If this was how it felt to be caressed, how would it be when he entered her? The very thought made every touch that much more maddening.

The man was so intense, so focused on her. Yet she couldn’t get enough of him, wanting to learn so much. How the soft hairs of his nape lifted off his skin when she kissed the back of his ear. How he trembled as she stroked the soft skin of his inner elbow. The taste of his mouth, the scent of his body . . . it would take a lifetime.

One they didn’t have.

They’d worked themselves to a fever-pitch, clinging and kissing and reaching for each other until the need to breathe drove them apart. The blanket was at their waists; Bethral reached down to push it off. Ezren lay gasping, a faint sheen of sweat on his chest.

Bethral’s senses were swamped with their love play, but there was a silent part of her brain that kept watch. It listened to the birds in the alders and the rain dripping through the leaves. It kept track of her weapons, tucked next to her where she could get to them quickly. She was too well trained, too long a mercenary to let that portion of her mind drift off.

She knew the illusion for what it was; sooner or later they would have to stir from this shelter and set off again. But right now, she was in his arms and they had what was left of this day and this night.

Ezren sighed, and shifted so that he could open the tent flap. Cold air crept in, carrying the smell of the rain with it.

“Still raining,” he said, easing the edge back down.

“I love listening to it,” Bethral said, reaching for the blankets now that she was cooler. “Being warm and snug while it beats on the roof.”

Ezren pulled her close and kissed her. “Yes, but how will we know when the sun sets?”

Bethral used her free hand to guide his mouth to her breast. “You’ll think of something.”

“Cosana?” Bethral had a dagger in her hand. “What—”

“All’s well, Warlord,” Cosana said quickly. “I wanted to know if you want food. The ogdan roots are done, and . . . well . . .” She giggled nervously. “You’ve been in there most of the day.”

Bethral put her weapon away.

“We thought maybe you’d like the use of the pond to wash,” Cosana said brightly. “So we’re all set to give you some privacy. We’ll retreat into our tents, and leave your food warming by the fire. It’s going to rain on and off all night, at least that is what Arbon says.”

Ezren heard her shuffle her feet as she took a breath. “I was wondering if you ever thought of three-souls-sharing. Because I’d be will—”

“Cosana,” Bethral said, glaring right through the tent.

“I think it’s a custom of our people that you should consider trying.” Cosana kept talking. The poor girl sounded so sincere. Ezren started to laugh, but Bethral put her fingers over his mouth.

“Our thanks,” Bethral growled. “But no.”

“Oh,” there was silence for a moment. “Well, if you are sure.”

“We are sure,” Bethral responded. “Has the sun set yet?”

“Oh yes,” Cosana replied. “Arbon and I will take watch until it gets too dark to see. The rains will start up again, probably around full dark.”

“Good,” Bethral said.

“Are you really sure?” Cosana asked quickly. “About the sharing? Because I—”

“Yes,” Bethral growled. “Very sure.”

Cosana sighed ever so sadly. “Well, then, your food is by the fire.” She walked off quietly. After a moment Bethral took her hand from Ezren’s mouth.

“Even her footsteps sound crushed.” Ezren gave Bethral a grin. “How could you deprive her of a chance to teach us all the customs of the Plains?”

Bethral sat up, reaching for her tunic. “I don’t share the sharing, beloved.”

Ezren sat up. “Say that again.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes startled, then warming. “Beloved.”

He took the tunic from her hands. “It is after sunset, Angel.”

“We should eat.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes. “And bathe. Before the rains start again.”

Ezren caught his breath. She was so lovely, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, hiding her breasts. How in the name of the Lord of Light could she love . . .

Yet it was there, in her bright blue eyes and calm face. His heart started to beat faster as he reached for her and pulled her down to their bed.

She came willingly, she who could kill with a single blow, his Angel of the Light. Her mouth opened to his as she welcomed him into her arms.

No more waiting, no more teasing. One move, and he was over her, nudging her legs apart with his. She opened to him and he slid into her wet heat. He froze, breathing hard as she moaned. “Bethral?”

Her eyes opened, their blue depths clouded with a haze of pure desire. “Ezren, please . . .”

He kissed her, thrusting as she arched her back and moved under him. He fought back his own pleasure, trying to make the moment last forever, but he might as well try to hold back the sun. He’d just enough control left to make sure of Bethral’s pleasure before he claimed his own shuddering climax.

Ezren collapsed on top of her, and felt her arms around him, stroking his back as he drifted off.

When he woke, she was sleeping next to him. He reached out, pulling a strand of hair away from her face. She opened sleepy eyes and smiled.

“I had planned to go slower, beloved,” he whispered.

“Any slower, any more waiting, and I’d have died.” Bethral bit his earlobe. “There’s time yet before the rains.”

Much later, after they’d loved and slept, they ate and bathed in the rain. The water of the pond was cold on their fevered skin. They returned to their tent, and dried off as best they could under the dripping branches.

Once they climbed into their nest, the blankets warmed their chilled skin. Bethral bound up her wet hair in a long braid, and they lay together and listened to the rain.

Ezren took her hand, weaving their fingers together. “Marry me, Bethral,” he dared to ask. “Be my wife.”

Bethral sucked in a breath, stunned into silence. She reached out with a trembling hand and stroked his face, her face luminous with quiet joy. “Yes, Ezren Storyteller, I would be honored to be your wife.”

Laughing and crying, they kissed. “Would you wear my ring? I wish we were in Edenrich. I would buy you the loveliest ring. I would not care how much gold it cost.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bethral said, tears in her eyes. “I’m more than satisfied with what a copper can buy.”

She couldn’t see much, for it was barely dawn. Ezren was on his back, shifting restlessly under the blankets. Dreaming, perhaps. She shifted to face him, and reached out to stroke his face.

He was moving his head back and forth, as if arguing with someone. She whispered his name, and ran her fingers through his hair.

He settled then, with a sigh. She kept stroking him gently, easing him awake.

His voice was rough with sleep when he spoke. “Bethral?”

“Here,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Bad dreams?”

She felt him nod. “I need to go back,” he mumbled, and she knew he was only half awake.

“Go where, beloved?” she asked.

“There.” He lifted an arm and brushed her shoulder as he pointed. “Need to go that way. It is important. . . .”

Ezren went silent for a moment. Bethral put her head on his shoulder, and waited.

“Bethral?” His voice was clearer now.

“Ezren,” she answered. “You were dreaming.”

“There was some place I had to be,” he said. His voice was taut. “Some place important. Something I have to do.”

“You pointed toward the Heart of the Plains,” Bethral told him.

Ezren cursed in a language she didn’t recognize. “We need to keep moving, do we not?”

It wasn’t a question. His voice was flat and determined. She nodded against his shoulder. “I think so.”

“Bethral.” He shifted to face her. “There is no way to know—”

She kissed him, opening her mouth and inviting him in. He returned the kiss with passion, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close.

“There is still a while until dawn,” Bethral murmured against his mouth. “That is all that is certain.”

Ezren rolled over, pulling her on top. “Let us claim them for ourselves, then, Angel of Light.”

They loved long and slow, with a sweetness that brought them both joy and completion. Ezren yawned, and fell back into quiet slumber, but Bethral couldn’t close her eyes. She lay there, watching the first hint of sun creep into their safe little tent and illuminate Ezren’s face. Stolen moments of peace, watching her lover sleep. She let herself hope for a moment, for a future with him. Some land, a home, children, horses, and dogs. The boys would have his eyes, and the girls would have blonde hair. They’d have a big stone fire-place, and he’d sit and tell tales to his children by the fire in the winter months. Wild tales of their father and mother on the Plains, fleeing from the warrior-priests.

Bethral sighed then, and slowly started to ease into her tunic and trous, so as not to wake Ezren. The moment for hoping had passed.

Her armor could wait for later. Right now, she’d check the watches and start rousing the others. The sooner they were on their way, the better.

She was about to open the flap and step out when she heard a step outside the tent.

“Warlord?” Arbon’s voice was soft.

Bethral emerged, closing the flap behind her. “Report.”

“Trouble.” Arbon was calm, but his eyes were wide. “Riders.”