But she knew better. “I am well,” she whispered, still shivering, though her teeth were no longer clacking so violently.

  His expression was lost to the shadows and his eyes were but a gleam in the night. Yet she thought his gaze must hold that deceptive tenderness as he reached for a pale cloth that had been draped over his saddle. It unfurled into a tunic—no doubt discarded before he’d approached the ogres, since the white linen would have exposed him, whereas his darker skin and leather breeches would not.

  “Hold still.”

  So that he could pull the tunic over her head. Brom’s scent suddenly surrounded her and she breathed in the strong odor of sweat and horse, with tears starting to her eyes—for that was the wondrous scent of her rescue, of the hours Brom had ridden in pursuit.

  Her throat aching with the gratitude that no words could ever fully express, Flora maneuvered her sore arms into the sleeves. Barely had her fingers poked through when Brom pressed a waterskin and a strip of dried venison into her hands.

  “Eat,” he commanded quietly. “And stay here. I need my axe and sword.”

  In case any more ogres came upon them. Flora nodded, not wishing to be left behind while he retrieved his weapons from the clearing but understanding there was little choice. As she waited for his return, she drank her fill of the water and devoured the salty venison in four ravenous bites.

  Just like the ogres meant to do to me, was the thought that came unbidden and she choked quietly on the near-hysterical laughter that the day’s horror had rattled free from the depths.

  Her breath was still hitching when Brom returned. She could almost see his frown through the dark, felt his utter stillness when he cupped her jaw in both hands and discovered the tears that had wet her cheeks.

  “Flora?” he asked, his voice oddly hoarse. “What made you cry?”

  “I am well,” she answered shakily. “It has simply been…a very long day.”

  “So it has been.” His thumbs stroked away her tears. “And not over yet. We must ride.”

  Flora nodded into his palms. She knew they must away—yet still Brom surprised her when he lifted her astride his stallion.

  Immediately she protested. “My horse—”

  “Is spent.”

  That was true. The ogres had set a brutal pace from the hunting grounds to the borderlands, and her poor gelding stood with his head drooping and exhaustion apparent in every line of his body. He might be able to walk, but it would be a cruelty to ride him.

  Yet Brom’s mount had come the same distance just as quickly. “And your stallion is not spent?”

  “Hardly.” Brom moved to the gelding and stripped off his saddle, discarding it on the ground before gathering up the reins to use as a lead. “He was raised on the steppes of the Dead Lands.”

  The same harsh and unyielding wasteland that had once been home to the Stoneheart clan—a wasteland that had produced warriors as strong and as tireless as his stallion.

  Warriors who were truly stonehearted.

  Familiar agony wrenched open her chest as Brom swung up into the saddle behind her. His arm circled her waist and pulled her back snugly against his solid torso before nudging the stallion into a walk. Another dream fulfilled. Oh, but her dreams were so foolish.

  She’d known they were foolish. He’d all but told her they were. Because she’d asked him. A few weeks past, they’d been out on a hunt and she’d teasingly asked whether the people of the Stoneheart clan truly had hearts of stone.

  Brom had replied, quite seriously, that they did.

  But she’d laughed, convinced by his tender looks that his heart could not be so very hard, and said that his stone heart must then be made of the soft, white rock that formed the Chalk Hills.

  That suggestion had clearly amused him—then he’d assured her that his heart was made of granite.

  Flora hadn’t understood then that Brom hadn’t been joking. Yet he had warned her. So all this pain and misery was her own fault, and she had only herself and her own silly dreams to blame.

  But she couldn’t bear to dwell on it. Not with him so close. Desperately she tried to think of something, anything else.

  At least speaking of the Dead Lands and the Stoneheart clan gave her somewhere to start. “Your warriors aren’t with you?”

  “I am likely an hour or two ahead of them. We’ll make camp for the night when they catch up to us.”

  When there would be safety in numbers. Of course, that was also why she’d traveled with a half-dozen guards.

  She swallowed past the ache in her throat. “How did you learn I’d been taken?”

  “I rode out this morning to join your hunt.”

  Oh gods. “And you came across—”

  A slaughter.

  “Yes.” His arm tightened around her and his voice took on that thick and ragged edge again. “I lost a short time searching for you before I realized none of the remains were yours. I sent word to my warriors and to Vash and began following the trail.”

  And he must have set a pace as brutal as the ogres had. “Thank you,” she whispered unsteadily, clutching the steely forearm locked across her middle. “Even ten minutes later and…”

  He’d have found her haunch, instead. And her head. And her ring.

  But no need to say that. They both knew what the outcome would have been if Brom hadn’t arrived when he did. For a long moment, the nighttime noise of the forest and the steady clop of hooves seemed to press down heavily around them.

  Then Brom drew in a harsh breath and cut through the oppressive quiet. “Yesterday, it seemed that little could be worse than your avoidance of me. But coming across your hunting party was worse. Knowing the ogres had you was worse.”

  Flora knew not what to say. She only knew that the flicker of hope that rose in her breast was a fool’s hope and desperately tried to quash it. Just because he’d wanted her company did not mean he wanted her.

  He’d said it himself. Never could he accept her. Never.

  “Why have you not looked at me these past days?” Frustration burned through each word. “What have I done?”

  He’d refused her hand. But never could she explain how devastating his rejection had been. Not without exposing her shattered heart…and she had a little bit of pride left. So she could only shake her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened.

  “Or was it your uncle? Did he command you away from me?” His voice hardened. Another shiver raced over her skin when she felt his hot breath against her cheek, but her trembling became icy stillness as he lowered his mouth to her ear and said with quiet viciousness, “He will marry you off—sell you off—to the magic-wielders.”

  In the corrupt kingdom south of Innis. And her uncle very likely would sell her off as a bride. If not to that kingdom, then another realm that he wished to make an alliance with. Flora hadn’t been useful to him in securing the Stoneheart clan, so he would make use of her with the next.

  Her chest felt hollow. “It is my duty.”

  “Your duty?” Brom spat the words back as if they tasted foul upon his tongue.

  “He took me in after my parents succumbed to the blue fever, kept me safe and secure,” she recited dully. “It is what I owe to him and to our people, to keep them safe and secure in return.”

  “This is what he has told you?”

  “For most of my life.” And Flora could not argue with it. She did owe him. After her cousin Vash, she was next in line to the royal throne, so her uncle could have sent her away or killed her, as many kings did their potential rivals. Instead he’d taken her in.

  “And what of his duty?”

  “His?” she echoed in confusion.

  “To see you happy. Or at least to keep his promise of making you safe and secure. Or does that promise only last until he marries you off? For the price of feeding and clothing a child, he would take possession of the remainder of your life and trade you to another kingdom when it suits him.” A low growl reverberated through his chest. “You are worth so much more than that.”

  Burning tears threatened to fall. Desperately she held them back. “To be fair to my uncle, the price of my clothing is quite expensive.”

  She attempted to say it lightly, yet her breath still hitched and her voice still broke. Perhaps Brom recognized that she jested in order to deflect the overwhelming impact of his words, because he merely eased back, and his only response was to briefly tighten the embrace of his arm around her waist.

  You are worth so much more than that.

  Her eyes squeezed shut. Never would she be worth more than that to her uncle. So he would soon try to marry her off again.

  And yet… What if she refused to marry at her uncle’s—the king’s—command?

  With that rebellious thought, a strange little hope flared to life inside her. Because she probably could refuse. After all, her uncle had not taken her in out of the kindness of his heart—he’d taken her in due to the kindness of her parents’ hearts. Generous and merciful, they’d been beloved by everyone within the kingdom and their deaths were deeply mourned. So removing Flora from the royal line would have risked the wrath and hatred of the people under her uncle’s rule.

  And Flora had continued her parents’ traditions as best she could. As a member of the royal family, she was one of the few who could hunt wild game without being arrested for poaching. But the meat she hunted never ended up on the king’s table—instead she brought it each day to villages and families in need. For that, she was as beloved as her parents had been, and so her uncle might not risk angering the kingdom by marrying her off against her will or severely punishing Flora for her disobedience if she refused.

  Though if it came to that, she might simply…leave. Go somewhere else, where she could live as quietly and as happily as she could. Which might not be very happy at first. Not until her broken heart healed. But surely one day, it would.

  Perhaps such a life was not all she’d dreamed, but it gave her much more hope than she’d had only an hour ago, when she’d seemed destined to be the ogres’ feast. And it gave her more hope than she’d had even ten minutes ago, when the future that lay ahead seemed so loveless and bleak, married off for her uncle’s ambitions.

  By questioning what her duty truly ought to be, Brom had opened Flora’s eyes to a better future than she might have had—even if he hadn’t wanted the future she’d once dreamed of sharing with him.

  Never would she hope for that future again.

  But the present was an unexpected gift to be treasured. In all the time they’d spent together, Flora had never been as close to Brom as she was now. With her back flush against his front and her legs dangling the length of his, her body was ensconced in his solid strength and penetrating warmth. The steady rhythm of the stallion’s stride kept them rocking together in slow, constant motion—and never had Flora been so aware of anything as she was each brush of his hair-roughened skin against hers, of his heated breaths lifting delicate strands from her tangled mane and feathering them across her cheek, of the enormous span of his left hand at her side and how his widespread fingers held her from hip to ribs, with his thumb nestled under the soft curve of her breast. Each moment seemed faceted by emotion and sparkling with sensation, as if every second was a flawless jewel that one day she might take out from the velvet box of her memory and examine. After only a short time in his arms, she was already wealthy beyond measure.

  Then Brom shattered her peace when he quietly asked, “Did your uncle order you away from me?”

  Flora closed her eyes, her throat tightening. She hadn’t answered this question before. Instead she’d spoken of duty. But he’d apparently not forgotten that she’d never explained why she’d avoided him.

  Mutely, she shook her head—praying he would not ask for a reason.

  But he did. “Why stay away, then?” And when she could only shake her head again, he asked gruffly, “Are we not friends?”

  Only friends. Oh gods, that should not hurt so much. Being friends ought to be enough—and Flora knew she was a poor friend, because she wanted too much.

  But she would take whatever Brom wanted to give, and she would never ask for more.

  “Yes,” she said with a painful rasp in her throat. “We are friends.”

  A harsh exhalation gusted past her cheek. Brom’s rigid form sagged a little behind her, as if that heavy breath had released some undefined tension within him. Yet nothing about him softened; instead he pulled her even closer and buried his face in her hair for another long breath before a gentle nudge guided her upper body slightly to the side, as if he wished for her to pillow her head on his shoulder.

  That she would do, and cherish every precious moment. With a sigh, Flora melted back against him.

  Yet apparently Brom did not mean for her to sleep. “Take the reins,” he ordered with such guttural urgency that Flora didn’t hesitate to comply. “I will wait no longer for the next winding.”

  The next what? But the question died in her throat when his right hand gripped the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at her nape and tilting her head at an angle that allowed his mouth to hover just above hers.

  Surprise parted her lips on a gasp that drew in his humid breath, her heart desperately crying for him to cross the scant distance that remained.

  “Flora?” Her name had never been spoken before in such deep tones that a delicious rumble echoed through her flesh. “I can begin?”

  She knew not what Brom meant to start—but little did it matter. Her pulse thundering, she uttered a breathless, “You can. Please.”

  The rough sound Brom made as his mouth claimed hers was yet another treasure for her velvet memory box, though not be a jewel that sparkled and gleamed. If a gemstone, that ravenous groan was uncut and unpolished, as if freshly carved out of the raw heart of a mountain. Her answering whimper from low in her throat was a trapped explosion of relief and joy. He did not kiss her as if this was their first, soft and searching. Instead Brom kissed her as if he’d been waiting these two months for a taste of her lips, and could not stop himself from devouring her in deep, hungry licks.

  Slowly, his hand rose from her side to cup her breast in his palm, his thumb sweeping over the sensitive tip. A quake of pleasure raced through her body. At her shiver, Brom lifted his head. In the dark, his eyes were hooded shadows, his voice thick and full.

  “I can touch you like this?”

  “You can do,” she panted, “anything you wish.”

  His quiet growl of approval was yet another memory to tuck away. And his wish must have been to kiss her more lightly, more teasingly—or he did so merely because he wished to better gauge the effect of his touch. A flick of his tongue, a toe-curling pinch. Gentle suction upon her upper lip, the rasp of calluses over softer skin. Her senses reeled under the dual onslaught of his mouth and his fingers, as his right hand held her still for his kisses and his left ignited a raging fire within her flesh.

  A shudder wracked her from deep inside as his big hand smoothed downward over her belly.

  Brom paused, his ragged breaths hot and harsh against her lips. “Yes?”

  Her only response was to kiss him hungrily, desperately—then go utterly still as his fingers delved under linen and found her drenched in her need for him.

  A groan ripped from his throat, reverberating through their kiss. “Such a wet cunt,” he gritted out as if tortured by such unmistakeable evidence of her lust, then his fingers began to circle over her clitoris, and Flora was lost—lost to everything but the lush ecstasy that bloomed brighter with every stroke of his fingertips, everything but Brom’s voice urging her higher as her back began to slowly arch, as if bracing against the explosion to come.

  And when it did, he claimed her mouth so hungrily again, devouring her scream as she writhed and shook in his arms. Gradually his kisses gentled, leaving her with lips swollen and body limp.

  His mouth trailed along her jaw. “I have dreamed of doing that since the first moment I saw you.”

  Another sweet memory to tuck away. Perhaps one that would hurt more later, when she examined how he wanted her yet didn’t want her enough…but for now exhaustion combined with satisfaction and allowed her no more than a humming agreement in response.

  A sigh moved through her when he withdrew his hand from between her thighs—and she drew in a sharper breath when he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick the wetness away. He made a deep and rumbling sound of pleasure, then met her widened eyes.

  “I will taste you more fully, if you’ll let me. When we make camp.”

  Her heart leapt. She wanted that. She’d dreamed of that. And perhaps they had been foolish dreams…but she could not pass up the opportunity for more time with him, to make more precious memories. No matter how much more it would hurt later.

  Jerkily she nodded. Then managed to say, “So I’m going to be eaten up tonight, after all.”

  A breath hissed through his teeth. “Never will I be able to jest about that. Not when I came so near to losing—”

  He broke off, clutching her tighter to his chest, his face buried in her hair. Flora bit her lip, wondering if she should take her words back when she felt the tell-tale shaking of his chest and the silent huffs of laughter against her ear.

  “You destroy me so easily, Flora,” he finally said, then pressed a kiss to her temple before wrapping his arm around her waist and taking the reins. “Rest now.”

  Smiling, she eased back against him and pillowed her head against his shoulder. She would rest, but wouldn’t sleep. Not for anything would she miss of a moment of this night—the only night she would have before they reached home. Only one night to gather up as many memories as she could hold.

  Then she would let him go.

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