He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she’d just asked him to count every leaf on every tree in the Old Place.

“Because…you’re you.”

Breanna blew out a breath. What was she supposed to say to that?

“Breanna?”

She patted the bench. “Sit down, Falco.”

He sat. Perched was a better word, since he looked like he was going to jump up again at any moment.

“When I was nineteen,” Breanna said, “I visited my kin in the Mother’s Hills during the celebration of the Summer Moon. A full moon, wine, lots of laughter and dancing. There was a young man there, older than me by a few years, who was staying with friends. We danced and talked and laughed…and when he asked me to go walking with him, I went. It was romantic and exciting, and he was experienced enough with women that I didn’t regret him being my first lover. But in the morning…Well, he didn’t seem quite so wonderful without the moonlight and the wine. I decided after that visit that I needed to like a man in the daylight before I gave in to the lure of moonlight.”

“I see,” Falco said thoughtfully. “Do you like me?”

“Yes, I like you,” Breanna replied. “I like you very much. But I don’t know you well enough yet to invite you to my bed.”

Falco nodded. “What about kisses?”

He was persistent. “Kisses?”

“Do you like kisses?”

“Well…I…Yes.”

Something about the way his gaze focused on her mouth before he raised his eyes to look into hers made her palms go suddenly damp. Watching her, he leaned forward slowly.

Just before his lips touched hers, she felt a prickle along her neck. She pulled back, turned her head.

Liam was leaning against the washhouse doorway, watching her.

Clay had his arms over the back of a gelding. He had a grooming brush in one hand, but he wasn’t making any pretense of grooming the horse.

Looking around to see what had distracted her, Falco cleared his throat and eased back.

“Ah…” Breanna wasn’t sure what to do. Go back in the house? Pretend nothing happened? Pick up her quiver of arrows, march over to the washhouse, and smack Liam over the head with it?

Quiver. Arrows. The bow leaning against the bench where Falco had set it after her confrontation with the Lightbringer.

“Target practice,” she said, bouncing to her feet.

“What?” Falco blinked.

“You were supposed to help me with target practice.” She brushed past him, picked up the quiver and bow. “Come along.”

“You want target practice now?”

“The bales of hay are stacked as tall as I am,” Breanna said patiently.

“So?” His puzzled expression turned to understanding. “Oh.” He took the quiver from her and smiled.