She couldn’t taste it. She was just too cold. But it felt good in her belly and it bolstered her flagging energy. As she ate, she watched with detached interest as snow was cleared in a wide arc around the fire. The tents were raised and snow was packed around the bases for extra stability against the stiff winds.

Extra wood was put on the fire until the flames soared skyward and the entire area glowed orange.

After she finished the cheese, she extended her fingers toward the fire, delighting in the intense heat that licked the tips.

Then Caelen was there, standing in front of her. He didn’t speak. He simply hauled her up into his arms and carried her to the tent closest to the fire.

On the floor was a mound of furs made into a very comfortable-looking bed. He placed her in the middle of them and then pulled her boots off, frowning as he inspected them.

“These are a waste of good leather. It’s a wonder you haven’t lost your toes to frostbite. There are more holes than boot left.”

She was too tired and cold to argue with him.

“Tomorrow we have to do something about these,” he muttered. “You can’t go about in the dead of winter with these miserable excuses for boots.”

Still muttering under his breath, he crawled onto the furs beside her and lined his body up with hers so that she was flush against him. He rolled her to her side and then pulled the furs tight around them.

“Put your feet between my legs,” he instructed.

She slipped her bare feet between his thighs and slid them down, moaning at the instant warmth. The man was like a fire himself.

She snuggled into his arms and pressed her face into his chest, sighing at how deliciously warm he felt. He smelled good, too. A mixture of wood, smoke, and his own natural scent. It was an intoxicating blend.

A groan of raw pleasure escaped her lips. He stiffened and then cursed softly under his breath. She frowned, unsure of what she’d done to gain his displeasure.

“Caelen? Is something amiss?”

“Nay, Rionna. Go to sleep. We’ll make McDonald keep by afternoon if we leave early.”

“My hands are still cold,” she said softly.

He reached between them, gathered her hands and then guided them underneath his tunic over his belly to the warm, hair-roughened wall of muscle.

She knew her hands to be like ice, but he didn’t so much as flinch as she pressed her palms into his flesh. The sensation was so … intimate. Cozy.

She sighed and rubbed her cheeks along his shoulder, her eyelids growing heavy the warmer she became.

The slight rasp of hair tickled her fingers and she tentatively moved one hand, enjoying the hard ridge of muscle in his chest. Her eyes widened when she felt the puckered line of a scar.