Instead of calling her name, he walked behind her a few steps, admiring her graceful stride. Of late there was something new in how she moved, a sway in her hips that mesmerized him. Beneath the gown she wore, her body was as strong as ever it was, but every night he felt it grow softer, more lush. All her hard angles were fading away, leaving rounded edges and smooth curves.

Sensing him behind her, she turned. She cradled a stone flask against her chest, a distracted look on her face.

“My lord?” Her eyes met his, and he saw shadows there.

“Walk with me, lady.” He took her arm and steered her toward the kitchen garden. It was quiet there, and empty, with an overgrown shrub that might hide them from curious eyes.

As they walked, she spoke idly of her medicine garden. She listed the names of plants she had found growing and those she wished to cultivate. He understood none of it, but nodded attentively and warmed to hear her speak with such a proprietary air. Though she attended to all her duties equally, he knew this was the only one that brought her joy. Nothing else so animated her, or brought the light of enthusiasm to her face. Except the sword, he thought, and felt the knot in his chest tighten.

They had reached the garden. He kept walking until they were in a secluded corner. She looked at him, long heavy lashes framing faintly curious gray eyes. He would have liked nothing more than to look at her face in full light like this, until night fell, to study the stern and unlovely features married to the sweep of lashes, the full curve of her mouth. It was contradictory and confusing, but no longer uncomely. All day would he stand here, if he could, and drink in the sight of her.

She waited patiently, her hands wrapped around the stone flask.

“It must be a tonic made from gold, or an infusion of rubies,” he remarked.

As expected, her brows drew down in confusion. Here, where no one would see but her, he allowed his amusement to show. Ever was she serious, straightforward, disinclined to humor. He reached out and touched the flask where it rested between her breasts, and stepped closer.

He felt her respond to his nearness, how her body rose to his, like a wave from the sea. Already her breath came more quickly, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts obscuring his original intent in bringing her here. He had meant to speak to her about some unimportant detail. It was something about men, and swordplay. But it seemed impossible that she would know such things, that she had ever been anything but this soft and willing creature.

She pushed the flask into his hands suddenly, lowering her eyes and taking a step back. He was left holding the thing, heavier than he had thought it might be.