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A li opened her eyes and had a brief moment of panic. She heard no snores and felt no hard floor beneath her back. Where was she? In her father’s pit, in the soft earth crawling with vermin?

She patted about her frantically and was vastly relieved to find sheets and blankets covering her and a soft, goosefeather mattress beneath her back. Memory flooded back to her and she closed her eyes with a relieved sigh.

She was alive.

And, miracles never ceased, soon to be wooed.

Assuming Colin survived it, of course. He’d been rather quiet throughout the afternoon and evening of the previous day, so she’d only been able to assume that he was thinking on his strategy.

She’d tried not to let the way he seemed to finger the hilt of his sword, or scratch his cheek absently with his dagger, alarm her.

The man was used to planning sieges. Perhaps he thought best with a weapon in his hand.

She sincerely hoped the siege of her heart was accomplished without bloodshed.

She stared up at the canopy of the bed and wondered if she was already being courted or if he was still considering how to go about it.

He’d remained by her side for the whole of that previous day, stretching himself to be polite to her father and brothers, and refraining from banging on the table when he was hungry.

He was obviously dredging up manners from previously unplumbed depths.

She rolled out of bed, pulled open the shutters and saw that it was quite late in the morning already.

It was the first time in years she had slept as long as she liked and she wouldn’t begrudge herself that pleasure.

Besides, sleeping so long had given Colin a respite from what she was certain would be very heavy labors.

She dressed slowly, and while she did, she wondered if she might have asked too much of Colin. After all, he had waited for her for two years and then some. Was she demanding things from him she didn’t deserve?

She washed her face and dragged a comb through what was left of her hair. Mayhap Colin wasn’t opposed to wooing because he thought it would give her hair ample time to grow back and leave her looking less like a boy.

Though, knowing Colin, he likely didn’t consider the condition of her hair. She could hardly see him setting himself to the task of brushing it for hours. He likely would rather have bid her take a knife to it anyway, lest it hamper her efforts in the lists.

That was another thing that she had to wonder about. Would he ever take her to the lists again once she was wed to him?

Did she want him to?

She slipped her dagger into her boot, then realized what she had done.

She stared down at herself, garbed as she was in hose, tunic, and leather jerkin, and marveled that she could have done so without thinking.

It hardly seemed unnatural anymore, but perhaps that was just as well.

Colin likely wouldn’t have recognized her in velvets and silks.

She looked about her father’s chamber, thanked him silently for the luxury of having enjoyed it for the night, and then opened the door.

Colin was leaning against the far wall, wearing his customary frown.

Well, he didn’t look overly annoyed. She smiled faintly. “Tell me you haven’t been waiting for me since dawn.”

He shook his head. “Ran through the sturdier lads in the garrison earlier. Tried to engage your brothers, but they were unwilling.” He frowned at her. “Not even that braggart Francois would hoist a sword in my direction. Said the rain would rust his blade.”

“Unsurprising,” she said. “He’s not one for overexerting himself.”

Colin grunted. “It makes me wonder how it is your father got himself five such feeble lads yet sired such a fine wench as yourself in the bargain. A wench with qualities I can’t help but admire: courage; stamina; willingness to draw her blade and tramp about in the mud with it.”

He peered at her closely, as if he searched for some kind of reaction to that statement.

It took no great skill to realize that her wooing had begun.

So she put her hand over her heart and inclined her head. “Your compliments leave me weak, my lord.”

“Feel like having a go in the lists?”

It wasn’t as if she could say him nay now.

So she retrieved her sword with a smile and followed him onto the very muddy field, snatching a stale piece of bread from off the high table as she passed.

It was a poor meal, but she would make do.

How could she do otherwise when she’d just been praised for her willingness to fight?

The rain began after only a few moments and continued without abatement until she could scarce see for the volume of it.

“A light mist,” Colin shouted.

He was shouting, of course, to make himself heard over the thunderous sound of rain beating against the earth.

“To be sure,” she shouted back. “Nothing more than an annoyance.”

He nodded happily and continued with their light morning’s exercise.

Ali began to wonder who was indulging whom.

By the time she was soaked to the skin and could see nothing for the rain coming down in sheets, Colin had seemingly resigned himself to the fact that they could no longer be about their sport in the lists. He resheathed his sword with a sigh, then beckoned to her.

“To the stables,” he announced. “We’ll check on our mounts.”

Ali put up her sword and followed him, grateful to be out of the wet. She stood shivering beside Colin as he went to each of their horses in turn, speaking quietly to them and giving out fond rubs and pats. He looked over his shoulder at her suddenly.

“Horses like me,” he said.

“I can see that.”

“I treat them well.”

“Of course, my lord.”

He frowned. “They haven’t my reputation to be afeared of, you see.”

She was beginning to see quite clearly. “Colin, I am not afraid of you.”

His frown deepened. “Then I must be doing something wrong.”

She laughed, then reached over and stroked her gelding’s soft nose.

“I am, of course, still properly in awe of your immense reputation. I imagine I will spend the rest of my life treading quite carefully around you. I’ll use Gillian of Blackmour as my example.

She seems to live quite happily in terror of her dragon. ”

“Ha,” Colin said with a snort. “If anyone lives in terror, ’Tis poor Chris. Ever having to watch his manners, ever having to watch his tongue lest he wound her tender feelings. A hellish life for the man, no doubt.”

“He does seem quite miserable,” she agreed dryly.

He turned and looked at her fully, pursing his lips. “Think you that I’ll find myself turning inside out trying to keep from wounding your tender feelings?”

She felt, quite suddenly, as if he’d just slapped her.

She blinked quite rapidly. It had to be the great volumes of dust that found home in the stables.

It had nothing to do with feelings the unfeeling oaf had just wounded.

In truth, why could she have expected anything more?

He was a warrior, after all, a man who passed his time in the business of death—

She was interrupted by the feel of a hand hesitantly brushing her hair back from her face. She looked up, wishing there weren’t those damned tears standing in her eyes and feeling altogether weak and foolish for having allowed them there in the first place—

“I have no gift for this,” he said with a sigh of deep resignation. “And of course I won’t wound your tender feelings intentionally, damn you. Must I blurt out every feeling of my heart for you to examine at length? Can you not just look inside that maudlin, womanly bit of me and see for yourself?”

She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “Of course you needn’t expose your heart continually to me,” she said, putting her shoulders back and sniffing a mighty, cleansing sniff. “I haven’t the time for it either. We’ve important things to do, far more important than indulging in sentiment.”

Now if he’d just stop looking at her that way and stop tucking the hair behind her ears as if she needed tidying up, she might be able to get on with things more vital to her future than loitering in the stables, fretting over things that didn’t matter.

“Ah, Aliénore,” he said very softly, “I fear you’ll need more patience than courage to live with the likes of me. I’m powerfully unskilled at this business of comporting myself well with a wench.”

“You needn’t treat me any differently than you would one of your men,” she said.

He snorted heartily. “I’ve obviously had you under my sway for far too long.

Of course I must treat you differently. Your skill with a blade aside, I can’t look at you that I don’t want to treat you differently.

Why, look you here at this fair skin you have.

It inspires ... well, I’m not sure what it inspires, but it isn’t a brisk slap to return you to your senses. ”

That was something, she supposed.

He reached out to touch her cheek, then looked down at his hand. An expression of dismay crossed his features and he quickly put that hand behind his back.

“I’ll admire your visage from a distance,” he announced. He took her by the arm and pulled her toward the stable door. “Food,” he stated. “We need food. Everything will seem much more manageable after a hearty meal. I’m feeling quite famished; what of you?”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer. But as she trotted along after him, she began to consider his words and actions in a different light.

Obviously, he wasn’t comfortable expressing deep emotions.

He was a warrior, after all, and likely didn’t allow himself to feel much besides battle lust. How could he, and survive what he was called upon to do?

And then there was his hesitation at touching her to consider. He’d looked at his hand as if it had been unsatisfactory in some way. Perhaps he was afraid of her, or afraid to hurt her, or afraid to soil her with hands that were quite suited to the work of death.

Or perhaps standing out in the rain had ruined what few wits she had left.