It had been a dubious affair, the light stain on the bed forewarning. How many had gone before? How many had he called his amour? She had known. The little voice had told her all the gory details. Protector of mind, body, heart, it spoke the truth even when she chose not to hear. Nor had she paid any heed to the claw marks grooved by time along the oaken bedposts. Not when his eyes roamed and ravished. Or when he claimed what she freely gave. Right up until the end, she would have sworn the pain enhanced the pleasure.