Poll knew how she felt. They had all struggled so hard. Yet this woman had done what they could not, for all their years of trying.

Attie twisted the end of her braid. "You do love that Gemma person, don't you, Lysander?"

Lysander fixed Poll with his gaze and Poll saw a black and bottomless ache there. "Absolutely and entirely," Lysander said calmly.

Attie bit her lip. "But — "

"She did not find me worthy, Attie," Lysander told her. "And she was quite correct not to."

Listen, Gemma had said. When Attie straightened, ready to deny Lysander's statement, Poll put a hand on her thin arm. "Just listen," he murmured.

They listened, waiting for Lysander to break his six-year silence, to finally speak of what had happened in the war. The interior of the carriage fell quiet, with only the squeaking and rattling of the wheels penetrating the pregnant hush.

Which was how they were all able to hear the wildly galloping hoof beats on the road behind them.

As one, they all leaned toward the nearest carriage window and thrust their heads out to see what was coming up behind them. There appeared to be a rolling storm of dust coming toward them.

What the hell?

Then from the obscuring dust emerged a severely ugly pony pulling a cart. The pony was catching up fast, his short legs blurring with his speed.

Now they could see the apparition holding the reins of the odd pony. A woman in a dull gray dress, practically standing upright in the cart, her hair a brunette banner flying behind her like Boadicea riding to war.

At that moment, Poll looked back at Lysander. The naked longing and hope Poll saw on his brother's features sent a tremor of certainty through Poll. Oh, that's what love looks like. I see now.

Lysander never made a sound. He simply stepped through the carriage door and swung athletically down, leaving the conveyance while it still traveled at a good clip. He landed with both booted feet firmly on the ground.

GEMMA PULLED BAD PONY to a halt just behind the second carriage, which was just fine with Bad Pony, for his dear friend Icarus was snugly tied there. Gemma became abruptly aware of how ridiculous she must look. Goodness, her hair had lost all its pins!

And then Lysander appeared, his dark coat having blended with the black enameled exterior of the luxurious carriage, making him invisible until he stepped forward. Gemma forgot her hair, she forgot her nerves, she only knew the open depths of his dark-eyed gaze.

It had been just a few hours since she'd seen him, yet she was struck anew by the beauty of him. His tall, lean form vibrated with strength and virility. He strode toward her, his black gaze never leaving hers.