“That’s not what I asked,” she observed. She gripped the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it over her head. I still might have resisted, but the hands that still held her shirt while she sat half naked before me were white-knuckled and shaking.

I closed the distance between us and pulled her head against my shoulder. “Before we begin,” I said into the pale softness of her ear, “I need to know if you’ve done this before.” I remembered the bruises the king’s torturer had left on her thighs and hoped she’d had a dozen lovers before him.

She nodded against me and whispered, “Once, and I swore I’d not do it again. I never thought it worth repeating until now.”

She obviously didn’t know I was aware of that rape. Her wry tone was meant to kept me from feeling sorry for her, and gloss over the incident. I understood the impulse. I ran a hand over her bare back and up under her hair, feeling her tremble as my fingers closed on the back of her neck.

“Ah,” I said. “The main thing to remember is that making love is at once the silliest and the most sacred act humans can perform. There is no wrong between us, Tisala, only things that feel good and things that don’t. If you like something or if you don’t, you have to tell me. Please, it’s very important for you to tell me, especially if something hurts.”

“All right,” she said tightly.

I left her and arranged our blankets as best I could. Nerves had robbed me of much of my passion. I wished I had something better than a bed of coarse blankets over marshy soil.

The first time was full of shy caresses and urgent needs. It was somewhat painful for her still, I thought, though she didn’t tell me except with a few involuntary twitches of muscle in her face. The second time was better.

I held Tisala while she slept, and listened to Oreg take watch from Garranon. I’d called for three watches with two sentries a watch, but no one tried to wake either of us. I closed my eyes and savored her warmth against me.

TISALALISTENED TO HIS QUIET BREATHING AND HELDvery still so she wouldn’t wake him.

He thought her a warrior, brave and . . . She wondered if he knew just how frightened she had been. He hadn’t said anything, but his hands had been very careful as he replaced the nightmarish memories with his caress.

It amazed her how different the sensations of the same touches performed by different men were, what a delicate touch his big hands had, causing pleasure rather than violation.

One of those hands tightened about her and shifted her closer. It might have been a more comfortable position for her sleeping lover, but now her neck bent at an awkward angle.