warmth.
Memory, swift and involuntary: a dark night, a pale face out of which two eyes stared like living cinder, a vow. It was nostalgia, but he held it fast, and it sang to him of elvish dreams and memories. It took him back so vividly.
He’d had a dream of changing the world in his golden youth, when such things were possible…
And he’d gone all the way to the Holy Land.
But that was not far enough for his troubles, not far enough for safety from falsehood and deceit, his foster father’s scheming, his own damnable stupidity—
He shook his head, and laughed angrily, giddily, to himself. He tucked the amulet into his weapon belt and stood in front of the slitted window, shivering in the wind that blew in out of the dark, in the hope that the damp air would clear his wits.
Brenna hurried along the corridor ahead of the servants, and wondered why she had left Aubrey so suddenly. Why was she so beset by doubts? Surely there was no harm in kissing her betrothed on the very eve of their marriage? She thought of the ceremony to take place on the Sabbath, and of how this storm would not be viewed as a particularly good omen…
There was an air of chill in the chamber as she entered, despite the cheerful fire burning on the hearth. His bulky shape was outlined by lightning from without and the contours of him shone where they caught the light.
She stood, stone-still. The light burnished his hair and accentuated the planes of his handsome face, transforming it for her into something splendid, something awesome. The perfect tapestry of one half of his face was a splendid foil to the tracery of livid white scars on the other cheek. The contrast was absolute.
It was not the face of a scholar or a seer; it was the battle-hardened face of a warrior, a man who had faced death and would not allow its dark promise to control him.
The face was dauntless—but the eyes were striking. Shielded by thick sable lashes, they were his best feature, eagle-keen and very clear. She’d liked their singular silvery color, so translucent they took color from lake or moss or stone.
The light shone, too, on the rest of him, bathing him in a nimbus of flame and making his bared skin gleam ruddy. He had removed his outer garments, and was wearing only his linen loincloth. She found it impossible not to stare, transfixed, listening to the wild beating of her heart.
He appeared incredibly beautiful, his shoulders wide, the skin of his chest stretched taut across his squared muscles. His abdomen was flat and without superfluous flesh. In the pulsing light, his massive torso looked as though it had bathed in iron dust. Even the down on his chest had a peculiar metal sheen. But his whole body was a map of injuries and hurts, old and new, and his arms were laced with myriad scars that served further proof he kept his livelihood by the sword. This was not, she thought, a man to cross.
The thunder grew louder. A gust of wind sent the lamps and candles flickering. It also restored her senses.
“You’ll catch the death of cold with that damp wind!”
She went to the doorway and clapped her hands. A clutch of servants came in bearing a huge wooden tub, which they set in a corner behind a screen, away from the draught, and filled with successive pails of steaming water. Others appeared, carrying towels and fresh clothing, which they placed on a low table that stood close to the tub.
Leon went and stood by the fireside, warming the shivers and the aches of travel from his bones as he waited for the servants to finish their business and leave. With eyes that burned from exhaustion, he watched them all gather by the tub, and Brenna told them she would help him with his bath. She breezed past them to his side.
“If you’ll just allow me—”
“Desist, woman!” Servants scattered. He barely noticed. “Stop that at once!” He brushed in vain at her helpful hands.
“What is wrong?”
A gasp sounded behind. Brenna clapped her hands, stifled the servants somewhat, and shooed them out.
“I’ll not have a husband who scares the maids witless with all that grumpiness. Now if you’ll be so kind—” She flung up her hands.
That brought him to a halt. His ears were going. Had he heard that? “Husband?”
She turned back and stood very close to him, but this time standing rigid, with her arms folded under her breasts. Fine tremors moved the tendrils of her hair, as if a qualm of fear shook her courage. “That is what I said.” Her face was calm and as still as a brushed porcelain mask. Bland as if it were a foregone conclusion. As if none of it were uncertain.
“What brought that to mind?”
“You are always answering a question with another question!”
“Just a peculiar topic to bring up now,” he said.
“Not at all. With all the political talk going on, ’tis natural to be thinking of the future, but we can discuss it later.”
“You’re crazy!”
“My father’s word was reckless.”
“Perhaps he was sparing in his praise.”
She spoiled the exquisite mask by squinting through a dark waterfall of hair at him. “You are merely evil-tempered because you cannot bear the fact that you, my stalwart rescuer, have mislaid your armor.” Her voice sparkled with hints of laughter.
“You carry on like a raucous crow.”
Brenna flushed, but her eyes were steady. “And you have a temper like soured wine.” A firm hand planted itself on his chest. “You will get a fever if you stand there naked much longer.”
Leon stiffened, but her hand did not move. Her eyes touched his chest, his flat stomach and hips and his…
He glanced down. His eyes grew very wide and still. His heart jumped and started hammering. While he’d glowered at her, she had industriously peeled off the linen undergarment.
Brenna standing there dressed and he—
He felt his groin grow heavy as thick blood pooled in his lower belly. His reaction must be blindingly obvious, he thought. A cold feeling spread all down his back into his legs. If a seasoned warrior reacted in this way, pity help her poor silly young suitors. His teeth gritted. His lips peeled back from his teeth.
“You need not stay.”
“Do you want the maids to see you like this?” Her tone was blank, void of cues, but her breast rose with each breath and the way she avoided looking at him, as if her interest in him were all his fault, was highly amusing. She gestured to the water invitingly.
Leon bit back a retort. It would do no good. He could think of nothing to say that would not make matters worse. His body betrayed him. Surrender, for now, was the only strategy.
Still frowning, he climbed in, yielding to the temptation of a hot bath in a tub that was big enough to hold a man of his great stature. The water was so hot his toes tingled. Gingerly, he sat, glad of the debilitating heat of the water. He let go a long breath and looked up from under his brows.
“Well,
