She groped for the eating knife hanging from her girdle. Her hand was so cold she could barely grasp the hilt, and her stiff fingers had trouble removing it from its cord. It would not help much, but she felt better just holding it.

Battling a fear that wanted to become madness, she strained her ears to hear the animals’ movements. Nothing but silence assaulted her, but they were there. She sensed them watching and pacing and deciding what she was. She would have sold her soul for a torch and a sword.

She sensed the wolves move closer, and let the profanities out with force again so they would know she was not helpless. Maybe these beasts would understand that she intended to die fighting and furious, and conclude she wasn’t worth the trouble.

She felt one very near. Rising to her knees, she shouted and jabbed the air around her with the knife. A feral scent wafted to her, then moved away.

Suddenly she could see them. Four dark, long forms flew across the pale light of the snow. They streaked away from her, getting swallowed by the night.

She soon understood their retreat. A horse galloped toward her. Her heart rose in relief at the muffled beat of its hooves and she called out to the rider. The sound was barely out of her lips when he was upon her.

It was Marcus, and he had her traitorous mount in tow.

He just sat there a while, looking down at where she knelt in the snow.

“Swearing profanities right before you are eaten by wolves is not wise, Nesta,” he finally said. “Praying for eternal salvation would make more sense.”

“I have not been in a prayerful mood of late.”

He dismounted and came over to her. “Just as well. If it had been prayers I heard echoing through this valley, I might not have known it was you.” Hands on hips, he struck a lordly, severe pose. “Separating from the others and riding alone was dangerous and stupid.”

“I had expected to reach a village in the north valley by now.”

“It seems you did not.”

“Aye. Now, please help me up.”

“Not yet. You have given me nothing but trouble for weeks, and I find that I like seeing you thus. Kneeling.”

She was so relieved and exhausted that she wanted to weep. She had no strength for a battle of wills now. “I am kneeling because I hurt myself when the horse threw me,” she said miserably. “I am very weak and I am cold. I know that you are angry with me, but if you could just help me now, I promise to kneel another time so that you can take pleasure in humbling me at your leisure.”

He quickly reached for her and lifted her up. “Where are you hurt?”

She balanced on her good leg while she held his shoulder. “My ankle.”