“I can't be your wife.” Incredulously, she heard her say the words aloud. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “That is what truly keeps me from loving you, Grag. Knowing that that would be the price I must pay. I could love you, easily, but I could not live in your shadow.”

“In my shadow?” he asked in confusion. “Althea, I don't understand. You would be my wife, honored by my family, the mother of the Tenira heir.” There was genuine hurt in his voice. He groped for words. “More than that, I could not offer. It is all and everything I have to offer any woman I marry. That and myself.” His voice sank to a whisper. “I had hoped it would be enough to win you.” Slowly he opened his hand. It was as if he released a bird.

Reluctantly she drew her hand back. “Grag. No man could offer me more than that, or better.”

“Not even Brashen Trell?” he asked roughly. His voice thickened on the words.

A terrible coldness welled up inside her. He knew. He knew she had bedded with Trell. She was glad she was sitting down. She tried to control her face even as she fought the roaring in her ears. Sa, she was going to faint! This was ridiculous. She could not grasp the extent of her reaction to his words.

He stood suddenly, and walked a short distance away from the table. He stared off into the night forest. “So. You love him, then?” His words were almost accusatory.

Guilt and shame had dried her mouth. “I don't know,” she managed hoarsely. She tried to clear her throat. “It was just something that happened between us. We'd both been drinking, and the beer was drugged and . . .”

“I know all that.” He dismissed it brusquely. He still did not look at her. “Ophelia told me all that, when she warned me. I didn't want to believe her.”

Althea lowered her face into her hands. Warned him. The sudden gaping loss gutted her. She suddenly doubted that Ophelia had even liked her. “How long have you known?” she managed to ask.

He sighed heavily. “The night she urged me to kiss you, and I did . . . she told me later. I suppose she felt, oh, I don't know, guilty. Afraid that I might get hurt, if I fell too deeply in love with you, and then found out you weren't . . . what I expected.”

“Why didn't you tell me before this?”

She lifted her head to see his lopsided shrug. “I thought it wouldn't matter. It bothered me, of course. I wanted to kill the bastard. Of all the low things to do ... but then Ophelia told me that you might have feelings for him. Might even be a bit in love with him?” It was a halfhearted question.

“I don't think I am,” she said in a low voice. The ambivalence in her own voice surprised her.

“That's twice,” Grag observed bitterly. “You know you don't love me. But you aren't sure about him.”

“I've known him a long time,” she said lamely. She wanted to say she didn't love him. But how could you know someone that long, be friends with someone that long, and not feel some kind of love for him? It was not that different from her relationship with Davad Restart. She could despise the Trader's actions, and still recall a kindly, avuncular bumbler. “For years, Trell was a friend and a shipmate. And what happened between us doesn't change those years. I ...”

“I don't understand at all,” Grag said softly. She still heard the undercurrent of anger in his voice. “He dishonored you, Althea. He compromised you. When I found out, I was furious. I wanted to call him out. I was sure you must hate him. I knew he deserved to die. I thought he would never dare return to Bingtown after what he had done. When he did, I wanted to kill him. Only two things held me back. I could not do so without revealing the reason for challenging him. I didn't want to shame you. Then, I heard he had called at your home. I thought, perhaps, he was going to offer to do the honorable thing. If he had and you had refused him . . . Did he offer? Is that what this is about, do you feel some sort of obligation to him?”

There was desperation in his voice. He was struggling so hard to understand.

She stood up from the table and went to stand beside him. She, too, looked into the darkened forest. Shadows of twigs and limbs and trunks tangled and obstructed each other. “He didn't rape me,” she said. “That is what I must admit to you. What happened between us was not wise. But it wasn't violent and I was as much to blame as Brashen.”

“He's a man.” Grag spoke the words uncompromisingly. He crossed his arms on his chest. “The blame is his. He should have been protecting you, not taking advantage of your weakness. A man should control his lust. He should have been stronger.”