The others raised their eyebrows when Court dragged Vitale to the parlor, then tossed him into a chair.

"I said you are a pig, an ingrate. My mistress saved your life—"

"You said something about a marriage."

He refused to answer so Court jostled him until he said, "That's where she's gone!" He gestured heatedly. "To save her brother. The general was holding him to force her."

"She's gone to marry him?"

When Vitale nodded, Niall said, "Aye, Court, a real spoiled, calculating woman. Marrying Pascal to save her brother's life. She's chilling."

"This canna be right. The rumors were that he was marrying some Spanish royal. Not Andorran nobility. How do you account for that?" Court recalled her snapping to him, I'm Castilian, but royal?

Vitale hesitated. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because if you do, I might just decide to go get her back."

His eyes widened and he blurted, "She and her brother are the last direct descendants of the ancient House of Castile. They hold the last titles."

"That's impossible. Her father was no' Castilian."

"The titles passed through the mother."

When Court still looked unconvinced, Niall added, "Some houses can pass down matrilineally."

"This is insane. That would make her…. That would mean she's…" Court could barely believe what he was hearing, even while thinking that this would handily explain her arrogance. "Why did she no' plead for her family's help?"

"She did. As I told you before, she and her brother are estranged from the family and shun that life, but she swallowed her pride and attempted to contact them. We think the message never made it out of Andorra."

Niall whistled and said, "Pascal's a clever bastard. He's going after Isabella's crown."

"But that would mean Annalia's useless to him while her brother's still alive. The minute he has her, Llorente's dead."

"No, he won't be," Vitale declared emphatically. "Pascal will try to use Master Llorente as a figurehead."

"Wrong." Court shook his head, giving Vitale the same expression he knew his five men were giving him as well. "Your master's going to be killed if he is no' already."

"And you just ensured she'd go," Niall muttered from behind him. "Good on you, Court."

He shoved a hand through his hair. "Damn it! Why did she no' ask again or explain everything?"

Vitale cast him a black look. "She told me just before she rode for Pascal that she would rather be a murderer's wife and possibly have access to free Llorente than be a mercenary's whore and have to trust a fiend like you with her brother's life. She said six or half a dozen—either way was unbearable."

When Court pictured her alone and afraid in Pascal's always darkened home, he had an off feeling in his chest, like a painful shifting. "Oh, bloody hell, Vitale. You might've mentioned this earlier."

"Six or half a dozen?" Niall swore under his breath. "Court, you really are cursed."

Last night for the dinner welcoming several odious supporters of the general, Annalia had been given a demure yet luxurious gown. Tonight Pascal had sent her a wholly red, ridiculously low-cut farce to wear. While everyone else enjoyed the village festival, she and Pascal were to have a private dinner. Just the two of them. With a dress like this, Annalia could guess why.

She was endeavoring to work it higher over her breasts with hopping and yanking when Olivia entered without knocking. The witch strolled straight to the wardrobe to survey Annalia's clothes with an acquisitive gleam in her eyes. This morning her jewelry had suffered the same indignity.

"What do you want?"

"Tell me," Olivia said casually as she took out, appraised, and returned a gown, "why he is unmarried."

In an instant, Annalia had her whirled around and her hands clenched around Olivia's arms. "You've seen Aleix?" She could tell she'd surprised her. "Have you?"

Olivia shoved her arms loose. "Why isn't he married?" she stubbornly asked again.

Did her curiosity mean she was attracted to Aleix? All the women in the village thought he was handsome with his tall build and his somber, golden-colored eyes. Mare de Deu, could this spawn of Pascal have feelings for him? And how could she use that to their advantage?

"He's a widower," she admitted, though she felt as if she dangled a bare foot to a viper. "His wife died in childbirth."

Olivia's face was a blank slate. Annalia couldn't read her. "He has a child?"

"No, his daughter died as well."

Olivia shrugged. So that Annalia wouldn't slap her, she forced herself to imagine that Olivia hiked her shoulders every time something particularly upsetting was said.

"Why are you interested?"

She ran her finger across the coverlet on her way to the window. "I was merely curious about my father's prisoner."

"Let me tell you more," Annalia said as she perched on the edge of the bed. Olivia turned to stare out the window, but she didn't say no.

"Aleix is a good man, a strong man. He lives in a beautiful manor overlooking pastures filled with his champion horses. Each day he watches them run, and though he says nothing, I know how pleased he is with them."

Had her shoulders relaxed somewhat? "He's very intelligent and well read. He went to school overseas at Cambridge. He's somber now, but he wasn't always." Annalia decided then to divulge something she considered private. "He's just very lonely up on his mountain."

Olivia shrugged again. "I can't abide this prattle any longer." She crossed the room to the door.

"He's here, isn't he?" Annalia asked. "I'm in the far end of this house because he's in the other."

Olivia turned, with her gaze flickering over her, and Annalia could tell she was calculating her answer, knew she would never say anything unless it somehow served her. "Pascal wants you downstairs in five minutes. Do not displease him. Both of you will suffer for it."

She hadn't denied that Aleix was here! Though she hadn't said anything to confirm it either, Annalia was convinced. "Thank you for the advice. I'll give you some in return. You're about to be married, Olivia. And to one of those loathsome men last night."

"Hold your tongue. How would you know that?"

"In cruelty and killings, I'll gladly defer to you, but I know marriages. Pascal's in a tenuous position and he just happens to convene a meeting with his supporters? How convenient that each one is socially and politically well connected in Spain—and unwed."

Coach-and-six. A father would pay a surprise visit to his daughter at school, and when she walked into the drawing room, he'd introduce her to her new, rich, politically connected fiance. The man's looks and temperament would be incidental and would rarely match his prospects, but the commerce of marriage would've been decided before the girl ever had any idea she was leaving. With a handshake, her life was snatched from her.

Annalia didn't know that she could wish one of those men even on Olivia.

Olivia glared at her. "You won't manipulate me into dissension. I'll simply ask Pascal." She turned for the door.

"And I'm confident he'll tell you the truth," she called after Olivia before hurriedly tussling with the bodice one last time. Finding no success there, she made sure her choker—or her "collar" as the hateful Scot had called it—was in perfect place. With luck, her formal jewelry, which Pascal had insisted she wear, would be glittery enough to draw his gaze away from her breasts.

Though she dreaded being seen like this, she would never be late and anger the general. Her brother's treatment was to be commensurate with her behavior.

Annalia knew Aleix was in this house, and she planned to persuade Olivia to help them. Though Pascal had said he would kill any servant who helped them, surely he wouldn't hurt his own daughter if she were caught.