Her gaze landed on his mouth, at first by chance and then resting there too long to be accidental. Her own lips parted as she stared at his, and fire shot through his veins. It seemed to last forever, long enough for him to wonder if she did it intentionally – to hope against hope it was intentional – as his blood pounded and his mouth remembered the feel of hers, hot and pliant, delicious.

And then she blinked, ending it. She turned her face down to search through her bag, but could not hide the delicate pink that suffused her cheeks or the way her hands fumbled, unusually clumsy as she set out the food. The knowledge that it affected her sent lust coursing through him.

She must know what her look did to a man. What it did to him. He told himself it was just a moment. A strange moment where she remembered their kiss and perhaps did not entirely regret it. That was all, and he should be glad she blushed at the memory instead of gutting him.

The next day she paused in the afternoon to look in the direction of the main road. They kept it in sight but did not travel on it. By an unspoken agreement, they had again skirted villages and slept under the trees instead of finding an inn or guest house. It was safer for him, of course, to avoid as many people as possible, but he had expected her to prefer the company of other travelers.

But then he remembered how she had looked when she had asked why men always came at her, and he understood why she did not suggest joining a larger party. To travel alone was better for them both, even if it meant he would spend the nights listening to her sleeping breath, remembering her look, burning for her.

Now she led them further away from the road, decisive in her steps. They walked a narrow, barely visible path, wading through flax growing at the edge of a field until they reached a river. This must be the route Hal had suggested – they should follow the river north before striking west, to avoid a forest notorious for its outlaws. But Hal had directed them to find the river flowing through a village much farther down the main road.

This was undoubtedly the river he meant, and it baffled Gryff that she had so easily found it despite her disregard for the instruction given.

“How knew you the path was there, and that it leads to the river? Do you know this place?”

He had broken the silence without thinking, without first considering whether he should spend words on it. She seemed surprised at the question, but did not lift her eyes to his face.

“I may have known it, when I were a babe.” She shrugged, uncertain. “But nay, I do not recognize it.”