I nodded my head slowly. “I learned that sitting still all morning is not a good idea—give me a hand, would you?”

She grinned and came over to pull me to my feet. I let her work at it a while before I stood, groaning as my joints protested.

“Getting old,” she pronounced with a shake of her head. “I could hear your back pop.”

I laughed, and it felt good. Kissing her felt better. When I pulled back, her eyes were dark and her breathing quick.

I bent back down until my forehead rested against her hair, warm from the sun, and sweet-smelling. When I stepped back, she stared at me fiercely, as a falcon measures its prey.

“I am older than you,” she said. “I am too tall, too strong, too used to having my own way. I am Oranstonian, born and bred to secretly despise Northlanders as much as we fear the Vorsag. I am scarred and plain. My nose is too big.”

I waited, but that seemed to be all she had to say. “My father tried to kill me off and on until he died—that makes a person old before his time. I am taller than you, stronger, and used to getting my own way. But the trees are taller yet, and in strengths that surpass that of thew and bone, we are well-matched, I think. I’m Shavig born and bred, which makes me arrogant enough to laugh when Oranstonians try to make fun of my big horses and yellow hair. I’ll match you scar for scar with some left over.” I hesitated for effect, fighting to hide my exultant feelings because if I laughed I wouldn’t get said the things I needed to. “So, let’s see”—I ran a finger lightly over her lips—“that leaves only your last two complaints. Tisala, don’t you know that there is such beauty in you that leaves men trembling? It is not the beauty of a flower in the king’s gardens, but that of a tigress with sharp fangs and—”

She laughed suddenly. “Whiskers?”

I smiled. “If your nose were any smaller, it would be too small.” Then I kissed her sharp, arrogant nose. “Will you marry me?”

I pulled away to look into her eyes, but she kept them closed.

She shook her head slowly. “No. You rescue people, Ward.” She opened her eyes hoping, I think, to convince me of her earnestness. “You rescued me. It’s natural for us to feel this connection—but it’s not real. One day you’ll look up and see me, and wonder where the woman who needed your protection went. Men don’t marry women like me, Ward.”