A Warrior s Desire - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,64

of the columns, standing tall and proud, her pale hair threaded with ribbons and plaited down her back, her royal emerald gown in perfect repair.

As she lifted her face into the light of the nearest crystal, Tarrys got a clear look at her.

Princess Ilaria.

And she was no prisoner.

Not dressed and groomed to such perfection.

Not when she stood conveniently tied at the edge of the clearing, the very edge the Esri expected Charlie to walk through.

Clearly, the Esri had no respect for the intelligence of humans or they'd never have set such an obvious trap.

She counted sixteen Esri guards, when she'd expected twenty.

That was good.

With enough arrows, she could pick off the sixteen, freeing Charlie to rescue...or capture... Princess Ilaria.

Hope lifted on a rush of excitement.

They were going to succeed.

In the next few hours, she'd make the arrows she needed.

Then with her fire arrows and Charlie's death chant, they'd destroy the Esri guards and steal Ilaria.

They were going to make it.

But as she turned to retrace her steps, a flash of white detached itself from the shadows and lunged for her.

An Esri.

Tarrys dove right to avoid his reaching hands, but he caught her quiver, tearing it from her back.

His other hand caught her hair.

Fury roared through her, a fury as much for her race as for herself, for destruction and degradation and cruelty beyond conscience.

Ripping the bow from her shoulder she shoved it up and back, hard into the Esri's face.

Her attacker roared with pain, releasing her hair.

But when she leaped free, he snatched the bow from her hands.

For an instant, she faced him, debating trying to retrieve her precious bow.

But he lunged at her and she spun and ran.

The Esri's footsteps followed behind her, pounding at half the speed of her heart, until ending abruptly on a shout of fear.

She didn't look back, knowing the forest had risen to her defense, attacking him with a nightmare.

Not until she saw Charlie racing toward her did she slow to a walk.

Tears burned her eyes.

She'd lost her arrows, her quiver, her bow.

Charlie swept her into his arm, pulling her against him as her arms went around his neck.

"He hurt you."

"No."

She was shaking with the aftershock of fear.

Desolate with loss.

"I didn't see him."

His arms tightened around her.

"It wasn't your fault."

"He took my bow.

My arrows."

A sob caught in her throat.

"Charlie, I lost everything.

Our only chance."

"Shh."

He let her slide to her feet, but still held her against him.

"We'll manage.

We'll make more arrows.

Another bow."

She pulled back, meeting his gaze.

"There isn't time.

And there's more you must know.

They've tied Princess Ilaria to a column, but she's not a prisoner."

"How do you know?" "Her hair and her gown have been beautifully tended, as have the clearing structures.

Her guards serve her, I'm sure of it."

"It makes sense.

They've been trapped here together for centuries."

"Tying her was a ploy to draw you in."

"She doesn't know I'm here to rescue her.

Did you see the guards?" "Yes.

They're hiding behind the trees, ready to attack you when you come for her."

"Twenty?" "I saw sixteen.

Plus the one who came after me.

The others could have been anywhere.

If I'd had the fire arrows..." The vision came on her suddenly.

She shot out a hand as if to stop it, but it yanked her into a free fall across fifteen centuries.

And when she emerged again, she knew why the forest had shown her these visions.

She knew what she had to do.

And where to find the courage.

In Charlie's arms.
Chapter 24

Charlie held Tarrys against his heart until the vision passed, hating the tears streaming down her cheeks.

He was sitting on the ground, Tarrys on his lap beneath a thick-trunked tree.

"Don't cry, sweetheart."

He stroked her soft hair.

"It's okay."

Slowly, she came out of it only to fling her arms around his neck and bury her face against his throat, sobbing as if her heart were breaking.

"Tarrys.

Don't cry."

Finally, when her tears were spent, she pulled back and slid her palms over his cheeks.

Her gaze fell to his mouth and she leaned forward and touched her salty lips to his.

He kissed her back with infinite gentleness, letting her lead, waiting for her to tell him what she'd seen even as he knew all too well - the Marceils captured, raped, enslaved.

"Make love with me, Charlie," she whispered against his mouth.

"Please make love with me."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with wrenching sadness and a desperate longing.

And almost unbearable grief.

She thought he was going to die, he realized.

And maybe he was.

Her breath brushed warm across his mouth.

"Make love with me."

Need rose inside him, swift and fierce,