Gianelle burst into Dante's room just before the sun rose the next morning. His bed was empty. Groaning, she spun around and left to search the tower for him. She knew he was nowhere downstairs or outside, not finding him earlier in her frantic search for Casey. The girl had never returned to their bed the night before, her pillow untouched when Gianelle woke from her sleep. 

Climbing the stairs two at a time, Gianelle suddenly realized that Casey and Dante were probably together. Of course, where else would Casey be? Her heart eased it's wild pumping and she slowed reaching the tower. She opened the door. They were not there. She turned, ready to descend the stairs again when she noticed a small archway leading further up into the turrets. Cautiously, she entered the dark passageway and climbed the narrow stairs. 

Dante was sleeping within the spacious arched alcove of a window, alone and still dressed in nothing but his black trousers. She held her breath not wanting to wake him just yet. She wanted to look, to study his handsome face. She stepped closer, leaning over the elliptical stone wall to peer at his long black lashes. One mighty arm was sprawled over his head while the other curled around his bare waist. A warrior angel. Oh, how she ached to smooth the frown from his forehead. He snored and she smiled. What was she doing? She was supposed to be finding Casey.

“My lord?” she whispered and touched his arm. “Wake up.”

Dante opened his eyes and smiled into the face of pure sunshine. He had dreamed of her, and seeing her face now when he opened his eyes made him want to take her in his arms. Then he remembered the night before and turned his head toward the window just as the sun exploded over the horizon. 

Spectacular golden light washed over his face. He leaned out over the edge of the window to gather its warmth, closing his eyes as a slight breeze made by the furious flapping wings of gulls lifted his hair. 

Behind him, Gianelle watched, hypnotized. She was still staring at him when he turned back to her. 

“What are you doing up here?”

She continued to stare at him unable to speak, to blink, to breathe. She did not want to do any of those things. She only wanted to look at him illuminated by the morning birth like a beautiful, ancient warrior longing for his home across the sea.

He was waiting for an answer, his dark brows knitted together. Gianelle finally blinked and the image was gone. 

“I—I can not find Casey. She did not come to bed—”

Dante was on his feet and brushing past her before she even had time to finish. She followed him down the turret stairs assuring him that she had checked everywhere. But Dante opened every door, knocking first at some, fresh panic springing anew in his eyes as each new room confirmed his fears.

“She would never leave Graycliff.” Gianelle said behind him. 

“She was angry with me.” 

“Still,” Gianelle reassured him, hurrying to keep up as he raced down more stairs. “She would not leave without me.”

“Are you certain? Have you checked the bailey, the gardens?” 

“Oui.” 

“The chapel? How about the buttery?”

“She was not there.” 

“You have checked the kitchen? The pantry?”

“Oui—Non! I do not know where the pantry is.”

Instant relief flooded Dante's face, so much that once again Gianelle was struck by his fierce love for her dearest friend. He led her through the kitchen where Ingred was just beginning to beat the six dozen eggs she would prepare for breakfast.

When Dante and Gianelle hurried past her, she looked up and shook her long wooden spoon at the lord of Graycliff. “I would speak to you about that pain in my arse, James. I want him out! Out! Out!”

Dante nodded, smiling, but did not stop until he reached a large wooden door at the other end of the enormous kitchen. He opened it a crack and looked inside, then turned to Gianelle and beckoned her forward. When she reached him, she smiled through tears that tinkered on the edges of her lashes. There, amidst thousands of stacked jars filled with every conceivable food, and baskets overflowing with fresh fruits and green vegetables, was her Casey fast asleep within the strong, safe arms of Balin. 

Dante stepped inside the storage room and stood over the sleeping captain who was propped up against the wall like an unconscious drunkard clutching Casey to his side as if she were his last bottle of cherished wine. 

“He did not report me to your friend, Geoffrey,” Gianelle whispered.

Dante looked at her searching for the certainty in her eyes, and then finally nodded. Bending to his knees, he slipped his hands under Casey's legs and back and lifted her into his arms. 

When she was taken from him, Balin jolted out of his sleep and sat up immediately.

Dante scowled down at him. “What in blazes are you doing sleeping in the kitchens?”

Rubbing the small of his back, Balin winced, “Just guarding the place. I thought I heard some pigs planning an attack last night.”

Dante tossed him a crooked grin and winked at Gianelle. When Casey moved in his arms he kissed the top of her head. “‘Tis I, Casey,” he comforted, smiling down at her when her eyes began to open.

Content, Casey snuggled deeper into the hollow of his shoulder. In a moment she was asleep again.

The journey back to their room was a long one for Gianelle, one that forced her to hold back her tears because her dearest, most delicate friend had finally found a man she was comfortable enough with to search out in the night and fall asleep against his strong body. Gianelle looked at both Dante and Balin and sighed with the wonder of it all. She had no idea that men could be so wonderful.

After Dante laid the sleeping girl down on the bed, he pulled the coverlet up to her neck and kissed her cheek. He stretched his tired body, his arms reaching for the heavens. His eyes found Gianelle's across the room. She offered him a radiant, grateful smile that made him feel like he was just punched in the guts. He drew in a deep breath and then headed for the door. Gianelle followed him.

“What are you doing?” he asked her stepping into the corridor.

“Waiting to serve you.”

Dante stopped, stunned. “Pardon?”

“I am waiting to serve you. I am your maidservant am I not?” Gianelle's large, round eyes searched his with all the innocence of a fresh, young puppy.

Lifting one corner of his mouth in a skeptical half smile, Dante bent his body over hers to look behind her back. “Do you have a dagger back there ready to plunge into me the moment I give you something to do?”

“Non!” she retorted, insulted by his playful accusation. “Is it so strange that I would serve you? Have I not been doing so since I arrived? Have I not fetched your food, your drink? Removed your boots?”

His lopsided grin grew even more suspicious, and there was a certain twinkle in his eyes that made them glitter like smelted steel. “Oui, you have done those things, but with hellish curses on your beautiful lips, not humility.” He eyed her for a moment longer then turned and made his way for the stairs.

“And I show you no humility now.” Gianelle assured and caught up with him. “I simply await my orders as befits a maidservant.”

Dante shrugged and climbed the stairs to his room. “You sound humble to me.” 

Suddenly Gianelle realized where he was headed. He was going to his room to get dressed, no doubt. He still wore only his trousers. His feet were still bare, as was his chest. In fact, now that the sunlight shed its golden tendrils through the windows, she could see the thin line of black hair that grew under his whipcord belly and set a path to a place that made her bite her lip.

“You have no orders today, Gianelle.” Dante said leading the way up the stairs. “Go embroider something.”

“I do not know how to embroider. And besides, I wish to serve you today.” 

“Why?”

Behind him, Gianelle rolled her eyes. “To repay your kindness.”

Dante paused and she stumbled into his back. Looking over his shoulder at her, he lifted a doubtful eyebrow. “Have I been kind to you? Enfer, I shall have to beat you later to remind you what a whoreson I am.” He laughed softly when she clenched her teeth at him. “Mayhap tomorrow, petite fée. Right now I just want to have the bath I missed enjoying last eve and then crawl into my comfortable bed for the next se'nnight. A window ledge is no place to sleep.”

He was almost at the top of the stairs when Gianelle lifted her skirts to race after him. Was he trying to ignite her fury again? Why was he blatantly ignoring her? “And who will bathe you?” She blurted before she could stop herself. God's teeth, was she daft? Did the sight of him, the scent of him make her so wanton as to chase him around like a common wench? 

“I do not know. Do you think Simone is awake?” Dante asked vaguely, though thoroughly shocked by this change in Gianelle. He wanted to tease her, fuse that little wick that would spark her temper. He enjoyed watching her passionate temper flame and he remembered how angry she had gotten when he had asked after Simone the morning they went swimming. Could it be that his fairy was jealous?

“Well, I am sure I cannot possibly bathe you the way Simone can,” she drawled out the hiss. “but I do not think I will disappoint you, my lord.” 

The venomous bite in her words made Dante wince, but his smile widened. He turned around to look directly into her scorching eyes. “You could never disappoint me, fée,” he told her with more depth in his husky voice than he had planned. Her cheeks burned like fiery brands on her face and she fought to look away from his tender gaze. “Forgive me,” Dante said, seeing her unease. “I can not seem to say the right thing when I'm near you. Go break fast, spend the day at the sea. I release you from your duties today.”

“Non, wait.” She grabbed his wrist when he began to turn away from her. Her fingers tingled touching him. They tingled all the way to her throat, catching her words until she had to strain to say them. “I would tend to you today. I do not mind, truly. Let me sit in your room while you sleep so that if you awaken I can fetch what you need.”

Dante laughed, but there was no merriment in his cool eyes. “You are a mysterious little waif. I would like nothing better than to have you with me all day, but there are reasons that can not be.”

His words echoed in Gianelle's mind, battering their way to her heart. She could never disappoint him—he would like nothing better than to have her with him all day—Her head reeled. Never had a man spoken to her so. What did it mean? She had no idea, but she liked it. She liked the way his eyes followed her all the time no matter what she was doing. She liked the way his hands touched her with no malice, the way he tried to prove his authority to her, warn her with a dark look only to have it peeled away, rendering him almost weak when she fought back or simply smiled at him. He desired her. Oui, she knew that as sure as she knew the sun would rise in all its glory again the next morning. He wanted her so desperately he could not conceal it no matter how hard he tried. But not once had he tried to force himself on her, not once was he even rough with her. 

Gianelle stepped around him and blocked his path. She lifted her face to look at him and narrowed her eyes. “Would you court a slave?” 

“I have no slaves.” Dante replied fastening his powerful eyes on hers. “Would you tend a man you hate?”

“I hate no man in this castle.” 

“I hurt you last eve.”

“I forgive you.”

He smiled then, and it was so genuine, so masculine and sensual that Gianelle bit her lower lip until it bled just to stop the urge to fling herself into his arms. He closed his fingers around her hand and led her to his room.