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Cador wondered how he had ever thought, even for a single moment, that she was a boy.

Too many years on the run, he thought wryly.

Too many years spent planning his revenge and trying to forget the pain of his losses, his needs as a man.

His terrible and abiding loneliness. The pain, the need, the loneliness melded into a desire so urgent it overruled his iron will.

He stepped out into her path.

“Oh!” Tressalara gasped as if he were an apparition. Her thoughts had been full of him, and now he was here, as if her longing had conjured him up.

His nearness robbed her of breath. For the first time she acknowledged the strong hold he had over her.

She couldn’t even say a word in greeting for fear of giving herself away.

He was expecting Trev, a callow youth—not a young woman smitten dumb by her attraction to a man who was almost a total stranger.

Cador was having his own problems and didn’t notice her hesitation.

He fought against the overwhelming urge to touch her.

But it was imperative that he gain her confidence.

If he frightened her now, it would ruin everything.

He must keep that thought foremost in his mind, push away the need and longing that could undo all his careful plans.

“I came seeking you. I hear that Kegi has used you ill during my absence.”

Tressalara shrugged and found her voice. As long as they talked of ordinary business, she could keep up the pretense. “There is much work to be done for so large and growing an army. I was glad to contribute my share.”

She started up the incline, and her foot slipped on the mossy ground. Cador shot out a hand to catch her. As his calloused palm closed over hers, she made a small sound of pain.

“What is it?” His voice was rough. “Are you injured?”

“No. It’s nothing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Drawing her into a patch of moonglow, he turned her slender hands palm up.

Even in the dim light he could see that her skin was raw and blistered, covered with dozens of nicks and cuts and scrapes.

All his good intentions flew out the window.

Lifting her hands to his lips, he kissed her bruised fingers tenderly.

His mouth was soft and ardent, and the touch of his lips sent her blood racing through her body. Her insides were melting with heat. Tressalara was too confused by her tangled emotions to speak, to even think.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he murmured. “Only a rogue would so misuse a princess.”

His action sent a paralyzing languor through her body. Then his words sank in. Startled and dismayed, she jerked back. Cador kept hold of her hands, which trembled in his. She tried to recover. “What?” she asked shakily. “A princess? You have been at the ale casks, Cador.”

“I am neither drunk nor blind,” he answered. “You are the Princess Tressalara, heiress to the throne. You have nothing to fear from me, lady. I have known your secret from the start and kept it. No one in this camp knows your true identity. Not even Brand. It is safer that way.”

The pretense was over. Tressalara lifted her head defiantly. “You must wonder, then, to find me in such a sorry state.”

The story of her flight from Lector tumbled out.

It was a relief to speak of it. In the past week she had almost begun to think that she was Trev, that her previous life had been nothing but a dream.

The tears she had denied so long threatened to spill over in earnest. She blinked them away and realized that Cador still held her hand.

Her pride and courage humbled him. He had come to Amelonia seeking only revenge against Lector. But here was a woman—nay, a princess—worthy of his loyalty. And his heart. Without relinquishing her hand, he knelt at her feet and fixed his piercing blue gaze upon her face.

“All I have and all I am I pledge to you, lady. I vow that I will dedicate both my sword and my life to your cause. Will you accept my service?”

Her doubts vanished like morning mist on the river.

Tressalara realized they had been just as insubstantial, and her heart overflowed with gratitude.

“Gladly.” A smile lurked at the corners of her mouth.

“Even though you are the most obstinate, pigheaded, domineering man it has ever been my misfortune to meet!”

He laughed up at her. Something passed between them in that instant.

Cador lowered his head and pressed his lips against the back of her hand.

A jolt of sensation shot up Tressalara’s arm until it tingled.

She felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, and left giddy and confused. She could scarcely meet his eyes.

“Rise, Cador,” she said quickly. “Here I am simply Trev. You must not kneel to me or treat me like the crown princess of Amelonia. It would not do. Why, you are not even my subject,” she added in an attempt at a lighter note.

“No,” he said slowly. “And for that I am profoundly grateful. I prefer to treat you like a woman!”

Drawing her roughly into the circle of his arms, he kissed her thoroughly. His mouth was hot on hers, possessive and demanding. His hands pressed flat against her back, molding her figure against his wide chest.

Tressalara’s head swam. No one had ever dared do such a thing before. She should have been angry and indignant, totally outraged at the indignity to her royal person. Instead she melted against him even more, curving her body into his.

Cador knew he was lost then. She owned him, body and soul.

Her tiny moan of surrender inflamed his blood.

There was no girlish hesitation about her.

She was all womanly response, warm and pliant, inviting his ardor.

He smoothed his strong hands over her supple back, her neat waist, the womanly curve of her hips as he pulled her even closer.

Everything was forgotten but the two of them and the passions they had both fought to deny.

There was no disguising his hunger for her, or her answering need.

In another time and place, they would have been more cautious; but these were perilous times, and they were sworn to a dangerous mission.

How could they wait and see what the morrow might bring, when neither knew if they would see another sunrise?

Cador slid his hand beneath her tunic and groaned at the softness of her flesh. So perfect, so warm, so yielding to his touch. He knew that, for both of them, there was no going back.

Tressalara arched her throat for his kisses.

His mouth was gentle at first, then fierce.

She was swept away on the wild winds of desire.

She clung to his broad shoulders as he parted her lips, then took the kiss deeper.

His embrace tightened until she thought her ribs might break.

Or perhaps her heart. The emotion was so intense that she pulled away a bit.

Instantly Cador released her. His eyes were dazed, like those of a man awakening from a dream. He touched her cheek. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean…”

She slid her arms up and locked them behind his neck. “Did you not?” she replied huskily. “Then I am insulted beyond bearing, Cador of Kildore. For I have been dreaming of your kiss these past five nights!”

He laughed low in his throat. “If you insist, then!”

He backed her against a tree and tipped her head back, lowering his lips to hers once more.

The perfume of her hair, her skin, surrounded him like incense.

She was like a drug in his blood, and he could not deny his need for her a moment longer.

Slowly, gently, he lowered her to the mossy ground.

It was as soft as a feather bed beneath them, as yielding as the boundaries that marked his soul, and hers.

Tressalara twined her fingers through his hair.

He smelled of green woodsy things, of leather and heady, masculine sweat.

The passion surging between them was like a river in spate, a beautiful fury that would carry her away and over the threshold of womanhood in Cador’s arms. She surrendered herself to it, to him.

As he removed his tunic, there was a rustling in the brush along the river path and a soft oath as someone stumbled, but neither heard it.

Nor did they hear the retreating footsteps a moment later.

It was drowned out by the music of the water flowing over smooth stones and the wild singing in their blood.

While they dallied by the river, Brand went weaving back to camp, shaking his head.

Too much of that Kildoran brandy, no doubt.

He could have sworn that was Cador and Trev by the river.

He lifted one of the water buckets and upended it on his head.

It didn’t help. The rebel captain blearily sought out his tent with the intention of avoiding any more of the potent Kildoran liquor—and the conviction that the morning would bring him one hellacious hangover.

But two swans drifted placidly along the river, listening to the murmur of love words and the reassuring chirp of crickets. They found a safe place for the night among the reeds downstream. The black swan snapped at a bug, missed, and settled his wings.

“Very impressive,” Illusius acknowledged. “Your love spells must be potent indeed.”

Niniane arched her white swan’s neck in pleasure. “I cannot take the credit. This was no spell of mine, but a human one, as old as time.”