skald's attempt at modesty fell a little flat; his eyes searched the room with incessant eagerness, and his tense frame almost vibrated with impatience. "Would you do me the honor of making me known to the other seneschal among you?"

Heads turned once more as Byrne entered the guard's hall with Cyprien and Alexandra.

"I fear I cannot, for my lord has arrived with the seigneur." Relieved, Jayr caught Harlech's eye and inclined her head toward Skald. "My second will be pleased to perform introductions. Excuse me, brother."

Before Jayr could take her place beside Byrne, Robin of Locksley strode in from the opposite side of the hall. In both of his fists were wads of torn satin. He walked rapidly toward Byrne and Cyprien, with an anxious-looking Will Scarlet trotting after him.

"Seigneur," Locksley all but shouted. "I would speak with you."

Footsteps echoed in the silence as the suzerain rounded a table of Welsh-born Kyn, and then something happened. Locksley's head turned toward Nottingham and his guards. One of the latter had unfurled a banner and was attaching it to one of the poles on display at the front of the room.

Locksley walked into the back of a chair, beginning to fall over. Scarlet grabbed the back of his tunic just in time to keep him from sprawling face-first onto the stone floor.

"You."

As the word burst from Locksley, he shrugged off his seneschal as if he were nothing more than a mosquito. His face twisted into a snarl as he threw the shredded banners to the floor and drew his sword. When Will stepped in front of him, he knocked the seneschal out of his way.

Jayr recognized the ruined banners at once. They were the purple and gray that Viviana had been working on yesterday.

The sound of Locksley's sword being drawn stirred every male in the room. Chairs scraped back as lords and warriors rose. The men moved silently into position to shield the un-armed women. Every seneschal in the room drew swords and daggers and took position in front of their lords.

Jayr's first impulse was to run at Locksley and disarm him, until she met Byrne's gaze. He lifted a hand in a simple gesture that meant, Stay where you are.

Jayr nodded, but remained prepared to move in an instant. She had never seen Locksley angry, and it made her stomach turn over in a sickly manner. Seeing Sherwood's colors displayed so openly must have driven all the sense out of his head.

"Lord Locksley." Michael Cyprien moved with the lethal grace of a great cat, and placed himself between the suzerain and his intended target. "Hold."

"You do not want a part of this, Michael," Locksley said through clenched teeth. He didn't look at the seigneur at all, his gaze fixed on Nottingham. "Be a good fellow and clear the women from the room."

The Kyn males who were still unarmed quickly drew blades. Muttered orders were issued by lords and passed among the warriors. Several of the women also held small bejeweled blades drawn from ankle and thigh straps. Jayr used the distraction to position herself between Byrne and Locksley.

A hundred different scents, released by the Kyn's physical reaction to the threat, blended in a hot, cloying cloud that filled the room. Impending violence, wordless and burgeoning, hung over every head.

"Hey."

Jayr glanced at Alexandra Keller, to whom no one paid attention. The seigneur's sygkenis used an empty chair to climb up onto a tabletop, where she put two fingers in her mouth and produced a loud, piercing whistle.

That and her position silenced the room.

"I haven't met everyone yet," Alexandra said, her voice loud and friendly, "but I'm Alex Keller, the boss's girlfriend and the new vampire in town. I just thought I'd mention that this is my first vacation with Michael since I grew fangs. I don't know about you, but I've witnessed enough Kyn bloodbaths to pretty much last me forever. What do you say we just relax, have fun, and not dismember anybody?"

The Kyn didn't quite know what to make of Alexandra's plea. Jayr felt like applauding.

"One more thing: If anyone gets something important chopped off, I'm going to be too busy relaxing on my vacation to stitch it back together for you. So thank you in advance for not hacking one another to pieces. I'm looking forward to meeting you all." Alexandra accepted Michael's hand and climbed back down.

Jayr noted that Cyprien looked pleased, not embarrassed, by his sygkenis's unusual announcement, and her heart melted a little. The talk about Cyprien always pegged him as cold and calculating, and many had thought he went to Ireland to become high lord, not rescue his sygkenis. Jayr saw better now, and wondered if Alexandra Keller knew how fortunate she was to have such a lover.

"Never fear, my lady," Locksley said, glaring at the Italian. "It will not be possible to sew back together what I leave on the floor."

"I take it," Nottingham said in his gorgeous voice, "that you are the insolent bastard who tore down my colors."

All around the room came the sound of brittle things snapping and cracking. Jayr saw that the windows were intact, and then her gaze dropped to a nearby goblet. White frost covered the outside of the cup, and the wine inside was covered with a bloom of ice that solidified the surface, as if it had frozen solid.

"You." Locksley's knuckles bulged as he tightened his grip on his sword's hilt. "You do not speak to me." He tried to go past the seigneur, but Michael seized his arm. He looked down in amazement. "You hold me back, and give him leave to bring that filth into the house?"

"He brings ignorance and unhappy memories." Cyprien said something else, too low for Jayr to hear.

Locksley didn't seem impressed. "Exile him, then. Send him back to whatever shithole he occupies."

"Rob." Byrne came to stand beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. Everyone around them except Locksley seemed to relax. Cyprien left his suzerains and strode over to where Nottingham stood.

Jayr knew Byrne was deliberately shedding his scent to invoke calm and order. Although most of the tension in the room had vanished, it seemed to have no affect on Robin.

"Seigneur." Skald rushed over to Michael, almost skipping in order to take his place beside his master. "May I introduce my lord, Ganelon of Florence, Lord Nottingham?"

Nottingham went down on one knee, moving with the fluid grace of old experience. "Seigneur, it is an honor."

"Nottingham by way of Florence, is it?" Cyprien sounded bored, but anger flashed amber in his turquoise eyes. "You may rise. Who is this woman with you?"

For the first time Jayr saw that the dark lord had brought a human with him. The female huddled between two of the Saracens, almost obscured by the voluminous drape of their robes. She looked pale and dazed. Despite the warmth of the room she trembled, her lips pinched with cold. From her appearance and garments Jayr guessed her to be a young wife, perhaps a mother.

"That?" Nottingham waved a hand in her general direction. "That is food and amusement."

Disgust and dismay made Jayr stiffen. Kyn never removed humans from their ordinary lives as Nottingham had done with this female; it terrorized the humans' families and often resulted in the authorities taking notice.

"There are no humans permitted at the tournament," Michael said. "In this country we do not abduct humans under our influence and force them to serve us. You will return her to her home at once."

"As you will, seigneur." Nottingham spoke to one of his guards in soft, rapid Italian. The guard led the human away from the assembly.

Michael did not appear mollified. "Tell me exactly who you are, and why you have come here."

"We are but refugees, my lord. I would offer titles and ranks, but mine have never been named jardin by the high lord; nor have I been given the honor of recognized rule," the dark lord said. Each word from his lips, liquid gold to the ears, rang with dignity and respect. "I am here in hopes of remedying that."