Malta paused only to push back her hood, shake out her hair and spread it carefully over her shoulders. She scraped her teeth over her lips to redden them, then entered the spill of light from the gazebo. She walked forward with a dignified pace, her face grave. Cerwin noticed her immediately. She stopped where she could be half in shadow. She turned her face to the candlelight's caress and opened her eyes wide.

“Malta!” he whispered in a voice choked with suppressed emotion. He strode toward her. He would sweep her up in his arms. She braced herself for that, but instead he halted and then dropped to one knee before her. His head was bowed and she could see only his dark curly hair. In a tight voice he said, “Thank you for coming. When midnight passed and you were not here, I feared-” He gasped in a breath that was almost a sob. “I feared I had no hope at all.”

“Oh, Cerwin,” she murmured sorrowfully. From the corner of one eye, she noted that Delo had crept to the door of the gazebo and was peeking out at them. For a moment, it annoyed her. It spoiled the mood to have Cerwin's little sister watching them. She pushed the thought away. Ignore her. It didn't matter. Delo couldn't tell anything without getting in big trouble herself. Malta took a step closer to Cerwin. She set her pale hands to his dark head and ran her fingers through his curls. He caught his breath at her touch. She turned his face up to hers. “How could you think I would not come?” she asked him gently. She gave a soft sigh. “No matter what sorrows batter me, no matter what danger to myself . . . you should have known I would come.”

“I dared to hope,” he admitted. When he looked up at her, she was shocked. He strongly resembled Brashen, yet he suffered in the comparison. She had thought Cerwin manly and mature. Now, after she had watched Brashen for an evening, Cerwin appeared a callow youth. The comparison annoyed her. It made her conquest less of a triumph. He caught her two hands, then dared to kiss each of her palms before releasing them.

“You must not,” she murmured to him. “You know I am promised to another.”

“I will never allow him to have you,” he vowed.

She shook her head. “It is too late. The tidings your brother brought us tonight have made me see that.” She looked aside from him to stare wide-eyed into the night forest. “I have no choice but to fulfill my fate. My father's life depends on it.”

He surged to his feet. “What are you saying?” His voice was a low cry. “What news came . . . my brother brought it? Your father's life ... I don't understand.”

For an instant her voice tightened with real tears. “Pirates have captured our family ship. Brashen was kind enough to bring us word of it. We fear my father and brother may already be dead, but if they are not, if any chance remains . . . oh, Cerwin, somehow we must find the money to ransom them. And yet, how can we? Humbling as it is, I know you are aware of our financial difficulties. Once word gets out that our ship has been taken, our creditors will close in like sharks.” She lifted her hands to her face. “I do not know how we will feed ourselves, let alone find money to ransom my father. I fear I will be wed off to the Rain Wilder immediately. As much as that distresses me, I know it is what I must do. Reyn is a generous man. He will help us to get my father back. If marrying him is what it will take ... I do not mind ... so much.” Her voice cracked on these final words. She swayed, genuinely overcome by her cruel fate.

He caught her in his arms. “You poor, brave child. Can you imagine that I would allow you to go to a loveless marriage, even for the sake of your father?”

She whispered against his chest. “The choice is not ours, Cerwin. I will offer myself to Reyn. He has both the wealth and power to help me. That will be what I think of when . . . that time comes when ... I must accommodate him.” She hid her face against his shirt as if ashamed to speak of such things.

Cerwin clutched her upper arms more tightly. “Never,” he promised her. “That time will never come.” He took a breath. “I do not claim to be as wealthy as a Rain Wilder. But all I have, and all I ever will have, I put at your service.” He held her a little away so he could look down into her face. “Did you think I would do less than that?”

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I did not think you could,” she admitted. “Your father is still the Trader of your family. Poor Brashen is proof that he runs his household with a firm hand. I know what your heart bids you to do, but, in reality-” she shook her head sadly- “there may be little you can actually command.”