was a mightier foe than that. "Was that not also something you wished to build?"
"Between us, Lady Frost," he whispered, "there can be only fire, the fire that burns body, bones, and even names into dust. What I bring to build the flame is the flame-bringer's art. Do not look too deep into that fire or you will lose yourself... in me."
She kneed her horse a step away from him and then laughed in pure delight. A worthy foe she was. All his fears for her vulnerability faded into mist. She needed no protection from him; she could well protect herself. The tight band of caution loosed itself from his chest, and he breathed freely for the first time since this unsought wager had been set.
"You are truly Ulrich of the Sweet Mouth. I have named you well," she said with a laugh.
"If you have named me Ulrich of the Sweet Mouth, you have indeed named me very well. Lady, you have the gift of prophecy. In God's time, I will prove it upon you."
"In God's time?" she said with a grin of soft joy. "I may have mistook you, my lord, for I would have wagered that all things done were to be done in Ulrich's time and not the Lord of Hosts'. You enchant me, my lord, with your modesty and your piety."
"That I enchant is enough. As to my piety, if you find it fits, you may rename me Ulrich the Pious. If the name comes from Juliane of the Flame."
"As to naming, let us leave that in God's good time," she said. 'This game has taken a quick turn, even for you, Lord Ulrich."
"I am well matched," he said, nodding his head in a courtly bow.
"And I would be well sought, my lord," she said, urging her mount, a splendid gray gelding that was no true lady's mount, into a canter and then a full gallop. Her groom, sensing her intent, was right behind her, the hawk on his fist, yet he found the means to look back at Ulrich and grin, shaking his head in mute commiseration.
Ulrich, knowing she expected him to dig in his heels and pursue her, sat his horse and watched her go. She flew straight over the meadow grass, the flowers of summer bowing to tease the earth with their nearness, yet holding themselves aloof. Aye, he understood her now. She wanted the joy of an ardent wooing, certain in her cold defense. She would not only be well sought, she would be well won, and it was to his lure that she would come, not he to hers.
* * *
He did not follow her lure. She had known he would not. The rules of this game they played were now well set, each having taken the full measure of the other. Well, mayhap not the full measure, but enough for her to know that this was a man who would play long and play well. He was well deserving of his reputation. He was a man to make a maid swoon for pleasure, but she had expected nothing less. Names were not built on empty air, but on the sound footing of experience and of knowledge.
Of experience and knowledge of women, Ulrich clearly had much.
That he was certain of success was also clear. Juliane smiled into the wind; let him be certain. 'Twas part of the charm of this game, this prideful certainty that men cloaked themselves in, the sweet charm they tossed to the women of their momentary choosing, certain of the humble gratitude and shy pleasure their attentions would bestir in female breasts and on feminine lips. So certain, so confident, so casually arrogant.
So destined to fail.
Aye, a most pleasing game was this to play upon a man's pride, and she knew it would be no less lovely with Ulrich of Caen. He was a man made to fall and fall far, from a very great height. It would be a great thing to behold.
"Does he watch?" she called back to Baldric, keeping her own eyes firmly forward upon the horizon.
"Aye, he watches most hard, though he smiles, lady. He said it true; you are well matched, I think," Baldric answered.
"I think so as well," she said, letting the wind carry her words to her following groom.
Well matched? Ulrich had the hard beauty of a man who finds his pleasure in women easily and often. He had the