It was not just her skill with the knife that was remarkable. She plucked the mallards as quickly as a kitchen maid. She packed the carcasses with grass and hung them from the saddle, then took a cake of soap from her bag and washed her hands in the river. Not even a feather clung to her when she was finished, and they were on their way once more with her leading the mule before him on the path.

He walked behind her, blinded by something as simple as her hair, and thought of her face looking up at the falcon’s flight. How the soft pink of her lips parted in that small smile, the way the wet linen clung to her legs. More images to keep him company when he closed his eyes.

Hair like spun gold floated in waves down her back. It mesmerized him. He reached out a hand to touch it, an impulse he seemed unable to control.

The contact was so slight that it seemed impossible she could feel it, yet she immediately halted. Her hair was like cool silk against his fingers, a miracle of softness in the midst of this harsh world. Because she did not move, did not pull away or protest, his hand gathered a sheaf of it and let it fall over his palm, his thumb brushing lightly over the strands.

She was perfectly still while he held the shining wave, tilting it this way and that to catch the light. Warmth rose from her body to touch the back of his hand, setting off a cascade of lustful thoughts. Her face turned toward her shoulder until she was in profile to him, and now the pulse in her neck was visible. He was sure he did not imagine it, though the sight of it beating so fast made him almost lightheaded.

Here was something he knew well, that he could recognize even without the heat of her skin or the evidence of her heartbeat. Curiosity. Hidden desire. The sudden and unmistakable tension in her body.

She was not indifferent to him. All these silent hours together, she had hidden this. It made his own pulse race. God save, that she might actually want him.

He let his fist fall gently to the place where her neck met her shoulder and watched her pulse leap, her shallow breaths quicken. The feel of her tender skin against his knuckles raised the lust in him so sharply that if she turned now he would fall on her, devour her, slide himself into her and take her here in the mud like an animal.

She must sense it, but still she did not move. She might almost be carved of marble.