with gray hair and a basket of apples, one young with a white apron over a pink dress, and a man with a charming smile and thick golden-brown hair.
“Look. See. Act.”
“I—”
“Quickly.”
The snap in his voice jolted her, and maybe the jolt shook something loose, but she looked, saw, acted.
“Witch.” She hit the old woman with power. “Were.” Then took out the massive buck the man became with the sword before whirling into a kick that struck the young woman in the torso. “Faerie.”
“Good.”
He dissolved, then conjured, again and again. He seemed to have an endless supply.
“Good.” He dissolved the last trio. “Tomorrow one will move.”
Winded, dripping, she bent over to brace her hands on her knees. “Just one?”
“For now.”
She’d worry about that tomorrow. Besides, arguing with Keegan wasted breath she currently couldn’t spare.
“All right.”
She started to put the sword down, but he picked his up. “Now, I move.”
Soaked to the skin, she stared at him. “Wouldn’t you like some ale by the fire?”
“I would, and will have some. When we’re finished. Defend.”
She blocked. Mostly, she knew, because he didn’t come hard. Just as she knew that little courtesy wouldn’t last.
She tried to sneak in a power hit on the side, but he blocked her, then flicked her with a shock.
Since it would’ve been a mortal wound, she stepped back to acknowledge it.
“I’ve been fighting in this stupid rain for nearly an hour already,” she complained. “And you come in fresh.”
“So might an enemy.”
She fought. She’d never actually beaten him. Oh, she’d gotten some strikes in, when he wasn’t really trying, or like when they’d been on horseback and she’d taken him by surprise.
But for the most part, her goal with him was to stay alive and on her feet as long as possible.
It would be sweet, really sweet to take him down. With skill, with cunning, with power.
She started with cunning, feigning more fatigue than she felt. Gradually, he pulled back. Blocking weakly, breathing harder than she needed to, she searched for an opening.
She struck out with power and sword at once, and knew she’d rocked his balance. When she reared back for the killing blow, he punched back, but she blocked.
And was so thrilled, she spun too quickly, slid on the muddy ground. Cursing, she fell into him.
They both went down.
He gripped her so he hit first. Before she could think to be grateful he’d taken the worst of the fall, he rolled her over, and had his sword at her throat.
“Once again, you’re dead.”
“And wet, and muddy. I slipped.”
“Do you think battles only happen on bright days and dry ground?”
“I’ve never been in a battle. I didn’t used to have enemies.”
“Things change.” He removed his sword, but not his body. And took his sweet time considering her. “You pretended to flag so I’d hold back a bit.”
“It was working until I slipped.”
“You slipped because you didn’t remember your feet. But it was a good ploy.”
“I’m still dead. And wet and muddy.”
“You’re better than you were. You could hardly have gotten worse, but still better is better.”
“And somehow you think that’s a compliment.”
“Compliments are for ballrooms and trysts in moonslight. But one I can give you? You may not have the skill or mind of a warrior, but you have the body of one. You have strength and endurance. You had both when we began, and now you have more.”
And hair the rain had turned to long, wet, red ropes. Eyes gray as the broody sky and lips full as a joyful heart.
Beautiful. Not the breathtaking beauty of a Shana, but a more interesting one to his mind. A face, he thought, made to study and remember.
He studied her now, as she looked steadily back at him. Steady or not, heat rose into her cheeks—a redhead’s curse, flushing them like garden roses.
She felt him, he thought, and felt that shimmering heat as well. She wondered just as he did.
“Am I alive again?” she murmured.
“You appear to be.”
He started to lower his head, got a breath away from the taste of those full lips. And the shock ran along his ribs.
Now those full lips curved. “Now you’re dead, wet, and muddy.”
“Clever,” he muttered as frustration and admiration warred. “A woman should always use her wiles, as they’re a keener weapon than most blades.”
“You’d be the first to ever claim I had any to use.”
“You have them right enough.” He rolled off her, stood, then gripped her arm to haul her up. “The rain brings the dark early. We had some