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Atlantic Bridge/Liquid Silver Books
www.liquidsilverbooks.com

 Copyright ©2004 Rae Monet

 First Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint ofAtlanticBridge , June, 2004
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 NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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 Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint ofAtlanticBridge Publishing,10509 Sedgegrass Dr,Indianapolis ,Indiana . Copyright 2004, Rae Monet. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.

 This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  

 Prologue

 December 12,England 1281 AD, TheForest of the Dean

 Day of the Raid

 Arrruuuuuuu.

 The deep, haunting howl of the wolf's mate sent a shiver creeping down Peter Corbet's spine. His head snapped up and his nostrils flared with the smell of death. Peter cursed the fact that wolves mated for life, for he knew he would never forget that pained howl, or the fear it raised inside him.

 Peter's bloodstained dagger lay dripping at his side as he surveyed the village for his next prey. The muscles of his arm burned with the ache of use. His fisted hand released the wolf he had just killed, carelessly tossing the body to the ground. It landed in a bloody mass of fur on top of the small, dark-haired boy, who'd joined his protector's fate.

 Peter looked down at the pair and shook his head. “The killer of wolves,” that's what King Edward's people called him. Peter watched the panicked scramble of the villagers around him.

 Now, he was more than a killer of wolves, Peter thought.

 What he had done today was a much greater atrocity.

 * * * *

 Devastated, Leena swayed gently back and forth, shivering, her knees resting hard against the damp earth. She was beyond caring that the mud stained the edge of her skirt, that it scraped the bottom of her knees. Her skin touched the same dirt that absorbed the blood of her people. The ground remained unyielding to the Wolf Warriors who fell, landing heavily on its soil, gasping their last breath. Those warriors would never rise again, Leena feared, and their deaths had not been peaceful. Bile backed up in her throat, and she held cold hands over her ears—the noise of the surrounding battle was deafening. She was so frightened she could barely catch her breath.

 Someone attempted to bring her to her feet. Insistent hands pulled, a voice desperately called to her, yet the unrelenting voice and hands were muted to her. Dimly Leena realized that shock was absorbing all rational thought. She felt defeated. After desperately searching for her son, she had been unsuccessful in finding him, and the loss had taken its toll upon her weary body.

 "We must depart, Leena. The time is now. The English soldiers are too many against our few. Gather the boy!” Jarod's strained voice finally penetrated Leena's grief-stricken mind.

 "I cannot."

 Leena lifted her eyes as the tall, dark-haired warrior fell to his knees before her. Fierce for sure, bare-chested, beautifully crafted, his finely toned muscles flexed in harmony with his movements, his chest heaving from his recent exertion. Red painted lines ran in unison, adorning his face and arms. His striking blue eyes stood out in contrast to the crimson. Cuts covered his strong body, the darker red of his blood mixing in symmetry with that of his war paint. He was her husband, one of their finest Solarian Wolf Warriors, and he was battle weary, for the Solarians had been defeated.

 Leena met her husband's gaze. Her hands trembled and reached to soothe his face at the reaction she knew was yet to come.

 * * * *

 Jarod watched with guarded fear as tears streamed down his wife's face, cleaving a clean line in the soot and dirt covering her skin. He sensed her response and his entire body tensed. Misery and shock shadowed his mate's eyes.

 "I cannot sense our son. I cannot find him. I am afraid he has fallen. I have searched for hours. I fear it is hopeless.” Her voice sounded small amongst the roar of nearby battle cries.

 The panic Jarod felt matched what he saw on his wife's face, and when his forehead fell forward against hers, he dared to pray. He craved his own death over the likelihood of losing his only son to the slaughter King Edward I had wrought upon them. But lose him they most assuredly had, if she was unable to sense the boy.

 Raising his head toward the heavens, Jarod let out one long cry of anguish for his son. He knew his yell would be the only sign of grieving he could afford this day, for he had another child to save. Attempting to regain his calm and not succumb to his terror, Jarod lowered his head, then squared his shoulders with resolve. He gently placed his hand on his wife's stomach, on the growing life within her womb. He knew what had to be done.

 "We must depart, or much more will be lost. I will leave Karma to search. I'll return when you are to safety."

 Jarod could hear the fighting drawing closer to them. His head swung around to scan, causing his black hair to fall into his eyes. He batted it away in frustration.

 "Leena, we must leave!” The finality in Jarod's voice made his wife cry out in anguish. She nodded and attempted to rise, only to sink back down with obvious fatigue.

 Seeing her difficulty, he stood, and stooping down, swept his beautiful, exhausted wife into his arms. He had lost one son to the battle this day. He was determined he would not lose his wife and unborn child. Turning his head, he surveyed the massacre of his people and their wolf protectors. Karma, his own wolf, waited faithfully by his side. Jarod, with a quick jerk of his head and a silent command, alerted the huge gray silver-eyed wolf.

 Stay, Karma. Search for my boy.

 The wolf backed up, acknowledging his master's order with a single bark before he turned and raced off through the still-raging battle. Jarod realized Karma would search for what he might never find and in doing so perhaps lose his life in the course. His heart ached with the possibility that he was might be sending his devoted protector to his death.

 This needless battle had raged beyond the skills of the Solarian Wolf Warriors, there were over a hundred healthy English soldiers to each warrior—warriors that were strong, yet small in number. John de Reincolt, their clan leader, had called a retreat to save the families, specifically the children. The last of the mightiest Warriors were holding the line, albeit, not for long.

 Jarod moved easily forward, the weight of his wife slight. He took the first steps out of the chaos, but toward what? Toward a new life with future peace? He prayed for it to be so.

 As he and his wife escaped, he vowed to return. He would never stop searching for his son.

  

 Chapter One

 30 years later Scotland 1311 AD

 Roan stared at the blood oozing from the wound where an English sword had cut his arm. As he and his friend, Ian, backed toward the bottom of the rocky cliffs, Roan knew they were trapped like a couple of wolves caught in a snare. In front of them stood an array of furious English soldiers.

 Well fed, well rested, well armed—they advanced.

 Both Roan and Ian were ill-equipped and barely had time to draw their weapons before they were attacked. Roan chastised himself for leaving his armor at the castle, not wanting to be weighed down with the heavy gear during this mission. That problem seemed small—compared to what they were now facing.

 As the sweat from his brow dripped into his eyes, Roan swiped at his forehead in aggravation. He growled at the situation he and Ian had gotten themselves into. Both he and Ian were seasoned warriors. They had fought this battle savagely. But now they were outnumbered, and in this situation even the most skilled fighter would be cut down.

 "Throw down your weapons, you Scottish dogs, or we will kill you where you stand."

 The troop backed them against the solid wall of rock. Roan did a quick assessment of their situation. Both he and Ian were panting, their chests rising and falling rapidly in their visible fatigue. Blood trickled from various cuts on both their bodies as a result of the battle that had already ended the lives of five of the English soldiers. Unfortunately, an additional ten healthy soldiers remained. This was bad.

 "Ahh, Roan, I have a hard time believin’ that we'd be cut down like this after all the fightin’ we've done and survived.” Ian's Irish brogue was filled with irritation.

 "I agree.” Roan knew his English accent was in complete contrast to his Irish friend's.

 "I'm thinkin’ they won't be believin’ ya if ya tell them yer the Wolf-or show them yer mark."

 "I fear you are correct.” Roan raised his blood stained sword in front of him, anticipating an attack.

 "Fools! We are not Scottish!” Roan yelled out to the leader. “We are English. We were traveling to town for wares and a night of friendly companionship when you attacked us. We carry no large weapons. Do I sound Scottish?"

 But Roan knew even the truth might not save them. The English had blood lust in their eyes. Despite his legendary battlefield victories, he had been weakened by the deep bleeding gash in his arm and side. Roan had never felt so close to dying.

 He was known as the Wolf.

 Fierce.

 Unrelenting.

 Always victorious.

 They said he was marked by God as a true warrior, but right now he was not a legend, he was just a man—a man who was about to die. In his mind he yelled for help. His head began to pound at the possibility that he and Ian could be inhaling their last breath. This was the closest he had ever been to panicking.

 "Scottish lies! Prepare to die! Scottish bastards! The more we kill now the fewer we fight later."

 The reply did not please Roan, and if their situation had not been so dismal, he might have laughed. A strange emotion to experience this close to death, he thought.

 The soldiers fanned out and pressed forward.

 The unexpected pounding of hoofs stopped them as a small rider and an unusual horse galloped into the clearing.

 * * * *

 Serena rode Greystar in swiftly. She'd heard the cry for help in her mind. Had felt it grow stronger and louder. This call came only when warriors felt close to death. She had no choice but to respond, even if it resulted in her own death. It was an instinct as old as time and she was compelled to obey.

 She spotted the two armed, bare-chested warriors backed against the rocky cliff, and she saw the ten uniformed men taunting them. One of the warriors must have called to her. With a quick assessment of the situation, she felt confident that she could even the score.

 Serena's gaze moved over the two men. Both were handsome, however it was the well-muscled, black-haired man that held her attention. Serena's look devoured the man. His mouth was taut with determination. His large frame supported a muscled, thick chest. Long midnight hair floated carelessly around his clean-shaven, chiseled face. His ice blue eyes, combined with his other attributes, led her to the conclusion that he was by far the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon, and at the same time, oddly familiar. She felt an awareness, one she had never experienced before, and the feeling disturbed her.

 The man was spectacular and obviously an experienced warrior. He held his bloodstained sword with confidence and expertise, his legs spread, knees bent, he was ready to fight. It was a simple matter for her to sense his leadership qualities. Her Solarian mind sense had always been true, and this man radiated his uniqueness.

 Serena saw the blood running down his arm from a deep gash and a burning rage she had never known before poured through her. Averting her eyes, she directed her attention to the ten soldiers. Evil determination radiated from each one of them. They were ready to kill, for no other reason than the thrill, and she knew at that moment she had to kill them or be killed herself.

 Serena's father had warned her that women were not well received outside the Realm as warriors, and so even her gender made her path dangerous. In a flash of quick thinking, she knew exactly how to distract these soldiers. She was not entirely innocent to the workings of the male mind.

 Concealing her cross-bow the best she could, Serena slowly slid off her horse, lifting her cloak to show them a view of her ass. She turned and faced the men, dropping her cloak back down. She moved one hand over her hood and pushed it back, shaking out her hair, which fell in long waves around her face and down her back. Her hair was usually an annoyance, but now all eyes were turned in her direction, and with that element of surprise, she could prevail. The men moved toward her, their prey forgotten. The two men who were backed against the rock also looked enthralled.

 * * * *

 Roan was captivated by the mystery woman's long, raven hair. It framed her angelic, beautifully formed features. Set in a porcelain complexion, pink lips pouted then rose in a seductive smile as she surveyed the group of men before her. Even from where he stood her eyes flashed with green fire.

 "Gentlemen."

 Roan noticed the soldiers’ eyes widen at her seductive, slightly-accented English. Her voice seemed to mesmerize them all.

 "I wonder if you might pause from your current activity to assist me?"

 Roan stood transfixed as the woman pushed her cloak away from her shoulders. She wore a tight fitting leather vest and a halter that outlined her tits. She undid a hook at the top of her vest, showcasing the swell of her creamy white breasts, while she fanned herself with her hand, making the action somehow look innocent. Taking a step forward, she showed them just a peek of her leather-encased leg under her all-encompassing cloak.

 He groaned aloud. This woman was so much more than just sensual.

 Breathtaking.

 Mesmerizing.

 Seductive.

 Her expression left nothing to the imagination. It told them all she was ready for a bedding. Roan felt his cock rise against his own leggings, and he heard Ian whisper next to him, “Mother of God!” He chastised himself—this was no time to get aroused by a woman.

 What is wrong with me? he wondered.

 "I seem to have lost my way.” The woman's voice was a velvety, alluring whisper that made him throb.

 She waved her petite hand as if at a total loss in which direction to travel. Her lips formed a luscious sulk. Trancelike, the men around them moved away toward the mysterious woman.

 As the soldiers stepped back from them, Roan watched the woman. Her green gaze touched his, and suddenly he heard a message in his mind.

 Move away from the rocks.

 Pain flashed through his head. She hadn't spoken the words, but he knew the order had come from her. He reached out and pulled Ian away from the rock-walled prison they were pinned against.

 At the same time the seductive goddess struck. Her gaze swung back to the English men, and her expression changed from alluring to fierce. It occurred as rapidly as a heartbeat and left Ian and Roan stumbling to a stop. When she threw off her cloak, he was stunned. She was dressed in leather armor; gold bands encircled her bare arms, a wide leather band was secured on her wrist, and she held a cross-bow. This woman was clearly no demure maiden. Roan immediately raised his weapon to assist her, but again he heard her voice in his mind.

 Do not move.

 The command stayed his advance. He didn't know why but he felt compelled to obey her, notwithstanding his need to dive into the battle. She raised the cross-bow, and with practiced efficiency, despite the size of the weapon, she disposed of the English men one by one.

 Two shots from the bow, and the closest soldiers went down. She dropped the bow. A dagger appeared in each hand. With a graceful, fluid movement, she threw them before Roan could blink. Deadly heart shots, daggers buried to the hilt and two more men went down. The six left standing hadn't had time to raise their swords! Pulling smaller swords from behind her back she executed a swift, measured dance. Swirling around with a heated shout, she administered blows to the hearts of two more stunned men.

 Roan was taken aback that the woman fought with multiple swords, an amazingly difficult task, even for a man. Four enraged men remained, fumbling to raise their weapons. Without hesitation, she leapt forward, sweeping her sword overhead, striking one of the remaining four.

 Then she gave an almost cursory glance over her shoulder at the soldier readying to strike her down. She was in danger of being cleaved in half, but with a quickness that left him on edge, she pushed her sword back, plunging it into the man's throat. The remaining soldiers must have realized they had underestimated this woman's skill, but raised their swords anyway—a foolhardy move as far as he was concerned. As the woman circled the men, Roan watched each step she took.

 With Ian by his side, Roan was prepared to move forward to assist her, but one word stopped him.

 Remain.

 He wasn't sure if she actually voiced the word or if he heard it in his mind again, but he followed its order without hesitation and raised his arm to hold Ian back.

 Ian, never questioning his judgment, froze.

 "What is it, lad?"

 "She doesn't want us to interfere. Stay as you are."

 She methodically danced around the two men, confusing them. They shifted to stand back to back.

 Abruptly she stopped, and five feet away from them, she lowered herself to one knee and crossed both swords in front of her. Ian strained against his arm. Roan recognized Ian's need to help her was as strong as his, but he continued to hold Ian back. He heard another command.

 Do not move.

 Roan raised his hand to his head. Her silent orders were obviously causing this pain. Despite the pounding in his head, he kept watching the battle. He wished he could help her, but he respected her orders. He had been in endless battles, and sometimes it was more deadly to help than to stay back.

 The two soldiers seemed befuddled when she closed her eyes, dropped her chin and remained fixed where she was. She appeared serene, ready for a death strike.

 "I give you a chance to flee.” She said softly, “the alternative is certain death."

 It was a merciful move, Roan thought, as he heard her offer ... giving the two soldiers the choice not to charge her. If they walked away she would spare their lives.

 The soldiers turned and looked at each other. Making their decision, they shouted as they advanced, their swords drawn with deadly purpose. Roan held Ian back when he tried to move forward again and they both watched in awe as the woman ducked and absorbed the blow of the first man's sword with the sword in her left hand. Then, still on one knee, she raised her right-handed sword and fatally struck the other charging soldier. While he was going down, she stood, kicked out with her foot directly into the chest of the remaining soldier as her left sword locked with his. He stumbled back, and while he was off balance, her other sword came up, giving him an instant deathblow. Death had come swiftly to all of them; none had suffered. She was true with her aim and somehow, as the battle ended, he sensed she felt regret at having to kill them.

 Now that the fight was over, the woman quickly moved back to her bow, efficiently reloaded it with the quills from a quiver on her side. She whipped her head back and forth, looking around as if she expected more men to emerge from the quiet forest. She looked like a targeted deer, waiting for the hunter's arrow. Purposefully stepping over, she pulled her daggers from the hearts of the dead soldiers. Wiping them, she re-sheathed them in her worn leather boots.

 She circled around, making her way closer to them. Her concentration intense, her head cocked, she growled in observable frustration, as if she couldn't find what she was searching for. She strayed within a sword distance of them, her scent making its way to Roan, sweet like Scottish heather, with a slight spicy fragrance. His eyes followed her well-formed, leather encased body as she moved toward him, her chest heaving, her exposed breasts straining against the top of her vest.

 Suddenly, Roan felt such strong blinding emotions that he caught his breath. Desire, possessiveness, and lust flared within him like an unwanted English rainstorm on a sunlit day. He could picture his naked body poised over hers, burying his penis into her, plunging over and over again. The cries of her orgasm would surround them.

 * * * *

 Serena's concentration at predicting the impending threats in the vicinity was abruptly severed when powerful sensations washed over her like a strong ocean current. Emotions, stronger than any of her senses, assaulted her with a stirring of desire and longing. She saw a flash in her mind, a sensual coupling...

 She wasn't prepared for the vision, and her head swung around, her eyes connecting with the dark-haired man's blue gaze. Her breath caught when she looked deeply into his eyes. They were dark with sexual arousal.

 What was happening?

 Immediately, she was distrustful. The dark haired man had not identified himself, nor had he spoken to her with his mind sense. Serena began to wonder if perhaps she had been wrong in helping these men, perhaps just this once her senses had been mistaken.

 Her warrior instinct told her that these men were now included in the threats around her.

 * * * *

 Roan watched as the woman's eyes made contact with his and he was struck by the perception he saw there, almost as if she could read his sexual thoughts. He sensed her feelings of discontent—most certainly directed at him.

 All of a sudden, she launched herself at him and he heard a familiar noise. It was the smooth well-known whoosh of an arrow letting loose, sailing through the trees and striking upon its target.

 Roan grunted when she struck him hard, pushing him aside as she stepped in front of him. He was so startled by the woman's rapid movement that he stumbled backward. She cried out as the arrow pierced her shoulder, the same arrow that would have struck him, without a doubt, in the heart. Despite her injury, she swiftly swung around and set off running toward her horse. She pointed her bow, targeted the forest, and let go of one shot. A cry was heard from the trees.

 She had hit her target.

 Struggling with the arrow in her shoulder, she hastily re-loaded her bow, and carrying it up, aimed it point blank—toward them.

 Roan was rattled at her distrustful move, first she assisted them, and now she appeared ready to dispose of them.

 What the hell?

 He stepped unhurriedly in front of Ian, to protect him if she chose to shoot. A display of her skills and the ten dead men littering the ground proved they were no match for this deceptively feminine warrior.

 "Slowly place your weapons on the ground and move three steps back,” the woman commanded them.

 Roan watched her with interest. Her only show of weakness was the way she leaned heavily against her unusually large horse. Her aim with the arrow was true and was unwaveringly directed on him and Ian.

 Who was this woman?

 He had never seen, not even in a man, the fighting abilities she had displayed this day. He could not place her accent; it wasn't English, Scottish or even Irish. Roan nodded his head to indicate that Ian should lower his sword. Ian gave him an incredulous glare. Never, in the decade they had been fighting together, had they ever surrendered their weapons. But with her weapon pointing point-blank at them, now was not the time to question her actions.

 "Roan!” Ian protested.

 He barked out the order, “Do it!"

 Still watching the woman, they both lowered their swords and stepped back precisely three steps. With a wave of her bow she directed them again. “Please drop to your knees, with your hands behind your backs."

 Her command was not a request. Again, he indicated they should comply, reassured slightly because he sensed a reluctance from the woman to hurt them. They both lowered themselves to their knees, watching the woman with curiosity. Her grip and aim with the weapon never faltered. At the same time she removed items from a bag attached to her saddle, occasionally studying the two of them to ensure they had not moved.

 She knelt on the dirt next to a large rock, spreading out what appeared to be some sort of medicine bag as she gradually lowered the cross-bow to the ground. Roan became aware that she was in severe pain but was trying not to acknowledge it. He experienced her pain as if it were his own and wished with all his heart the arrow embedded in her flesh had struck him instead of her. She looked pointedly at him.

 "Do not doubt that if you move, or approach me, I will kill you."

 "No. I do not doubt your word."

 "Good. Then do not move."

 The woman placed some sort of leather thong in her mouth and to Roan's amazement, raised one of her swords, swinging it over her shoulder and severed the quill end of the arrow implanted in her back. To his further surprise, she calmly launched herself against a rock, piercing the arrow through the front of her skin. He saw a spasm of pain assault her body, her feet skidding in the dirt, her body jerking as she bit down on the leather, her cry muffled.

 Almost nonchalantly, the woman pulled the remaining arrow shaft out of her shoulder, throwing it with obvious contempt into the dirt. A steady flow of blood began to ooze from her shoulder and he could not believe she was still conscious after such an injury.

 With one hand, she spread some sort of wet herbal concoction on the front of the wound. Using a strip of cloth, she bound it tightly, then re-wrapped the pack and set it next to her. After that apparently painful ritual, she tried to stand, only to sink back down. The loss of blood was finally affecting her. Roan started to rise to aid her but she would not have it. Her hand went just as rapidly to the bow until Roan crouched back down again.

 "Remain where you are,” she said, her gaze intense. She deliberately scooted back to a larger rock and propped herself against it.

 For a moment she closed her eyes. He assumed she was falling unconscious. He started to stand up again. Immediately, she opened her eyes and brought up the bow.

 "I will not ask again. Please do not make me harm you.” There was a pleading resonance in her voice. Frustrated, Roan descended, grinding his teeth as he went. She closed her eyes again, and Roan felt another sharp pain in his head. This time the pain was so biting that he raised both his hands to his skull. Ian looked at him questioningly, but he did not answer him. He heard her voice. He wasn't sure how, but he heard it as clear as day. She was calling for someone to help her.

 Richard, it is Serena. I need your assistance. Follow Caine. I will be waiting.

 There was a pause. She opened her eyes to check on them. Seeing that they hadn't moved, she closed her eyes again.

 Caine—come to me.

 The voice stopped, and Roan removed his hand from his head. She opened her eyes, observing them closely. She had one leg braced up to keep her back against the boulder. It was a defensive posture, so that an enemy could not come upon her unaware from the rear. He recognized her action for what it was. It was the protective action of a well-trained fighter.

 "Do you have horses?” The blood was now leaking from behind her makeshift bandage, trickling down her shoulder.

 "Yes.” He made a movement with his head. “Just down the trail."

 She shifted slightly. “Retrieve them and your weapons, then leave."

 Roan didn't move. Her voice had grown weaker. Ian started to rise, and Roan's hand halted him. The woman glared at them.

 "I have given you your leave. I am confused as to why you remain? Please take advantage of my offer.” She snarled at them, angry now. The bow she held was steady, and pointed directly at them. When they didn't move, she took aim and let loose an arrow. It landed in front of Ian, within an inch of his knee.

 Roan heard Ian's curse. “Roan! I think it best we follow the lady's orders."

 "Leave!"

 * * * *

 Serena's exclamation came with blinding pain from her shoulder.

 What was the matter with these men?

 She reloaded again, then pointed the crossbow at the men. She could feel her head pounding as she held the bow. Traveling from the Realm in the Scottish Highlands, she was sometimes overwhelmed by what seemed a heaviness of the air. At times it made her lightheaded, almost as if she were breathing too much at once, enriching her blood. She was more familiar with the thinness of the Highland Mountains, the different pressure of the air. Below the Highlands, this change had blessed her with endless energy, making her sword light as a feather and her feet fleet. Her skills knew no boundaries in this setting, however her supernatural strength was finally ebbing. Using a technique taught to her by her father, she inhaled a steadying breath and concentrated on easing it out, continuing in that manner so the blood loss would slow.

 She was hurting and angry now. Her attraction to the dark haired man did not please her, at all.

 What is the matter with me? she wondered.

 How could she let these feelings overwhelm the potential threat they posed?

 "I will kill your friend first, then you, if you do not do as I have asked."

 * * * *

 Roan grimaced as she gave him another pointed glare, a wordless command to leave, and then shifted her bow to Ian.

 Ian threw out another curse. “Roan!"

 He raised his eyebrows at her command. He watched her, wondering how much longer she would last. Her unusual ability to stay conscious made him question where she came from.

 Why did he care?

 Why didn't he just get up and leave as she had requested? But he couldn't; he felt drawn to her in a way he had never known before. Part of him felt so remarkable when she had been near him, and he would be damned if he would sit there and watch her life's blood pour out of her.

 How could she know how much he valued Ian's life?

 Somehow she knew he prized it over his own. He nodded his head to her, conceding her orders, while he plucked their swords off the ground and pulled Ian up with him as he rose. He turned and shoved Ian ahead as they walked away.

 Roan and Ian walked down to where they had tethered their horses.

 "What manner of a woman is that?” Ian asked. “Did ya see how she fought? My eyes have never seen the likes before."

 He turned to Ian as Ian packed up their gear. “I want you to ride to the next town and wait for me there."

 "What foolishness is this? You'll be coming with me!"

 "No, I'm going to go back and save our little warrior friend."

 "Roan I hear ya, that woman could die out here—are you certain you wanna be...” He raised his hand to stay Ian's continued protests.

 "Ian, do as I ask. Do not question me. Rest for a day and, if I do not arrive, ride on to the castle."

 "Ughhh, I..."

 "Ian, do it!"

 "Aye, my lord,” Ian answered sullenly, pulling himself onto his horse. Roan hated reverting to formal terms with his good friend, but in this situation he knew Ian would only follow a direct command.

 "All will be well. I will be all right, Ian.” He tried to reassure him, softening his voice. Ian nodded and jerked the reins around, showing his displeasure at Roan's order. He rode away grudgingly without looking back, grumbling as he went.

  

 Chapter Two

 Serena closed her eyes in relief at the men's departure. She slowed her breathing and placed herself into a brief healing sleep. Her dreams were vivid, reminding her what had brought her to this moment and this injury. Her brother Richard's voice and their conversation from earlier that day floated into her dream...

 "Why must we part?"

 Serena's eyes warily traversed the small Scottish border town before turning to fall upon her handsome brother.

 "We can search more area apart. Caine will remain for your protection. The next town is south one half day's ride, we will meet there.” She gestured to the gray wolf waiting patiently beside her horse.

 "You will remain, Caine, and protect Richard."

 The wolf barked in response to her command.

 "Serena, I do not like this. I have ill feelings about it."

 Serena sighed as Richard's eyes also touched on every corner of the town. They saw thatched roofs, haphazardly hung wooden merchant signs, stray dogs nuzzling the dust for droppings. The bleak village was a less than impressive sight.

 She winced as he took in the poverty around him. It was so different than the cleanliness of the Realm village.

 "I have the same feeling. Nevertheless, you know we cannot let our senses divert us from our quest. You also understand that the violence and crime outside the Realm decreases and distracts our senses.” He nodded at her calm reassurance.

 "To that I am attentive, Serena. I just do not take any comfort in being, as you say, distracted."

 Serena patted her brother's shoulder, the brother whose features bore such a likeness to her own. Sometimes when her gaze fell upon him, she felt as if she were looking at an exact reflection of herself. Beyond the mind connection they shared, which stemmed from the ancestry of their people, they also had a special bond. A bond that only came with being twins of their likeness.

 "Be easy. Have confidence in my skills,” Serena urged him. “You know I will place myself in no danger, and Caine will protect you with his life. Moreover, as a healer you are much more important to our Realm than a single warrior could ever be. Rest easy and remain focused on sensing Ziem. We must find him. In this quest we cannot fail, or the consequences for our people will be grave."

 Richard was contrite when reminded of the seriousness of their quest. The same quest that had brought them to this small Scottish town.

 "I know,” he raised his arm and clasped her arm encircling it with his hand, his forearm resting against hers. In return, her hand closed on his forearm in the familiar leave-taking of their people, both reciting their ancient Gaelic departing vow, “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne.” We protect our own.

 "Serena, you will call to Caine if you have need of me! I will follow if he leaves. Do not travel so far that our senses are not linked, because although I am a healer, I can and will use my warrior skills if needed."

 It was a command—a tone that was not common for Richard. As a healer, his manner was customarily gentle.

 "You also take heed, my brother. I will see you in the next town, with good fortune, in no more that one day. Be discreet in your inquiries and keep Caine hidden."

 He nodded, gazing at Caine. Wolves, like the Solarian people, were hunted outside of the Realm, an order from the English King Edward I, given out of the lack of knowledge as to their value.

 Wolves had guarded and assisted the Solarian warriors since the beginning of time; they were the protectors of their people. Now they were persecuted out of ignorance and fear. Serena shook her head in sadness while raising her hand in farewell to Richard. Pulling her reins around, she pressed south on the road to the next village.

 Lost in her own thoughts about her quest and the foreign surroundings, she journeyed for several hours on the wet, muddy Scottish road. The slick, heavy mud caused Greystar's hooves to make a sucking noise as he pulled them up then plodded them back down in a steady, never-ending rhythm, lulling her into quiet contemplation.

 The sound of swords clashing and men yelling jolted her out of her reverie. She closed her eyes to sense where the danger was located. Something strong pulled at her senses, it almost felt like a Solarian Wolf Warrior distress call, yet it was weak and unpracticed, as if done unconsciously. Serena's heart began to race, and she veered Greystar to the right, toward the rocky cliffs from where she sensed the threat had come.

 * * * *

 Serena jerked her head back up when she felt it falling to her chest, pulling from her dream state to the present. She would not lose consciousness. She needed to slow the racing of her blood, and for that she had to stay alert and in control. Answering that warrior distress call had caused her nothing but trouble.

 She groaned as pain assaulted her body.

 She couldn't believe she had even allowed that arrow to fly in the first place. Her senses had been distracted, her link completely severed when she had felt the emotions of the dark-haired man. It was almost as if his emotions had plowed through her ability to concentrate and disabled her. She shook her head in disgust. The possessiveness and desire that radiated from that man had stopped her directly and frozen her.

 I made a near-deadly mistake.

 Yet the man had not identified himself as a Wolf Warrior, and Serena could not afford to trust anyone beyond her brother. Their quest was her priority right now, and she did not have the luxury to explore that man's identity. And now this nuisance of an injury would cost her time she did not have to spare. She cursed both men and herself as she settled back against the rock.

 I must remain conscious, she thought.

 * * * *

 Roan waited so the woman would think him gone, then circled around to the other side of her horse. Her head was resting back against the rock, her breathing shallow and her face pale. One leg was laid down while the other still braced her against the wall of the rock. The bow that had rested so comfortably in her hand was now lying tip down, propped against the dirt. Roan cautiously approached her, his steps light and quiet. Her head pulled upward off the rock, and the bow came swinging around, battle ready.

 "Why have you not followed my instructions?” she asked haughtily.

 He smiled at her arrogance. She sat there bleeding to death and still had the audacity to question him. He admired her spirit.

 "I found your instructions were not to my liking.” He saw her eyebrows rise at his statement. “Serena?"

 The woman appeared uncomfortable at his question, her alarm showing at his use of her name.

 "That is your name, is it not?” When she didn't answer he pressed on. “Serena, let me help you.” He walked forward, closing in on her.

 "Remain,” she commanded, raising the bow.

 "Serena, please,” he beseeched, and took another step. The weapon that had remained trained on him was now wavering.

 "How is it you know my name?"

 As if the bow was suddenly too heavy, she lowered it to the ground.

 Roan moved closer. She didn't seem to have the energy to fight him anymore. The bow lay dormant at her side. He knelt down before her, concerned about her lack of color, the strain of her breathing, the weakness of her limbs. She was losing too much blood from her poorly assembled bandage.

 "I heard your name,” he tapped his head, “in here, when you cried to Richard and Caine for help."

 Roan heard her suck in her breath as she stared at him. He reached for her shoulder as she closed her eyes. Roan stopped cold. His hand immediately went to his head when he felt a pain similar to the one earlier. This time however, it was not as intense, as if his body was adjusting to the invasion.

 Can you hear me?

 She opened her eyes and studied him, looking obviously, for his reaction.

 Roan lowered his hand and stared at her, nodding his head as he gazed into those compelling green eyes. They reminded him of the lush, emerald colored rolling hills, rising above his castle.

 He was startled when she laid her hand on his bare arm. He felt the heat from her touch radiate down his arm to his fingers. She pulled his arm around so she could see his right shoulder. Saw his mark—a wolf overlapping a sword surrounded by two interlinking circles.

 She let out a cry, “You are a Solarian Wolf Warrior! I heeded your cry for help—this is why I am here. Why did you not tell me?” Her hand remained on his arm.

 Roan watched the greeting on her face, confused.

 Was she becoming muddled from her loss of blood?

 He began to unwrap her shoulder. She seemed docile now, and let him tend her. He removed the bandage, then reached over to take off her leather vest. Roan paused. What if she wasn't wearing anything underneath? Would she be displeased if he bared her? Somehow that thought overrode his excitement at the possibilities—his primitive male craving to see her. He didn't want her to feel discontent.

 How odd, why do her feelings matter so much to me? I barely know her, he thought.

 Roan was relieved to see that she wore a leather jerkin covering her breasts. He pulled off her swords and other various weapons hidden amongst her clothes, setting them gently aside. Her wound was deep, but the bleeding had slowed and it looked clean. Yet he still needed to wash it before binding it. She had leaned back against the rock again, her eyes closed. His concern for her grew.

 "Serena?"

 She opened pain-filled eyes, responding to the fear in his call. Her eyes were glazed, and Roan sensed she was fighting for consciousness.

 "I am going to carry you to the river to wash the wound,” he said. She struggled a bit as if to fight his commands, then closed her eyes again.

 "Stay with me,” he whispered, as he lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than he would have guessed. With her arm wrapped around his neck, Roan stood for a moment, feeling her in his arms. She felt so good, so right. She was so much smaller than she'd originally seemed, almost delicate next to his large frame.

 A feeling of intense protectiveness welled up in him. How someone so little could fight with such fierceness amazed him. Carrying her to his makeshift camp beside the river, Roan pulled a blanket from his saddle and tossed it down on the hard ground. Slowly, he lowered his legs, gently placing her on the blanket.

 She roused when he positioned her and handed him the small bundle she had used to wrap her wound. “Here, use these herbs and bandages. They are from Richard, my brother, our healer."

 Roan took the offering from her, barely hearing her words. He was more concerned with stopping the bleeding from her shoulder. He leaned over to the river and dipped in his hands, then gently poured water over her wound. She moaned in response. The arrow had penetrated all the way through her shoulder. Luckily it had only stuck the fleshy part of her frame, missing any major arteries, bones or tendons. He tenderly turned her over to examine the wound from the rear. He poured more water over the back of the wound but stopped when he saw the marking on her right shoulder.

 Dazed, he ran his fingers over the marking. It was an exact replica of his, the wolf, the sword and the interlocking circles. Running his fingers over the mark, Roan felt her shiver under his touch.

 What was the likelihood they carried the same wolf body markings?

 He had some questions that needed answers, however, first he needed to pack her wound and stop the bleeding. The immediacy of her need far exceeded his selfish search for answers.

 He placed some of the recommended herbs on a bandage, pulled her back over to repeat the process in the front, and tightly bound the wound with several layers of bandages. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow and even. He bundled up his discarded shirt and gently laid it under her head to let her sleep. She needed sleep to recover from the loss of blood. He'd have to wait a little longer before all of his questions could be answered.

 While Roan re-built the fire and retrieved her weapons, he pondered Serena's words.

 Solarian Wolf Warrior. What does that mean? Does she know what she is saying?

 He peered over his shoulder at his own wolf marking. He had always wondered about its origin. At age six, he had been found in the Forest of the Dean. He had no memory of why he had been left or how he had gotten there. He had been cut, bruised and burned, and had a large bump on his scalp. Soot, dirt, and blood had covered his body as if he had been in a battle.

 Unfortunately, he could remember nothing about his life prior to that time. An English Duke, Aston III of Kingsmore, had found him in a semi-unconscious state, a large gray wolf dead next to him. Aston took him in and raised him. Eventually, he had called Roan son, having had none of his own.

 Roan was known as one of the fiercest knights in England, always battling to win, yet giving mercy when needed. His wolf marking was the primary reason for the name, Wolf.

 For his dedicated service, he was granted a title and a castle built along the stormy border between England and Scotland. He gathered out-of-work mercenaries like Ian, loyal to the bone to Roan and the castle they called home, appropriately named Wolfsmoor.

 Today he and Ian had been traveling on a scouting mission in an endless struggle to protect what was his. There was a constant threat of attack from across the border. When they felt an itch to discover if the Scots planned an attack against the castle, they went scouting. The trip was always lucrative with information about upcoming clan movements. This allowed Roan to be ready for anything.

 The soldiers they had come upon today were a typical breed of English soldier, ripe for Scottish blood. It would have done no good for Roan to identify himself; they were simply in search of someone to kill. Soldiers like those were one of the reasons Roan had chosen to stop fighting for the English.

 After dressing his own wounds, Roan pulled on a fresh tunic, then eased down onto the blanket next to Serena. It was twilight, and the sun was, inch by inch, lowering beneath the horizon. The night rapidly descended upon the heavily wooded forest.

 In the flickering firelight, Roan's gaze drifted over Serena's slumbering face. He leaned over her to check her bandages and was satisfied to see that no additional blood has seeped through. In an impulsive act he brushed a stray lock of dark hair off of her cheek, his fingers lingering on her face.

 She is incredible.

 He let his finger stray down her cheek to her slim neck. So much beauty, yet so much courage. She had saved his life this day. He, the great Wolf of England, saved by a mere slip of a woman. It was difficult for him to comprehend.

 Roan still had a vision of the two of them sweaty and naked embedded in his mind. An erotic coupling beyond any he had ever imagined, their bare limbs entwined, him sliding in and out of her, wet and slick. The smell of her would be smeared on his hands as he rubbed them along her slit. The image seized him by the throat and nearly cut off his air.

 His hand continued its leisurely exploration down her bare arm, her skin soft and creamy against his dark, war-callused hand.

 His heartbeat began to accelerate, his breath becoming rapid, and the hunger for her returned and mounted, his cock hardened. He took a deep, penetrating breath and removed his hand.

 Unexpectedly, she sat straight up, instinctively reaching for the sword that wasn't there. He placed a calming hand on her uninjured shoulder to stop her.

 "Easy,” he whispered. “Easy. There is no danger here."

 * * * *

 Serena settled back down, reassured, but her senses were on alert. She wondered if it was the man in front of her or the rapidly approaching Richard who had awakened her. She felt his hand on her shoulder and her stomach clenched. Her pulse began to flutter, causing her blood to pump faster through her system. The desire she sensed from him deepened the feeling. Her senses had never been so out of control before. This man, who sat so easily beside her, was dangerous to her.

 Serena felt her blood begin to fill the wound that she had worked so hard to slow. With this new surge of blood, pain was quick to follow. She groaned, not sure if it was from her need to feel more of this man, to pull him closer, to feel his hands run down her body, or from the pain.

 Roan pressed her gently back down onto the blanket. He saw her wound was bleeding again.

 "Richard is near.” She said, licking her dry lips when he bent over her to check her bandage.

 "Who is Richard?"

 Serena ignored his question. She was too intent on discovering who he was.

 "What are you called?” She was staring at his black hair, fighting the urge to run her hands through it.

 Roan raised his head, and her unique fragrance wafted over him. He wanted her—wanted to devour her.

 "Lord Roan Aston, my friends call me the Wolf,” he said, his gaze lingering on her face, on her lips.

 "Roan.” His name sounded like a caress coming from her lips. Strange that she had chosen to recite his first name rather than his formal title and surname.

 "A strange name for a Solarian warrior. Why are you here? I do not understand. We were the only ones charged with this quest. I was not told another was sent. Leaving the Realm without consent is forbidden.” She cocked her head to the side and studied him.

 "Why do you call me that? I am not sure I understand what you are asking. I know not of these Solarian warriors of whom you speak. I am an English knight. I live in a keep nearby, here in England.” He answered.

 She frowned and stiffened at his words. “But you carry the warrior mark. You have the mind sense. What are you saying? You cannot be English."

 Roan scowled in irritation. “I do not know where this mark comes from. I was found at the age of six in the Forest of the Dean, unconscious and alone. I have no memory of my previous life. I do not know why I hear you in my mind. I cannot explain it. But, I am English."

 "English!” Serena gasped at his words.

 He was English? What was amiss here? How could he be an English knight?

 The English were enemies of her people. Serena attempted to back away, but his hand locked on her shoulder stopped her.

 The English had killed her people, driven the Solarians to the Highlands.

 Wait.

 Some of what he had said dropped into place.

 Found at the age of six in the Forest of the Dean. Facts clicked in Serena's mind, and the pieces rapidly fell together. His unpracticed cries for help, his strange familiarity to her with those unusual bright blue eyes, his confusion over his mark and her words. But he said he was English.

 "You are the one!” She exclaimed.

 "What one, may I ask?” His brows furrowed.

 Serena realized he had no idea why she was confused. He did not know that they were sworn enemies, what a contradiction he was, Solarian—yet English!

 Was his origin something she could ignore?

 Her people bore such a deep hatred for the English, a learned emotion brought about by betrayal, one that passed from generation to generation, that she could never imagine herself ignoring his origin. She tried to relax and explain herself.

 "There is a myth amongst our people, of a lost Wolf Warrior. He was lost in the battle brought upon us by the English King, Edward. This lost boy was the first son of our greatest Solarian Wolf Warrior named Jarod. The boy strayed from his mother against her warnings. Although young, he was recognized as a gifted warrior and had already begun his training. He launched himself into the battle."

 "You think I am this son, I take it?"

 She had stopped trying to fight him and he released her shoulder.

 Serena immediately felt the loss of his touch. She had such a deep attraction to this man; one touch had her mind muddled.

 "It makes sense, Roan.” Serena tried to explain. “Jarod is one of our finest warriors. He has a most unusual mixture of bright blue eyes and jet-black hair. You look like him, Roan. I recognized a likeness from the first minute I saw you."

 Serena took a deep breath. “Roan, we are sworn enemies, you and I.” Serena saw his eyes widen at her remark. He immediately began shaking his head. She nodded her head in affirmation. “We are enemies of all English, Roan. They slaughtered our people, caused us great pain and suffering."

 "No.” Roan's statement was strong and sure.

 A small part of Serena could not help but feel pride in his denial of what she was saying. She did not feel like this man's enemy, quite the opposite, but the hatred of the English was, without question, ingrained in each Solarian's mind at the youngest of age. They were committed to assisting the Scottish in their fight against the English. No Solarian would ever accept a union with an Englishman. Never.

 "Yes,” Serena said softly. “I cannot believe you were raised English, Roan. How can it be? How can it?"

 Roan leaned back, stunned.

 What was she saying?

 First she was trying to convince him that he was one of her people; then she was telling him that they were raised enemies.

 Is what she's saying true? he wondered.

 Was he one of these Solarian Wolf Warriors she talked about?

 Many of Roan's friends had teased him about his unusual looks. His knights frequently taunted him, telling him that the ladies were only attracted to him for his combination of ice blue eyes and contrasting black hair.

 He watched Serena; it seemed as if she was awaiting him to acknowledge what she was so convinced of.

 "Roan, this lost warrior was marked with the wolf, as all other warriors are at his age. As I am.” As if this was not enough to convince him, she continued. “It is said that Jarod sent his faithful gray wolf, Karma, to find his son during the battle while he moved his wife, who was heavy with child, to safety. Do you remember a wolf at all?"

 Roan sucked in a breath, how could she know about the wolf? How could she? “I was found with a gray wolf next to me. He was dead.” Roan confessed.

 Could it be possible? Was this far-fetched tale the reason why he always felt so disconnected with the people of his father's castle?

 If it was true, then he could understand why the Solarians hated the English.

 "Your father returned and searched for you for over five summers. Your family was certain you had not perished. They sensed you were alive, but they could not find you."

 "Further searching was eventually forbidden by the council. The risk was too high. They declared you dead. Your family always dreamed they would find you, and so did I—we all did."

 Roan nodded, finally deciding that her wild story had to be authentic. There was no other way she could know the details she had told him unless what she had said was true.

 What was the likelihood that something like this would happen to him after all this time?

 That he and this woman would meet? It was nearly impossible to believe. But there was one thing of which he was certain.

 "Serena, no matter who you think I am, no matter what we discover about my heritage—there is one thing I am certain of. We will never be enemies, Serena. Never!” His statement came out as a roar, much louder than he intended and his hand fisted in Serena's dark mass of hair. He was as confident of this as he was Ian covering his back in battle.

 He would never come to hate this woman. A deep place in his heart was convinced of that. He drew close to her, so close he could see the surprise in her clear green eyes.

 All of a sudden Roan's doubts, his rage at her words, and any confusion he felt ceased, along with all other coherent thought. Serena slowly, seemingly reluctantly, reached out and lightly, so gently, touched his face. A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes as her fingers strayed to his neck, touched his pounding pulse.

 Roan sensed her internal battle not to touch him. He also knew she had lost that fight; she seemed unable to restrain herself. He closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of her hand, like a butterfly brushing its wings against his neck. He reached out and instinctively captured her hand in his, their eyes connecting. Roan felt drawn to her as if an invisible force was pulling him toward her. He lowered his face downward and drew his lips closer to hers.

 He needed her so badly.

 He was a breath away, and she was all he could think about. They were not enemies—they were man and woman, and he felt it all the way to his cock. He wanted to take her, make her his in every way.

 Roan watched as Serena licked her lips and he could feel the rapid pulse in her wrist where he held her hand. He wanted to wrap himself so tightly around her that she would never give one thought to their status in the world. That all she would sense was his need and her own, and the feelings they shared, together. He knew he could be losing his mind, but the need to take her was so forceful, that all sense of propriety left him.

 Just as his lips touched hers, just as he sought his first taste of his fantasy, Roan heard the rapid pounding of a horse approaching and he drew back, feeling slightly guilty.

 He lunged for his sword, pulled it into his hands and jumped to his feet, ready to fight. First a huge gray wolf appeared, bounding through an opening in the woods, followed by a large man on his horse. Roan was stunned to see the wolf. They had been hunted in earnest for a long time, and few remained in England.

 "Roan.” Serena cried, “Stand down, it is my brother, Richard!"

 At her command Roan relaxed his stance, yet he did not completely lower his sword. The gray wolf approached him. Its fangs were drawn in a growl so ferocious it made the hairs on the back of Roan's neck rise.

 "Caine, hold!” A command from Serena had the huge animal sitting on his haunches, waiting for the next order.

 "Friend, Caine."

 Wagging his tail like a pet dog, Caine approached Roan as a completely different animal. Kneeling, Roan extended his hand, and Caine nuzzled Roan's fingers with his nose. He was more fearful of the wolf taking off his hand than crazy King Edward I who had knighted him with a sharpened blade, cutting a small line in Roan's neck to show his dominance over Roan.

 "He won't hurt you now."

 Leaning down, Roan swept his hand over the wolf's soft fur. It had been many years since anything resembling a wolf had inhabited the area. The hunting of them had taken its toll. It was a sad tale indeed when a King's order could kill an entire race of beautiful animals. Roan assumed the man, who dismounted and now held a sword in his hand, was Richard.

 "Richard, rest easy. He is Solarian. Come, see to my wound."

 Richard immediately sheathed his sword and stepped in the direction of Serena. There was no hesitation in his movements, his trust of Serena's orders observable and commendable despite the presence of a stranger. Roan found himself letting out his breath when Serena did not mention he was English. Maybe his declaration, that they would never be enemies, made a difference to her. Perhaps she would accept what he said as the truth, just as he accepted what Serena had told him. There seemed to be an unspoken trust between them. If any other person had told him he was of another race of people, he would have laughed. But somehow, with Serena, there was a bond. Without even thinking, he trusted her. It was the same bond that Richard seemed to have with her.

 Bending down, Richard placed his hand on Serena's head, then her shoulder. He tensed, then closed his eyes. “Serena, it is a deep wound, although clean. I can take away most of the pain and stop the bleeding, but I must stitch it. I will place you into a deep sleep.” Richard moved around her, tending to her. “How could this have happened? You are far too skilled to be injured like this. And why are you bleeding? Did you not use the breathing technique?"

 Roan hunched down next to Richard. Serena's gaze touched on him.

 "I was distracted. I could not concentrate enough on the breathing technique."

 Somehow Roan knew she tried to make her voice sound casual. Realizing what she was saying, his gaze flew to make contact with hers. It was his desire that had caused her distraction, first during the battle, and then when he had tried to kiss her.

 "Serena, I..."

 Serena saw the guilt on Roan's face and understood he was trying to acknowledge that he had caused her precarious state. But it was with herself Serena was most angry. She should not have let Roan's thoughts distract her, not even Richard possessed the power to do that.

 She had gone five and twenty years without allowing her mind to become distracted, yet somehow she couldn't control her senses with this man. His nearness confused her. She placed her hand over his and shook her head.

 He stopped speaking and turned her hand over. He held their hands palm to palm. Her pulse accelerated and more blood seeped onto the bandage. She tried hard to convince herself they should not be doing this and that they were enemies. But just as she had wanted to feel his lips against hers earlier, she craved his touch as much now.

 "Serena.” Richard's voice cut through her rising desire and stirring emotions. He looked at their entwined hands with a knowing expression.

 "Richard, this is Roan,” Serena told her bother excitedly, purposely leaving out that he was English. She didn't want to explain that fact to Richard yet.

 "Roan, remove your shirt and show him your mark."

 Releasing her hand, Roan raised his eyebrows at her request, and for a moment, wished she were asking him to remove his shirt for an altogether different reason. He shook his head and concentrated on keeping his attention on the task at hand.

 "Richard, he is the one,” Serena said, as Roan removed his shirt. “He's the lost Wolf Warrior of Solaria. He has no memories of his life before he was found in the woods near the old village. He also has the mind sense."

 Richard, with a doubtful expression, peered at Serena. Roan heard him catch his breath when he saw his mark. Richard ran his hand over Roan's skin, over his mark.

 "A Solarian Wolf Warrior. Serena, you are correct. This mark cannot be mistaken. I can't believe it.” Richard turned back to Serena.

 "Richard, he called to me when I was on the trail. I heard him! I came to aid him. He can hear my words. Try it! Test him!"

 Serena's enthusiasm was plain in her voice. Richard closed his eyes in apparent concentration.

 Roan felt a now familiar blinding pain in his head, followed this time by a bright light.

 It is Richard. Can you hear me?

 "Yes,” Roan roared. “I would appreciate it if you would both stop doing that.” He brought his hand to his head.

 Richard lifted his hand to Roan's head and commanded, “Release the pain."

 With those words, the pain in Roan's head was gone.

 I'll be damned, Roan thought.

 He breathed a sigh of relief and circled around motioning toward Serena.

 "Is it not a better idea to see to Serena rather than to me?"

 "Do not worry, Roan, Serena feels no pain,” Richard stated calmly, turning to her. “I think you are correct, Serena. What good fortune we have had to discover him."

 "Roan,” she breathed his name. Roan dropped on his knees and leaned closer to her. He was confused about his own intentions. He was unsure if it was to be near her, or rather to hear what she was going to say that caused him to kneel so close.

 "Richard is a healer. Show him your mark, Richard.” She waved her hand. Richard removed his shirt, and turned so Roan could see his right shoulder. He bore the same mark as Serena, however, instead of a wolf, his symbol was a black raven.

 Amazed, Roan frowned at Serena, he couldn't believe what his eyes and mind were telling him. He was reeling with the implications of their story. This strange pair, who bore such likeness to each other, were his kin, his people. He felt the smallness of Serena's hand tangle with his, and he was sure his hand was trembling.

 "We have much to teach you, Roan. There is a great deal for you to learn. You will be proud of your people. I promise you. You must overcome their fear first, of your English upbringing but...” Serena's eyes were blinking rapidly, and she was very pale again. Her pulse was weak in his hand.

 Despite her claim that they were enemies, Roan could sense her need to make him feel welcome. In her pain, she had easily rejected the notion that they should be adversaries. This conflict she had created between them was a farce. He guessed it was just a way for her to erect a wall against her confused feelings about him. Their connection seemed to far exceed her need to rebuff him. The thought warmed him and he smiled to himself.

 Roan bowed over her while he tenderly pulled her hand to his lips. There was something about this fierce woman to which he felt linked. Her petite yet callused hand intertwined with his. The heat that radiated from the touch of their hands was intense. The possessive feelings he experienced when his eyes roved her face, and the rage he had felt when the arrow had struck her shoulder, were powerful.

 The bond that these feelings created in him was so strong that he hesitated, from fear of an answer, to consider why.

 He shook his head while he thought about how the most feared warrior of England could be frightened of a mere woman. How he could be both anxious yet frightened of the feelings she brought forth in him, and the extraordinary link he sensed between them.

 * * * *

 Richard observed Roan with Serena and suddenly became aware of what had distracted her. It was this man, they had a mate connection, and Richard could sense it. Some Solarian legends talked of a magical connection between the future Solarian leaders, one male and one female, who would save their people. This pair would be soul-mates in every way. Richard had to wonder, studying Roan and Serena, if they were the ones.

 He smiled at the idea.

 Serena had never been interested in any of the men in the village of the Realm. Many had attempted to win her hand, but she would have none of them. She had always concentrated on her training, mastering her skills, almost to obsession, dismissing male suitors like unwanted insects.

 "Richard, what ails her? She grows pale and her heart is beating so slowly."

 Richard's heart danced with happiness and he placed his hand on Roan's shoulder.

 "Do not fear, I have placed her in a healer's sleep. She will feel no pain. Her heart has slowed to decrease the bleeding. I will now work on her wound. I am a gifted healer; I vow to you she will feel better by morning."

 Roan nodded but did not release her hand. Richard moved to her other side and began to unwrap her wound. Caine lay down beside Roan and placed his head on Serena's leg.

 "So tell me, Roan, did Serena explain to you what it means to be English?” Richard saw Roan wince, and he raised his eyebrows.

 "Hoping I didn't pick up that little bit of information, were you?” Richard tried to not laugh at Roan's expression.

 "Yes, I was hoping that."

 Richard shook his head. Unlike Serena, and most of the others in the Realm, he did not have an instant hatred for another human just because of their upbringing. Richard was sworn to heal; the background of those he helped made no difference to him.

 "Roan, I am a healer. We try not to carry the prejudices of our ancestors. I will judge you for who you are, not how you were raised. But I cannot say the same for others. The English greatly wronged our race, killing over half of our population in one bloody raid. Our people have good reason for their loathing, although I am not in agreement. You will be required to overcome a great deal of this hatred to gain acceptance. Serena is..."

 "I know, Richard, she told me. However, I have already explained to her that she and I will never be enemies."

 This time Richard actually laughed.

 "Oh, you have told her that.” He worked on. “Just out of curiosity, Roan, how did she accept your order?” Richard watched Roan hesitate before he answered.

 "Well, we ... um ... really didn't have much chance for discussion."

 "Hmmm,” Richard answered, smiling knowingly. This should be an interesting relationship, he thought. He had no doubt that Roan was in for the fight of his life, but he also saw a strong bond between the two of them. He was confident that connection would overcome Serena's protests quickly. Serena had much more difficult worries than that of one compelling Wolf Warrior.

 "Richard, it was I who distracted her ... I could have killed her."

 Roan's voice washed over Richard. He could hear the regret and the anguish. “I doubt that you could have killed her, Roan. She is a warrior of the highest caliber, despite the fact she was momentarily distracted by your thoughts. She is familiar with the voices of those in the Realm. You are a new voice and I assure you it will not happen again. I would recommend that you practice with her and allow her to become familiar with your voice.” His hands worked with practiced efficiency as he stitched Serena's shoulder.

 "I do not know how to practice, Richard. I do not understand any of this. What Serena and you are saying is unbelievable to me. I am not even sure why I believe what you are saying,” Roan growled. In frustration, he ran a hand through his hair.

 "I sympathize, Roan. It is not an easy concept to grasp. You may practice with Caine. As a Wolf Warrior, you are able to communicate not only with other Solarians within a short range but also with the wolf. You will always have a connection with them."

 Roan helped Richard roll Serena over so he could work on the back of her wound as he shook his head in disbelief. He had sincere doubts that he could communicate with this wolf with only his thoughts.

 "Just concentrate on Caine and give him a command. Roan, your abilities have not left you. They remain dormant inside you. You just have not commanded them to come forth.” Roan gave Richard another dubious look. Richard tilted his head to Caine, “Try it. Concentrate,” he urged Roan.

 Roan peered at Caine, who was gazing protectively at Serena. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

 Come to me.

 When he opened his eyes, Caine was in front of him, sitting and awaiting his next command. Roan patted his head and sent him back down to Serena's leg.

 Richard shrugged his shoulder when Roan said, “Amazing."

 "See,” said Richard. He finished with Serena's shoulder. Then at Richard's insistence, Roan allowed him to stitch his arm and tend his side.

  

 Chapter Three

 Serena awoke to tightness in her right shoulder and unexpected warmth on her left side. Richard lay several feet away wrapped in his own blanket, blissfully sleeping. Feeling a faint stir of breath on her neck, her heart began to flutter when she recognized the man attached to her side.

 Their intertwined hands were pulled up to his chin, which was now covered with a slight, dark shadow, giving him a rough-looking appearance. In sleep, his chiseled features became almost childlike. His lips were softened from their concerned grimace. Beneath his eyes were dark purple circles, attesting to his lack of sleep. She reached forward to touch him.

 God I want to run my hands over every inch of him, she thought.

 His eyes opened immediately, his beautiful blue stare linked with hers, a slight smile touched his lips. She flexed her hand in his. Her fingers were numb.

 He seemed to recognize her movement and he placed her hand between both of his and rubbed the feeling back into it. The contact made her warm all over, and her eyes half closed. He reached over and pushed some of her hair off her face. It was a simple gesture, one that sent tingles down her body, and she inhaled sharply. She couldn't understand her feelings for this man. When he was near, she couldn't think except to picture her body wrapped sensually around his.

 He moved closer.

 "How do you feel this morn?” His face hovered above hers.

 She watched his lips form the words, but she didn't really hear them. Instead she wished those lips would touch hers. She shook her head.

 What is wrong with me? she wondered.

 She was well known for her discipline against distraction. But now her discipline failed her. Her senses were full of feelings, both his and her own. His breath was exhaling rapidly above her lips. She had not lived five and twenty years without some knowledge of a man's aroused state. The outline of his hardened penis was pressed intimately against her leg. He was staring at her lips now, and she licked them in anticipation. She heard his groan as he moved even closer. His smell surrounded her, a musky male smell, a unique smell that sent her senses reeling. She was getting damp. His hand lightly caressed her cheek. Just as his lips touched hers, Caine nosed his way past Roan and started licking her face. She reached up to ward him off.

 "It would seem that I am not the only one with a desire to greet you this morn."

 She laughed at Caine's antics. He lifted himself away from her. She felt the immediate loss of his body heat, causing her to shiver, reacting to the coldness of the morning dew, and felt emotions much deeper that she couldn't identify. She shifted into a sitting position, berating herself for her feelings. She grimaced at the tightness in her shoulder, yet felt little pain.

 "Richard has done well, the pain is slight.” She rolled her shoulder to and fro, testing her ability to move. She pushed at Caine to stop him from licking her face and rubbed her hand over his soft gray head. He had been her trusted companion since the age of fifteen, and she had a great affection for him.

 "Thank you for the greeting, old friend. Now go!” She waved her hand. “Quickly—check the perimeter.” Caine barked, then ran off.

 When she began to rise, Roan shifted and braced her good arm with his as he helped her up. When she stood, he slowly ran his hand down her arm before releasing it. She gave an involuntary shudder and closed her eyes.

 "Roan, you must learn to control that, it is distracting to my senses.” She waved her hand at him. She silently called to stop Caine from her last order, and he immediately came running.

 "Wake Richard, and prepare to leave,” she instructed. “Come, we will wash, and I will show you what problems your thoughts can cause.” She indicated that he should follow her. They walked down to the river out of sight of camp. She bent down to the water and with her good arm scooped the wetness onto her face and neck.

 * * * *

 Roan watched her. She was so incredibly beautiful, he wanted to feel her naked skin against his, wanted to run his hands through her dark mane of hair.

 He wanted to eat her up.

 "Roan.” She commanded him. “You must learn to control this. I cannot even think, your desires are crowding my mind."

 "What?” He asked in stunned surprise. “What do you feel?"

 She circled him. She reached over and pulled his shirt from his body, throwing it angrily to the ground and continued to stalk him. She was so close—he could smell her scent, feel the burn of her hand touching him, and sense her desire—his balls pulled up and his prick hardened. She started speaking to him, her magical voice attempting to penetrate his desire-soaked mind.

 "As a Solarian Wolf Warrior you must discipline yourself to clear your thoughts, to stay focused so you can predict your enemies’ movements.” She continued to step around him.

 "Remember who I am. I am your enemy. You would do well not to forget that fact.” She ran her hand from the top of one shoulder and ever so slowly, dragged her hand down his back as she walked. He sucked in his breath. His dick was straining against his breeches, his breath becoming labored. He was beginning to sweat.

 "If your thoughts are filled, you will be unable to use your senses, thereby making you vulnerable to attack.” With a quick movement, she held a dagger up to his throat. He reached out to capture her arm, but he was too late. She applied pressure to the dagger lightly piercing his skin below his main artery.

 "Do you see what I am saying, see how close your enemy can get when your mind is crowded?” He released her arm and she pulled the dagger from his throat. “You will get yourself killed and me along with you with these blinding emotions in your head.” She lightly thumped his head with her knuckles.

 His eyes swung to hers.

 Christ, she was right.

 He cursed himself.

 Suppressing his desire, he tried to feel for her next move. She continued to stride around him, her step agile, practiced. When he cleared his mind, he could anticipate her next step and was able to predict her direction. He slid one foot back and locked it behind hers. Pushing her backward, she lost her balance. He turned and, in a lightning flash move, plucked the knife from her hand. His arms locked on her body, gently allowing her to fall back onto the ground. The dagger was now at her throat.

 "I have told you,” he lightly caressed her throat with the tip of the dagger, “we will never be enemies. I would have killed you just now, if that were the case."

 Her surprised expression made him smile, and he released the dagger from her neck.

 "No one has ever brought me down before. Your power is strong when you concentrate."

 She smiled at him. Her smile was magnificent, softening the serious lines of her face. She wore only her leather halter, and with his bare chest pressed against her, he could feel her naked arms touching his skin. The effect was beyond distracting, to say the least.

 * * * *

 Serena's eyes widened when she felt his sexual thoughts return. Before she could protest, his lips claimed hers in a gentle, yet firm, kiss. All contemplation of fighting him left her mind with the touch of his lips against hers. White-hot desire shot through her body, so burning that she groaned in response to it. Then his lips altered from gentle to ravenous as they devoured hers, greedily wetting them with his tongue, then re-taking them with his mouth. She could taste him, his tongue mixing with hers.

 Oh God.

 Her hands roamed over his shoulders and down his naked back. She felt his large muscles tense under her stroking hand and heard his moan. Suddenly, she felt a prick on her neck, and he raised his eyes to hers. They were dark with desire. His body was hard all over. His cock fit perfectly into the vee of her legs. She wanted more. It took her a few seconds to realize that he held the dagger to her neck.

 His breathing was harsh, uncontrolled. “Now, who has lost their concentration?"

 Her eyes strayed to the dagger and she couldn't help but laugh at his accomplishment. “I guess we both must learn to control this."

 He nodded, and helped her stand up. He handed her the dagger and dove into the cold, deep river, breeches and all.

 * * * *

 Roan climbed out of the water and donned his tunic. It clung to his wet skin. His lust had cooled by the time he returned to camp.

 Richard had swiftly packed their belongings. He approached Serena and gently unwrapped her bandage to check on her wound. “It is healing well,” He rewrapped her shoulder.

 She placed her hand on her brother's shoulder and patted it.

 "You are a gifted healer. As always the wound is none but a bother, with little pain,” she concluded. He smiled and she dropped her arm.

 They both reached out and clasped their hands on each other's forearm. She recited something in a foreign language that he recognized as Gaelic. “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne."

 Richard repeated the phrase back to her. Although he didn't speak the language, for some reason he recognized the phrase they had just recited to each other and without realizing it he spoke it out loud in English, “We protect our own."

 They both turned.

 "Ah,” Serena pivoted her arm toward him, stretching it out in invitation. He extended his hand and slowly clasped her arm in his. Memories assaulted him of another time and place. He had repeated this very same movement when he was very young. He was now as sure as the impending day that he was familiar with this greeting. His eyes met hers, and she understood how he felt.

 He recited the phrase, “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne,” to her in Gaelic and she repeated it to him. They continued to clasp arms.

 "You have not forgotten all.” She released his arm. “That is our pledge of honor as Solarians to each other."

 Roan dropped his arm and ran his hand through his hair, a habitual frustrated gesture. “No, it seems I have not forgotten everything."

 * * * *

 Serena heard him murmur. With a single nod, she turned to her brother. “We must continue our quest. Did you gather any useful information in the last township?"

 Grasping her sword and scabbard, she made a slow circle with her shoulder to test her arm with the weapon.

 "I was able to learn that Ziem had been at that township not three days past and he is also traveling south."

 "Well done.” She pulled on her scabbards and sheathed her swords behind her back. Moving toward her horse, she picked up the saddle and tried to throw it on Greystar's back. She made several attempts, however, the loss of strength in her arm wouldn't allow her to continue.

 Roan moved next to her. He stayed her with a placating hand. She narrowed her eyes but allowed him to saddle Greystar for her. She watched as he ran his hand over the horse's flank. He clearly admired her stout Realm steed—a mixture of sturdy Scottish horseflesh and an Arabian stallion—brought back from a strange faraway land by a Realm traveler. She shook her head as she forced her eyes from his hands and tried to focus her thoughts on something besides this compelling man.

 "This is good news that we are close. We must ride ahead quickly. We have already lost too much time.” Using her good arm, she swung herself into her saddle. Richard followed her action.

 "Roan, you have given me enough information. Someone from the Realm will be in contact with you. We must leave now."

 * * * *

 Roan's blood boiled with rage. Dismissed. Just like that.. Someone would be in contact with him. He didn't think so, and she was not getting away from him that easily, not after all the information she had just given him.

 "Hold,” Roan ordered. “What is this quest?” He moved over to saddle his own horse, his actions quick and sure. He vaulted his large muscular frame easily into the saddle, and positioned himself next to her.

 "We have been sent on a quest to retrieve an outlaw,” she explained. “He has been condemned for taking a life and has stolen the historical scrolls of the Realm."

 At his look of bewilderment, she sighed. She must have realized he knew nothing of their people or their story.

 "For almost thirty years our people have been forbidden to leave the secret Realm. Only a chosen few are allowed to hunt, gather our food stocks and herbs, some are given permission to travel. This is done for the protection of our village. We moved our village to a secret location in the Scottish Highlands—as you call them—when the English attacked our people nearly thirty years ago for our religious beliefs and our strong mind abilities. They felt our skills were a threat to their way of life. Thus, they branded us carriers of the devil, witches. Many of our people were slaughtered that day as the English attempted to eradicate us, as they did our warrior protectors, the wolf."

 She dropped her head in sadness.

 "There is only one scroll that documents our location and our history of the Realm. The scroll Ziem has stolen also contains a map to our location in the mountains. It is well protected, all hours of the day."

 "Ziem has always been resistant to our ways,” she continued. “He lived just outside the village and attempted to stir unrest within the Society, about our chosen ways, our customs. We are a peaceful culture, and the taking of a Solarian life is forbidden."

 She explained, “Ziem struck down the guard of the scrolls and took them. He now has the ability to lead outsiders into the Realm. This could be perilous to our people and disrupt our solitude as well as our well-being.” She captured his arm in hers again. “Our vow to protect each other is threatened with this scroll in Ziem's possession.” Her eyes beseeched him to understand.

 "We believe he wishes to harm the people of the Realm and will bring back the wrath that ended the lives of so many of us, the siege that lost you to us."

 She paused as she let him absorb the enormity of her account.

 "This cannot happen. We must capture Ziem and retrieve the scroll. We suspect he has taken it to prove the Realm exists. We believe he intends to use it to gain support to attack the Realm, mayhap attempt to force us to integrate back into the outside world. It is imperative we find him—he threatens our people.” She sighed and wrapped her fingers above his wrist onto his forearm. As tears formed in her eyes, he had a remarkable urge to protect her.

 "I know I do not fare well in what I am trying...” She paused, and took an audible breath. “Please tell me you understand this. I fear I am not saying what needs to be said. It is a long tale, and to try and explain such history in such a short time..."

 His gaze roved over her beautiful face, and he understood what she was saying. This man, Ziem, threatened their entire way of life. Bringing outsiders into their world could destroy them. He appreciated why they had been persecuted for their unique strengths. He could see why the English King would find their extraordinary abilities a threat and order their deaths. He understood now why she was trying so hard to make them enemies, why her people so hated the English. Why she fought to keep that value so strong in her mind, despite the fact the he felt her softening toward him. She wanted—he sensed it—she wanted to teach him her ways, the traditions of their people.

 Roan was familiar with King, Edward I. He was a greedy man, obsessed in his need to conquer all and seek superiority for the English. Slowly he removed her hand from his arm and clasped it between his own, his eyes never leaving hers as he brought her hand to his lips. Her eyes widened and he repeated his personal vow in Gaelic, the language slowly returning to him, against her hand. His lips touched her knuckles and nothing existed but the two of them.

 "A'Don ar Cuid-ne, I protect my own,” he said, altering the vow slightly. “Please, let there be a truce between us. I understand what you are saying, and I will be joining you.” It was the right action to take. It felt so cleansing, as if it was his destiny. As if his path in life had always been to join with his people, and this woman.

 "You do not need to.” She kept her hand in his.

 * * * *

 "This is not your fight, you will only feel resistance from my people toward you. It will not be...” Serena shifted in her saddle, she hated to say it but she needed to. A small part of her still wanted to fight this softening she had toward him. “It will not be comfortable for you."

 "I will join you. I am meant to be with my people. You know this, why do you question it?” he asked in a stronger voice. “Can you agree to join with me on this?"

 She smiled at his conviction, squeezing his hand in hers. She sighed.

 How could she deny this man anything?

 "Yes, for a short time I will agree to a truce between us."

 "For a short time only?” He had a look she was starting to recognize, his mouth lifted on the end, the beginnings of a smile.

 "Yes, a short time only, but it can be only us. We cannot threaten the Realm by allowing outsiders in, such as your friend, and it will be dangerous.” He nodded abruptly, released her hand and pulled his horse away.

 "We will move to the next township. My man is there, and I will tell him to return to my castle without me. Then we will travel through the night in an attempt to catch Ziem."

 She momentarily stiffened at the command in his voice, then she relaxed. Without a doubt, he was in the leadership role now, and she was comfortable giving it to him. In her heart she knew he was meant to be there, to guide them on this challenging quest. He was the rightful leader, a trueborn warrior through to his bone, despite the obstacles that were thrown in front of him.

 Legend told that a true warrior of the wolf would save their people. It had been recited over several decades, and she knew the tale well. Two warriors of the wolf, soul mates destined to be together, would one day save the Realm from certain destruction. She hesitated to share the tale because their path was so uncertain and dangerous that she didn't want to disrupt their mission with legends of love. Besides, he was English and it seemed unbelievable they would ever be mates.

 Her emotions were conflicted, obviously matching her actions. One moment she was passionately kissing him, the next she was telling them they were enemies. It was almost comical. But she recognized somewhere deep in her heart this would not be an easy path he was choosing, for either of them. She also sensed she would need to come to terms with what her heart was telling her, sooner or later—she just chose later.

 Nonetheless, she had felt a deep connection with this man from the moment she had felt his mind call to her. That connection far transcended any other union she had experienced in her life. It was disturbing and distracting, but she held the information to herself in fear of the harm it might cause. She was not fit to lead with this distraction, so she would pass control to him, and she would be there to teach him. She signaled Caine to follow as they rode out to attack the muddy roads ahead.

 * * * *

 The group rode several tiresome hours to the next settlement to meet his man. Roan's confidence and knowledge of the surrounding area boded well for them and he was able to shorten their trip by taking the quickest, most direct routes. All their mounts were strong and surefooted and didn't shy away from the labor needed to carry them over the long road. Near dawn, Richard rode next to Serena as they approached the village.

 "I sense unease in you, distraction, which has already resulted in one injury. I think I know the cause,” nodding first to her injured shoulder, then to Roan.

 She hung her head at Richard's comment. She could never hide anything from her twin.

 "I feel a profound connection to him, more than I even have with you.” His eyes widened at the impact of her statement. “He disturbs my senses,” she confessed, “dulls them and I am unsure why."

 He chuckled, but her sharp gaze silenced him.

 "It is the desire. To our senses, it is the most damaging of all emotions."

 "What is the cure for this distraction? I must clear my senses, otherwise I shall go mad."

 He laughed. Roan turned his head to check on them. He rode ahead, out of earshot, for which she was grateful.

 "I fear it will not be long before you realize the cure, sister of mine.” He laughed again at her frustration and heard her growl as she shoved him. He continued to chuckle as he righted himself on his horse.

 "But he is English.” He grunted in disapproval.

 "You of all people know that means nothing to me. I am not at all convinced it should mean anything to you, little sister.” He shook his head when she was about to protest.

 "You are better than that, and you sense the goodness in him. He is a strong leader, a good man, even I sense this about him. How he was raised should not matter.” His chastising of her had her hanging her head in shame. He was right, she had sensed these attributes in Roan. She raised her head and gazed at Richard.

 "Thank you, brother. I will try to remember this."

 She loved this brother of hers, her only sibling, but she also sensed a disturbance in him. She hesitated to question him on this disruption because she knew how much he guarded his privacy. As a healer, he usually radiated such balance, however, as of late she had sensed an unusual pain in him when he used his gift.

 "And what of you, brother, any disturbing emotions to your senses?” She sensed the wariness in him at her question, and he quickly cloaked the emotions. He smiled to cover the sensation.

 "Only yours, sister, and they are blinding."

 She smiled back and pointed to the rear. “Then mayhap you should ride behind me, brother,” she suggested.

 He smiled and dropped back. “Perhaps I should. Besides, I see another to take my place.” He swung to the back.

 Roan dropped back to ride next to her.

 "What ails your brother?” he asked, noting her frustrated expression.

 "It's not of importance.” She scowled, her chin jerking higher at her brother. Turning away from him, she gave her attention to Roan. He simply shrugged at their actions.

 * * * *

 Roan already envied the closeness she shared with her brother. He only had one sibling, and he was not related to him by blood. Although they were close, he and Stephen didn't share the bond that these two obviously shared. He almost felt a strange jealousy at their connection. Their nearness was something he had always craved but had never been close to feeling until the small woman next to him had ridden to his rescue.

 "I will meet my man there.” He pointed to a small thatch-roofed hutch with a wooden sign unevenly hanging in the front. “I think it best if you two remain here. I will be quick,” he said, stopping outside the hut, and sliding off his horse.

 * * * *

 Roan was graceful for such a large man and she loved the way he moved. She felt his hand fall onto her leg. Her leg appeared small against his large hand. She wished she could feel her hand against her bare leg. She shook herself and tried to get focused on what he was saying.

 "Rest here for a few minutes. I will return shortly.” He swept the cloak around his body and pulled the hood over his head.

 She nodded and slipped off her horse, while Richard did the same. She stretched sore muscles unaccustomed to so many hours in the saddle then wrapped her cloak tighter around her body to ward off the chill. Richard's movements mimicked hers as they waited. She was uneasy watching Roan leave without her and not happy at all to experience these types of emotions when they were apart. Not happy at all.

 * * * *

 Roan entered the dark interior of the pub, his eyes alert, scouting for Ian. Ian rested in the corner, his head positioned against the table in sleep. He approached him, placing his hand on Ian's back to wake him. Ian woke immediately and pulled a dirk from his sleeve. He clutched Roan's wrist and pressed the point against it. He allowed Ian to capture his arm because he knew Ian wouldn't strike until he identified his assailant. With his free hand Roan eased down the hood of his cloak.

 Ian had been a faithful friend for as long as he could remember. Ian's English father had squired him in Roan's garrison as a way to avoid losing him in the unrest of Ireland. They had joined forces as fellow knights in his first campaign fighting for King Edward.

 They had both been young and stunned by their first battle. The smell of death, the feelings of guilt when striking down the enemy for the mere reason the man was fighting for the wrong side, nearly sickened them both. They had formed a friendship that day as they both lay exhausted, bloodied, and nearly physically sick after that first encounter with war. They had saved each other's lives many times over during that campaign, and they had been together ever since.

 "Laddie, ya nearly lost a hand,” Ian complained, pushing the dirk back into the hidden sheath strapped to his arm.

 Smiling, he slipped onto the hard wooden bench across from Ian.

 "Where ya been. laddie?” He rubbed a hand over his shadowed face.

 "Ian, I am going to give you some instructions, and I expect you not to question them."

 Ian straightened in his chair and waited.

 "I must leave for a short time. I need you and Stephen to defend Wolfsmoor until I return. I am unsure how long I will be gone, but you must do this, without query and you must keep my request silent."

 Ian nodded. “Aye, Roan, ye know I will if ya need me to."

 He nodded, grateful for Ian's quiet understanding and unquestioned loyalty. He arose to his feet to leave when he felt Ian's hand on his shoulder.

 "I know not what yer about but go with God's protection."

 He acknowledged Ian's words by squeezing his arm in return, silently thanking him for his support, and left the pub.

 * * * *

 They rode throughout the night, silently slipping over the border of Scotland into England and several English border villages. The weather had turned frigid while rain consistently misted the sky. Richard traveled in the middle, between Roan and Serena. Deep into the night her head fell forward in sleep. He touched Richard's arm in silence and jerked his head to direct his eyes toward her.

 Richard saw her fatigue and turned back to him saying quietly, “Her body is weary and attempts to rest so that her wound will heal faster,” he explained. “But she would be very angry if we stopped to allow her to sleep."

 Roan acknowledged this and directed his horse around the back of Richard's. He slid in next to her horse. She was valiantly attempting to keep her seat as her head nodded, falling to her chest.

 * * * *

 Serena was fighting her need for sleep and losing the battle. She realized her body was struggling to recover from her wound, and she would not accept this weakness. She would not slow the search. She tried to keep her head up, only to feel it fall again and again, her eyes dropping shut. Then strong muscular arms locked around her waist and lifted her. Instantly alert her hand stretched to the dagger strapped to her thigh, until his voice stopped her.

 "Rest easy."

 She knew that voice, and his reassurance allowed her to relax. Roan lifted her from her horse and gently set her astride, in front of him. The warmth of his strong body seeped into hers immediately as she felt him wrap his cloak completely around them both, sealing them in a closet of heat as their scents mingled. It was a heady feeling.

 She sighed in contentment at the calmness that invaded her body. His arms draped around her, tightly anchoring her against his body. She burrowed into him, letting her head fall against his large chest. He was such a large, well-made, powerfully built man, she thought, as she felt his hard, sculptured muscles against the back of her head where it rested on his chest. His arms tightened around her and his head dropped to the crook of her neck. It seemed almost as if he was inhaling her scent, nuzzling her hair to the side so that his lips rested against her flesh. Meanwhile, his other hand stayed on the bare skin of her midriff where her vest had fallen open. That hand lightly caressed the area it touched, leaving a trailing heat in its place, dipping lower below her breeches. She held her breath.

 "Rest,” he breathed next to her ear. This time she shivered but not from the cold, the heat of his body had completely inflamed her. He picked up the reins. The other hand remained fixed to her midriff, his fingers dipping down as if he didn't have the strength to pull both hands away.

 She smiled at the pleasant feeling assaulting her body while she rested in his arms. His unique masculine scent invaded her mind as she let her eyes drift closed and her head relax against his chest. She began her journey toward sleep in the safe security of his arms. She felt his lips linger beside her ear, and before sleep claimed her completely, she heard him whisper softly, “This is where you are meant to be, little one."

 She smiled because she was in agreement.

 * * * *

 Serena was dreaming, floating in a world created by her own imagination. Roan and she were facing the enemy, their backs touching. She had both her swords out—frantically swinging, deflecting blows, parrying, thrusting, attempting to down the vast enemies who surrounded them.

 In the hot, humid air the smell of death and destruction prevailed over all other odors. She felt Roan's sweating back against hers and the powerful movements of his body as he also fought off their adversaries. They were communicating with their minds, telling each other which way to move, how many of the enemy were yet left. She was breathing rapidly, her lungs burning with the need for air, her arms heavy, sweat pouring into her smoke-burned eyes.

 A black-garbed knight on an armored horse careened past. One swipe with his sword and she fell to one knee, the strength of his strike vibrating down the length of her arm.

 Roan's arm came around her from behind and tugged her back into a standing position. The knight galloped around and aimed his sword toward Roan. She warned him with her mind, but she could do nothing to stop the black knight. She was far too engaged fighting the foes surrounding her.

 Suddenly, a terrible pain invaded her body, causing her to fall to both knees and her cry was forced out in a whoosh. She experienced a piercing, radiating heat, felt the tearing of her own flesh as a blade sank into her shoulder.

 She fell forward into the mud. She moved her head, her eyes desperately searching for Roan. Then she saw him. The force of the black knight's blow had knocked him to his knees. She watched in horror as he tumbled backward, landing next to her on his back.

 The whole scene had happened in slow motion. The black knight's sword had gone into her shoulder, however, only after exiting from Roan's back. The sword now protruded from his chest.

 She screamed his name, trying to rise, only to fall back down in weakness. Her blood soaked the muddied earth next to him. His eyes touched hers, the death in them evident, his mind connected with hers.

 I love you.His eyes closed forever.

 * * * *

 "Roan!” Serena cried out in agony, as she frantically awoke.

 With tears coursing down her face she bounded into action. Panting, heart racing, she untangled herself from the arm holding her and jumped off Roan's horse. Throwing her cape off, she pulled both swords from her back, whirling around, seeking that black-armored knight.

 "Where are you?” she roared in frustration. From the corner of her eye she watched Roan leap off his horse, and yelling for Richard to do the same, he unsheathed his sword. Richard came up behind him, a sword also in his hands. She continued to circle, madly trying to get her bearings.

 * * * *

 Roan did a swift scan and immediately realized there was no threat. He lowered his sword and sheathed it. He motioned for Richard to do the same.

 She turned, and he swore when he saw the blood oozing from under the bandage, trickling down her shoulder.

 "Richard!” As he slowly approached her, she turned toward him with swords drawn, sweat and tears pouring down her face, a delirious stare in her eyes. Roan stopped, and realizing she wasn't seeing him, he reached out with his mind.

 It is Roan. You are safe, and we are here.

 He noticed her breathing begin to slow, and she finally became aware of him.

 "Roan?” She questioned, dropping her swords to the ground. He slid closer. She had returned from whatever dark place she had been trapped in. Fresh tears came streaming down her flushed face.

 "Roan?” she asked again.

 "Yes,” he confirmed, moving closer still and finally when he was near enough, he wrapped her in his arms. She let out a cry and clung to him. Turning their bodies so he could see Richard, he motioned with his eyes, and he stepped forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. Seeing it was Richard, she relaxed and allowed them to lower her onto a nearby fallen tree. Richard unwrapped her wound. Roan held her hand, then reached up with his thumbs and wiped the tears from her eyes. Richard cursed while he examined her wound, and Roan sucked in an anxious breath.

 "The wound has re-opened and she is feverish,” he stated, placing his hand on her forehead to help alleviate her pain. He walked away to gather his supplies from the bag attached to his horse.

 "Damnation.” He stroked the small hand that was clutched in his. When he met her gaze, he saw fear in her eyes. An emotion he had yet to see in her expression.

 "What is it?"

 * * * *

 Serena sighed when he pressed her cold hands between his. It was a gentle gesture odd for a warrior. When he touched her, he was always tender, something she knew went against his fierce nature, a contrast to the feared warrior she sensed within him. She pulled her hand from his and touched his cheek lightly. Slowly the fear subsided from the pit of her stomach.

 "I fear for you."

 "Why?” he asked, wrapping her hands with his again. He had squatted down next to her, his striking blue eyes level with hers. She sensed his concern.

 Richard interrupted her answer when he returned with his healer's bag.

 "I had a vision, a dream. It was disturbing,” she said, as Richard applied more salve to her shoulder. “It reeked of death and destruction.” She whipped a stray tear from her eye.

 Richard froze.

 "What is it?” Roan asked.

 "Solarian dreams of the sort she described are not to be taken lightly."

 "Roan was there with me, and we were battling. A black knight struck him down."

 "I was struck with him.” She pointed to her shoulder. “Here."

 Richard growled when he noticed some of the stitches had been severed. It was clear her wound had been tampered with.

 "It is Ziem.” Richard said with confidence. “He is using the power of the crystal. He knows we are in pursuit and he's using his dreams to fight you. As a fellow warrior, you are the only one he can make contact with."

 "Not the only one.” She stated, pointedly inclining her head toward Roan.

 Richard cursed.

 "Roan, did you feel any discomfort, here?” She placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. “Right before I came awake?"

 Shaking his head his hand came up to cover hers. “No."

 "He is too unpracticed with his senses, Richard. Ziem cannot yet penetrate them."

 "Ziem—he is also a warrior?"

 Reluctantly, she slid her hand from his chest and out from under his. It was amazing how his simple touch could distract her from an important situation.

 "Yes, he is, and with the crystal to increase his mind senses, he seems to have the power and ability to penetrate her mind and dreams,” Richard said, working quickly to add several stitches to her shoulder. She didn't even flinch.

 "Ziem also stole a crystal with the scroll to mask our ability to sense him. He also destroyed the remaining crystals. The crystal increases our powers outside of the village, yet none have used them in this manner. They are mainly used to enhance hunting abilities. Ziem has been able to improve his senses for malicious purposes,” Richard explained. He realized Roan did not understand about their powers.

 Recognizing the impact of what Richard was saying, Roan stood up, and his hand moved automatically to his sword.

 "He did this? He caused this harm?” he snarled.

 "That is what I suspect. We must be close, or his mind could not reach her. I think the damage he can do is limited. The wound already existed, he simply expanded on it, and I believe he can only do it when she is in sleep."

 "I will kill him!” His furious proclamation made her and Richard stop and stare at him.

 She sensed Roan's conviction before he said those words. Hand on his sword, his protective statement hung in the air. She had never seen such a magnificent man and his will to protect her warmed her heart. Against her better judgment, she smiled. She looked at Richard.

 "He takes our oath seriously, does he not?” Richard said, the joviality evident in his voice as he rewrapped her shoulder.

 She rose and strode over to where Roan stood. She felt a curious swell of her heart at his protective actions.

 "Let us ride."

 He nodded and swung onto his mount. As she moved around toward her horse, he stopped her.

 "Serena,” he said, his voice authoritative. When she turned, he held out his arm to her, the leather surrounding his wrist a reminder of his status as a warrior. “You will ride with me."

 She frowned at his demand. She was not accustomed to being ordered to do anything, especially by a man, by this man. His eyes locked with hers. Then she heard his pleasein her head, his silent voice washing through her, around her, weakening her resolve. He nodded affirmatively. His arm remained extended, his mind calling to her, wordlessly caressing her.

 He had spoken to her with his mind, and this time it was very clear, no longer unpracticed or weak. It was the first time he had controlled his thoughts with such domination, showing he was mastering the mind sense skill. She smiled at him, and she chuckled when he finally relented and smiled back.

 She raised her good arm to clasp his. His large arm made her hand appear petite against the muscular veined bulge of his.

 He swung her up in front of him with ease. He wrapped his cloak around them and she felt his legs squeeze against the sides of his mount to command the horse forward. The action tilted his hips against her rear, bringing a sharp awareness to her body that she had never felt before.

 Leaning back against his chest, she closed her eyes. She was tired and needed rest. Hopefully Ziem would not attempt to invade her dreams again. She felt him lean down and lightly kiss the top of her head, almost like one might do to a child.

 "You English bull,” she whispered the words as sleep began to capture her. She just didn't want him to think she was easy to push around.

 She fell asleep listening to the gentle rumble of his chest as he laughed.

  

 Chapter Four

 They traveled for over a week, not once spotting Ziem. It seemed they were dodging his movements. Serena sensed him close, yet had no luck in overtaking him.

 As a group, their frustration grew. Ziem appeared to be purposely playing them for fools.

 She tried as little as possible to sleep because it only drew her into a dark place she had no desire to go. Ziem had not wounded her again, but the tricks he played with her mind were at times debilitating. When tiredness overcame her she would feel the familiar security of Roan's arms plucking her off her horse with an ease which one might pick up a handful of heather. Placing her in front of him, he would slide his arms around her and pull her into his warmth.

 As they traveled together, she felt their bond grow stronger daily. They began to know each other, talking of his life after he had been lost to them. She shared some of the Realm's history with him, trying her best to fill the chasm that had been left in his life.

 His confidence in his abilities grew more each day. His senses were strong, much stronger it seemed than hers or Richard's. Roan sometimes sensed her thoughts even before she voiced them. Her desire for him grew stronger, although she tried to block her feelings from him as much as he tried blocking his.

 Nonetheless, his intense emotions were always close to the surface, flowing over her like warm waves at the most inopportune times. While practicing with her swords, running water over her face at the river, or simply stroking Greystar, she would sense his needs like a hungry peasant catching the scent of a roasting boar, and she would answer them against her better judgment, with her own.

 They traveled continuously, mostly through the night. Determined to catch Ziem, they wasted little time to rest.

 Today they had taken a small reprieve from the weariness of travel to rest. The day was clear, with the sun casting a welcome heat on the surrounding forest. Steam rose off the drying leaves. They were all grateful for the sun, which gave them a relief from the misty rain that had plagued them most of the week. The rain had left them bone cold and at times so wet that Serena feared they would never dry.

 Serena and Roan had worked in unison to build a fire, and Roan had spread as much of their clothing as they dared remove around the fire to dry.

 They sat next to each other on cloaks spread over a damp log, their hands outstretched toward the small fire, trying to saturate their bodies with heat before they returned to their mounts. They had agreed to share their warmth while waiting for their clothes to dry and Roan's naked shoulder brushed against hers. Richard had graciously volunteered to gather more wood.

 "Tell me of your castle and about your people?"

 * * * *

 Her question didn't surprise him. Serena's curiosity about his life was natural. With the exception of hunting and an occasional mission outside the Realm, she had known no other world.

 He tried to concentrate on her question as his gaze caressed her bare shoulders, drifting to her mark. He was fascinated by the symbol permanently ornamented to her body. He was unable to see his with any detail without uncomfortably contorting his body; therefore, he frequently gazed at hers.

 Roan's action was mostly out of curiosity, though he had to admit, he watched Serena because he found her irresistible. Her mark was beautiful, almost as striking as the woman it adorned. Without meaning to, his hand rose to touch it and he felt her shiver, instantly rousing emotions that washed over him like a dangerous tide. His thumb followed the dark lines outlining the wolf as his hand gently fell to her shoulder. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his other hand fanned out on her adjoining shoulder.

 "How does your wound feel?” he asked, softly running his hand over the unhealed wound, turning to tug her body between his legs. He now had uninhibited access to the curve of her back. She did not answer as his hands continued to massage her shoulders, moving up to her neck in tender strokes. He very slowly lifted the dark hair off of her neck and pushed it over her shoulder. He watched it unravel from his hand to cascade through his fingers and come to its final resting place.

 Her hair was so soft, so exquisite, such a unique color, dark black with a hint of red highlights blended in. His hand lingered on the back of her head, then returned to its gentle ministrations, reaching up under her halter and sliding down her spine, kneading the soreness the hours of riding had brought about. He heard her clear her throat, felt her crowded senses mingling with his, a reaction to his actions.

 He couldn't help but smile. He wanted to remove the halter he was toying with and caress her breasts, touch the nipples, claim them with his mouth, touch the buds with the tip of his tongue, and suck each one until they beaded with her desire.

 "It is fine.” She finally answered him as her head fell to one side. She groaned, he assumed, when he came to a particularly sore area. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and placed his lips to the invitingly exposed area of her neck. His mouth caressed the silky skin of her shoulder and neck, with soft but slow, tantalizing kisses.

 Her reaction was instantaneous, the warning in her voice clear, “Roan!"

 He laughed against her neck. “Will you answer my question or are you too distracted?” His voice softened with the gentle progress of his hands as he turned her in his arms so she was facing him. There was no doubt he had disturbed her, but he was much more unhinged than she could ever think to be.

 He watched her smile at his bemused expression, and her small hand came to rest on the roughness of his cheek. His reaction to her touch was immediate, and desire penetrated his mind. Unconsciously, his eyes closed, his hands coming up to wrap into her hair and travel around the back of her neck as he drew her forward. He would never get enough of this woman, no matter how long he stayed with her. He kept his eyes shut and let his mind reach out to her. He sensed what she was feeling, where his lips needed to be to touch, he would always have the ability to feel his way to her.

 "Did you forget my question, Roan?"

 Her query had him smiling, he groaned when he felt her hands travel to rest at the pulse in his neck. His pulse started to dance against her touch, responding to her as if she were commanding it to increase. As always, he was surprised by the smallness of her hands on his large body. Her two hands together barely covered his neck.

 "Most definitely. I have completely lost it,” he answered, smiling as she leaned forward and rested her cheek against his. Her cheek was so soft, so smooth and delicate beyond that of his softest woven, worn tunic. His hands deliberately angled her head as he tilted it back slightly. His lips slid along her cheek to her lips.

 Jesu, he wanted her. Now.

 He felt her sweet breath exhale against his mouth and sensed she had been waiting for him, for his lips. The softness of her lips astonished him. He had kissed many women. He could woo a woman to his bed with a simple pointed look, a result—he was told—of his extraordinary looks, coupled with a strength and gentleness that most women found they could not resist.

 He had always been in control of his bed play up until that final moment when he would pull out to avoid any unwanted bastards. But no woman had ever stirred his blood as this one did. With an effortless look, or an undemanding touch, she made him lose track of all time and the existence of the outside world.

 He wanted much, much more from her than a kiss, he thought, as his tongue slipped into the recess of her mouth. He groaned when her tongue matched his.

 Much, much more.

 He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body the last three inches into his. His hands tightened on her head, fisting in her hair as he felt himself losing control of his desire.

 How could she have ever thought they could be enemies?

 The concept almost made him laugh—almost.

 Calm, he told himself. But Roan couldn't convince himself to stop these emotions, and her abandoned response to him was not helping. She all but melted against his naked chest. Now he deeply regretted shedding his clothing to dry, as her small hand moved over his rapidly beating heart, caressing the muscles on his chest.

 God, Richard could come back at any moment and catch me ravishing his chaste sister, he thought.

 For a man who prided himself on his concentration and focus, he was certainly losing this battle. With great effort, he reluctantly opened his fists and released her, sliding back away from her on the log, distancing himself, his breathing as rapid and uneven as hers.

 He felt as if he had just fought in a long, tiring skirmish. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, trying to concentrate on regaining his control. His body had other ideas as he hardened against his damp breeches. He cursed his emotions and his tendency to let his desire run away from him every time she so much as glanced at him. But then he sensed Serena's bewilderment at his frustration. He abruptly looked up raising his eyes to hers.

 He watched as she shook her head telling him not to blame himself or to feel any regret. “Do not.” And that was all she voiced out loud. He knew what she was saying without her even voicing the words. He heard her thoughts in his mind.

 Do not feel guilt for what comes naturally to us, for the desire and bond we feel with each other. Set aside the lines of propriety from your world and step into mine, where you have the freedom to release your emotions. School it only in battle, when it has the ability to destroy you, but not here, and not now. Let it go, it will not be often that we will be able to do so.

 She was so wise, he thought, as he watched her face and listened to her words with his heart.

 So small, so young, so beautiful and so right.

 There would be little chance to let down their guard, they needed to be battle ready at all times. She unfolded herself from the log where he had pushed her, stood, and approached him.

 He was relieved. She wasn't angry with him, and for that he was grateful. He had been out of line, out of control.

 In the last week, he had tried hard to school his lust, only releasing the emotion when it overpowered him so much that he could no longer restrain it. He wanted to respect her feelings; he knew she didn't desire a close relationship with him. Oddly, it was the small actions that took him over the edge. The stroke of her hand on her horse, watching the water pool over her neck and drop between her breasts when she washed, the play of her muscles when she showed him a special move with her sword.

 Today, however, he had released his desire deliberately, and it was much stronger than he thought it would be. In a way he feared it, and then she had responded. His gaze locked with hers as she dropped down in front of him on the log where he had moved to place distance between them. He almost laughed at the concept of creating a physical gap from her.

 What was I thinking? he wondered.

 There could never be enough distance between him and this woman, because they were linked much more intimately with their minds, transcending the physical space he tried to place in their path.

 His eyes ran over her face as she knelt down before him, between his legs, precariously balancing herself on the log as she aligned her face with his. His arms automatically came around her to anchor her against him and balance her. She framed his face between her small hands, leaning against his body, whispering against his lips as she tenderly kissed him, “Never be sorry for what you feel, not with me."

 "Damnation.” He swore because that's all he could think to do as the desire he worked so hard to restrain spiraled upward at the touch of her luscious lips against his. This time he gave her what she asked for. As his arm secured her against his chest, he let her feel his full, hard cock. His other hand delved back into her hair angling his head, deeply drinking from her lips as if he was dying of thirst.

 He no longer cared where the hell Richard was.

 She responded in kind, her small hands running through his hair, holding on as she tipped unsteadily against him. If he had not been holding her so tightly she would have fallen, but his other arm came around and pinned her strongly against his body as his mouth devoured hers. He had complete domination of her balance now, and he wasn't letting her go anywhere but into his body. Ending the kiss and coming back to his senses, he slowly pulled back. She seemed stunned speechless. He smiled at her expression and kissed her trembling lips. Her hands left his hair to touch her lips.

 "You gave me permission, little one,” lifting his shoulder in a shrug.

 She gave him a half-amused, half-skeptical look, and Roan embraced his happiness with a full-bodied laugh, hugging her against him.

 Richard, obviously wanting to warn them of his return, began whistling a lively Celtic tune that had him smoothly setting Serena at least one foot away from him.

 She still seemed bewildered at his laughter, though she eventually joined him. The captivating cadence of her amusement did nothing to cool him off. It only increased his desire for her.

 Richard eyed them warily as he entered the clearing, and as he hunkered down to drop the wood, he said nothing, just continued humming.

 Serena didn't even notice Richard as she kept her eyes locked with his.

 "I gave you permission, did I?"

 "Yes, my lady.” He rose and bowed toward her, touching his hand to his head in a silent reminder that she had spoken to him. “You most certainly did."

 She fanned her red face with her hand. She crooked a finger at him so she could whisper in his ear, “You definitely took the chill from my bones. With enemies like you..."

 He chuckled. Good God, he thought, if his men could see him now he would never hear the end of it. At her words his face had reddened like an untouched maiden after her first kiss. It was downright embarrassing. He had never done that before.

 "It unquestionably did take that chill away, little one.” He confirmed, stepping toward the fire.

 "You still have yet to answer my question,” she told him, and he lowered himself next to her after adjusting their clothes around the fire.

 Richard sauntered over after adding wood to the flames and sat with obvious gratitude next to him, glancing at Serena in obvious discomfort.

 "Jesu, if I never sat on another horse again I would be sincerely happy.” He groaned and joined Roan and Serena in conversation.

 "Richard, Roan was about to tell me about his home.” Serena told Richard as she patted his shoulders with affection from her perch on the log.

 "Let me see ... tell you of my castle and people was the question, if I remember correctly?"

 She winked at him.

 He was amazed how much he laughed and smiled when he was with her. He shook his head and smiled to himself, again wondering what his own knights would think if they saw him. What would they say about this jovial, content man he seemed to become when he was with Serena and Richard? In comparison, when he was with his men, he was a serious, focused warrior.

 "Ahhh,” He leaned forward and rested his arms against his knees as he began to talk about his home.

 "They are a small band of misfits, loyal to Wolfsmoor and me until both perish.” That was the best way he could think to describe his knights. He gazed out over the forest as he pictured his small castle nestled on the Scottish border.

 "They would kill, lie, steal, and die for me. In return for their loyalty, they rely completely on me for their safekeeping and that of their families, in my keep. They rely on my generosity as a landowner to allow them to work my land and feed their families. They depend on my judgment to uphold the law and make fair decisions on their tenant disputes. They expect me to train their sons to make them the best fighters England has to offer. They need my protection, in the event of war or siege.” He tried to make it sound simple, but in his heart he knew it was not. His was a weighty duty, and his people relied upon him for their lives. He swung his expectant gaze to meet Serena's and Richard's, to see the reaction his words had caused. Both seemed speechless.

 "It is a heavy responsibility to hold the lives of so many in your hands.” Her quiet assessment humbled him.

 "Yes, it is.” He squeezed her hand.

 "How is it you are able to leave and join us?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

 He recognized that tilt. She did that when she was feeling inquisitive. He smiled to himself for identifying her now familiar gesture of curiosity. Something he had never cared to notice in other women. With Serena, her body language was endearing. “Stephen, my half-brother, and Ian, my trusted friend, will see to matters while I am gone.” She nodded, her eyes dropping to their entwined hands.

 "You cannot stay with us for long, can you? You have much to account for at home, am I correct?"

 He avoided answering Serena as his hand tightened on hers. He faced away toward the surrounding trees.

 "I will stay with you for as long as I can,” he promised. She dipped her head as her other hand came forward to cover their entwined fingers. She didn't speak to him, not even with her mind sense. She seemed sad as she released his hand and rose from her seat pulling the daggers from her thigh as she went.

 "I would like to teach you another lesson.” He raised his eyebrows at her remark but didn't comment out loud.

 There is a lesson you could teach me but it would require Richard to leave. Like...

 She ignored him, walking away from camp. She strode toward a tree about seventy yards away. She touched the sturdy oak tree, lightly running her hand over the aged bark. She pointed at the tree then focused her eyes on Richard and Roan.

 "Our target,” she loudly declared.

 He nodded his head in silent understanding.

 Walking back, she swept toward Richard holding out her hand. “Your daggers,” she demanded.

 Richard gave her a lazy smile as if he knew her game and pulled a dagger from individual sheaths on each of his boots, dropping both into her hand, carved handle first.

 She now had four daggers in her hand. She stepped back toward the tree, facing them. She began to speak as she threw one dagger straight into the air in front of her face.

 Although he very badly wanted to remove the daggers from her hands, he remained where he was,

 "Balance, concentration and control are the keys to a successful Wolf Warrior defense.” She began to juggle the daggers, adding one at a time until all four were moving gracefully in a circle through the air.

 He very slowly and carefully rose to his feet, his heartbeat accelerating.

 "Ignoring distractions and other's emotions are critical.” She tossed the daggers higher, making his heart skip in his chest.

 "Richard, throw me one of Roan's daggers, when I signal.” Richard carefully removed a dagger from the sheath at his boot. He tried to stop him, but he stayed it when Richard shook his head no. His eyes swung back to Serena, and his blood rushed to his head, causing him to gasp in alarm.

 Was she mad?

 She could be killed at any moment, those daggers were sharpened to a razor's edge.

 "Eliminating your fear of injury and blocking the fury coming from your enemy is crucial.” She watched each dagger as she continued to juggle them. “Now,” she commanded, and Richard sent the dagger flying.

 He immediately stepped forward.

 A sharp order from Serena stopped him. “Do not move, Roan.” She said it with certainty, her eyes briefly left the daggers in the air, to catch the one Richard had thrown, flawlessly integrating it into the flow of daggers in front of her.

 "It is only when you can do this that you will be successful in your quest to master your senses and be a true Wolf Warrior.” Her words were calm, as were her actions. Her motions were practiced, leaving him with the impression that she had completed this exercise more than once in the past.

 She began to manipulate her body slightly around so she was within visual range of her target. Then, with deft movements, she heaved the daggers high into the air. As each one came down, perfectly timed, she threw it toward the tree and her target. In a matter of seconds all five daggers were secure within millimeters of each other dead center in her target.

 "Now you do it.” She looked pointedly at him.

 Roan groaned at her command. “Jesu,” he murmured.

 * * * *

 Serena attempted to remain composed as Roan moved forward to take her place. She had trained many Wolf Warriors in her day, but this man was by far the most difficult. It was not that he was undisciplined or even unskilled, but rather the opposite; his talent was superior even to hers. It was simply his presence that distracted her. Her hands reached up and anchored on his shoulder. She turned him so he was within visual range of the tree.

 Even when she touched him, for the uncomplicated task of arranging his body to complete the exercise, she sharply inhaled. She had seen him bare-chested on many occasions, however, today her senses were attuned to him from their rousing kiss. He was not the only Wolf Warrior challenged this day with mastering his emotions. She could use a good lesson herself. Her hands remained on the huge breath of his shoulders as she twisted him just slightly. Reaching around from behind, she placed three daggers in his hands and instructed him on how to hold his hands. Suppressing the urge to lean her cheek against his back, she stepped around him several paces back, so she could observe his technique.

 "I would advise that you not stand so near,” he counseled, as he struggled to perfect the rhythm of juggling the daggers. He mastered it within seconds, his hands moving with an ease that amazed her. He had perfect balance, even for a man his size.

 She watched his hands and wondered at their tender nature. She knew those hands had killed many an enemy, yet when he touched her, she felt a gentleness she had never experienced with another. It always saturated her senses, even the thought of his hands running over her body sent a tingle searing down her spine and she shivered.

 He faltered momentarily then hastily regained his tempo.

 "A mistake like that in battle could cost you your life and the lives of those warriors who fight with you.” Her voice hardened as she chastised him, despite the fact it was her thoughts that had distracted him.

 "I know, Serena, it is just...” He tried to make an excuse for his error.

 "Is there any defense for letting other's thoughts distract you, when you have the will to resist?” she barked, using the same forceful technique she would on one of the young Wolf Warriors she trained.

 He let the daggers come to rest in his palms as he stopped. Setting one dagger handle first at his hip, he regarded her. He was angry.

 She could sense his frustration.

 "How?” His manner was dripping defiance.

 "Observe.” She unwound a wide, long leather strip from around her wrist. She moved around the back of him carefully securing the strip over his eyes. She heard him growl in response. He reminded her of an injured bear when he voiced his displeasure. She placed her hands on the back of his neck to face his head forward. Then she ran her hand down his arm to gently lift it. “Your target is off this side, can you sense it?” She let her hands trail away.

 "Yes."

 "Concentrate your senses on your task, on your purpose. Place all other distractions in the back of your mind, including me,” she instructed him as she moved back around to the front of him. “Now.” She took a deep breath. “Balance them. Then throw them."

 "Serena.” His tone told her he was not happy with her request.

 "The only barrier that lies between you and that target is your reservations. Trust your senses and hone in on your ability to concentrate. Your path is clear.” She took two steps back and waited.

 Although she was apprehensive, she didn't block her emotions. She wanted him to feel them. Just as she had felt his when Richard had thrown her that fifth dagger. She wanted him to use his skills to block her fear for him. She took another deep breath and projected her unease to him. She watched his body physically tense.

 "Serena, I am not sure that I can master this particular skill.” His hand moved up to touch the blindfold.

 "Leave it!” She was giving him no quarter, and he dropped his hand immediately.

 "You can do it once you place your doubts and my fear in its rightful place.” She clasped her hands behind her back.

 "Roan, when you are in battle, can you not sense the enemy's fear and anger when you battle with him?” She watched him incline his head at her question.

 "Absolutely."

 "And how does that affect you? How do you use that emotion?"

 He straightened. He said nothing, then finally spoke. “I use it against him to defeat him, giving him mercy if needed, but killing him if his intent is to do the same to me.” She sensed his sudden comprehension. “They say I am gifted in that way, and I am most assuredly undefeated in battle."

 "Humph,” she said as she watched him, “then show me this warrior."

 His hands reached out, and she felt he would be successful the moment he began to flawlessly juggle the knives. Then with quick movements, he copied her earlier technique of spacing out each dagger by throwing it higher and higher each time. He neatly cast each one at the tall sturdy oak. The blades landed with precision in the exact center of the target. He remained still after he had finished. She smiled.

 He stayed quiet and unmoving as she reached behind his head, projecting her pride and her affection as she removed the blindfold.

 Richard was clapping Roan's shoulder in congratulations, but he didn't seem to notice. He had only eyes for Serena, as he casually dropped his arms around her.

 "You made your target."

 "Yes.” His fingers moved from her face to run the length of her jaw. Richard, very subtly, left.

 "Do you want to see?"

 "I have no need. I know they all made it dead center on the target,” he replied, his hand running to the back of her neck, behind her hair.

 "I told you. I knew you could do it.” She smiled at his serious expression.

 "Yes, you did. You were right."

 He was distressed.

 "What is it then?” she laid her hand on his cheek to comfort him. His eyes closed.

 "Sometimes, this...” He shrugged his shoulders. “It unsettles me. You unsettle me."

 She understood. She had spent most of her life mastering her senses. He was doing it in a very short time period.

 "We are in fear of the unknown. You just have to learn to embrace it,” she told him, attempting to lighten the mood.

 "Hum, all right then.” He hugged her body to his. “I'll work on this embracing concept, immediately."

 "You do that.” She instructed him with a stern voice but couldn't help her chuckle in the circle of his arms.

 * * * *

 Much later, Serena finished her sword practice and departed to wash at the river, Caine trailing behind her. Roan was left alone with Richard.

 "I have seen men down for a least a fortnight with wounds as grave as hers, yet she ignores it as if it does not exist.” He reflected back to ten minutes earlier when he had finally placed a stern hand on Serena's shoulder, during her relentless swordplay. He had noted that her sword hand was lagging, and he had demanded that she stop and rest.

 "It is our creed. Strong in body and spirit. She would have it no other way,” Richard explained as he carefully sharpened one of Serena's blades.

 "Yet she would re-injure herself to prove this motto.” He tossed another log onto the fire. He checked his shirt for dryness. Satisfied that it was wearable, he pulled it on.

 "Would you be any different?” The question made his shoulders drop.

 "No."

 "You are two of a kind, you and Serena. Talented, stubborn, passionate and uniformly disturbed and unsettled about those traits in each other.” Richard's quick, accurate insight on his and Serena's relationship left him chuckling.

 "You are right, and wise,” he added, smiling. He turned toward Richard and studied him.

 Although on the outside he seemed calm and relaxed, the perfect picture of the healer he was deemed to be by his people, on the inside Roan sensed an innate restlessness and pain that Richard was trying very hard to hold from him and Serena, maybe even from himself.

 "So,” he said casually while unsheathing his own blade and studying it for imperfections. “What is it that disturbs your senses so deeply that you feel you must withhold it from your sister?” His relaxed question had Richard's head snapping up from his task, his hand slipping on Serena's sharp-edged blade. He hissed as the blade bit into his flesh and moved swiftly to cover his hand with a cloth to stop the bleeding. Roan raised his eyebrows, as Richard dropped the sword and held his injured hand with the other.

 "I do not understand your question,” Richard lied, and scowled when he realized that he would not believe him.

 "No, I think you do.” He nonchalantly polished his blade. He watched Richard slump back against the log that was supporting his back and sigh in resignation.

 "Clearly, if I am trying so hard to cloak my senses, I have no wish to speak of my concerns.” He noted the insolent timbre of Richard's voice.

 "Clearly.” He turned then to give Richard his full attention.

 "Know that I am available, should you feel the need to unburden."

 "Yes, Roan, I am sure with the hundreds of lives you are already responsible for, you desire to shield another.” Richard's grunted laugh disturbed him.

 "So what is one more? I am here for you. I owe you a great debt for your assistance and support over the last week. A debt I could never repay by simply listening to your troubles.” He watched as Richard broke away from his gaze, and his eyes traveled over the forest.

 "Thank you, and I must say your senses are getting too sharp for your own good.” Richard didn't say any more, and Roan assumed he was not yet ready to let go of his concerns. He watched as Richard rose and began to gather their clothing and belongings.

 "These are dry. We'd best douse this blaze and be on our way.” He was avoiding the issue now, but Roan would give him the space he needed.

 * * * *

 When Serena returned, she saw Roan lounging and a clearly agitated Richard. She dropped down next to him, watching Richard as he moved stiffly, packing his belongings.

 Roan didn't acknowledge her. Finally, he spoke to Richard. “I think we need to rest a little longer, Richard. Some of our clothes have yet to dry. Perhaps you should scout the area. I think a bit of fresh air might do you well,” he proposed.

 She watched as Richard angrily dropped the leather satchel he had been packing onto the ground and stalk off with a passing remark, “Perhaps it would."

 She straightened as she watched the usually calm Richard stride from camp with an expression that nearly screamed he was angry. She signaled to Caine, and he loped off after him. Then she turned her head toward Roan.

 "What happened to his hand?” she asked, settling back against the log.

 "He cut it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and settled against the log with her.

 "Did you two have a quarrel? Why is he so angry?"

 "I honestly don't know. I must have asked the wrong question. I queried him about his unease."

 "Ahhh.” Crossing her arms in front of her, she settled back even farther against the log. She closed her eyes. She was very weary, with a deep fatigue that went beyond normal, most likely due to her still recovering injury and her fear that Ziem would invade her sleep.

 "I have sensed it also. So ... he is unwilling to discuss it?” she asked, smiling when Roan's arm fell around her shoulders and pulled her into his warmth. Stretching out his long legs, he crossed one ankle over another and settled against her.

 "Apparently."

 She heard him let out a long sigh and felt his body relax. She liked seeing Roan at ease. His pleasure radiated from him. She glanced over at him, and peering at him from under her half closed lids, smiled. He smiled in return as he closed his eyes. He knew she was watching him.

 She couldn't conceal anything from him. Even underdeveloped, his senses were bordering on superior. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she stared at his relaxed face.

 Ohhhh, he was a beautiful man.

 She sighed. He had left his hair loose and it blanketed his shoulders. Dark, shiny, beautiful, it called to her, urging her to run her fingers through its thick tendrils.

 His finely chiseled face looked serene now, however, she had seen his brow furrowed in concern and worry on many occasions. The unreleased power of his body looked peaceful, but she knew the strength that lay beneath his tunic. She had seen the bulging muscles of those huge arms raise his heavy sword with the ease one might lift a light piece of kindling. Oh, how she wanted to—

 "He will calm down. It's his way,” she added, picking back up on their conversation, trying to slow her rapidly beating heart.

 "Humph,” was the only response he gave.

 She smiled at his answer. “You look fairly at ease right now, my warrior.” Leaning back, she pulled her eyes away from him and attempted to settle.

 "Aye,” was his only answer, but his arm tightened against her. “Try and rest a bit, Serena."

 She sighed at his request. She felt his hand playing with the hair at the back of her neck and it sent small shivers through her.

 "I...” She tried to explain her fear of falling asleep. She was ashamed to confess what she was feeling. She felt his hand slide from her neck to bury in her hair as he tugged her head against his body to rest it against his chest. She shifted to her side to accommodate the position. His other hand came up to lie against her head, stroking her hair.

 "Rest, little one, I will try my best to protect you.” His voice was slurred, his fatigue evident. He was as tired as she was. He had been her rock this last week. His strength, his alertness, had kept her safe. He sacrificed his own sleep for their cause and to protect her. She closed her eyes. Even if she did have a nightmare, she would do as he asked because she knew he also needed rest. She felt his arm relax against her and his breathing deepen as he fell into an exhausted slumber.

 * * * *

 Roan couldn't wipe the grin off his face when he decided it was finally time to sleep. He sensed Serena's longing in her perusal of him. She watched him from under her half-closed lids, and he let her.

 Making sure he remained awake and alert for her sake had finally taken its toll. After a week of plucking her off her horse and riding endlessly throughout the night on the trail of Ziem, he had finally succumbed to the natural and much needed requirement for rest.

 Of course, the warm sensual bundle attached to his side had something to do with it. Her body heat burned into his side, seeping into his tunic and finally warming his skin. He sighed in contentment as he gently stroked her hair.

 He had no liking for holding women, let alone slumbering with them. He had never felt close enough to any woman to want her warmth next to him throughout the night. He gentled his way into their beds because he needed to fulfill a hunger that, however hard he tried, never seemed to be sated. After they satisfied their mutual sexual need, he always sent his willing women on their way. It was an unspoken rule with him and his bedmates. They didn't even ask or attempt to lure him into holding them. The women at the castle had an understanding with him, one that was no longer questioned.

 However, with Serena, it was different. So vastly different that it worried him. With her warmth next to him, he never wanted to sleep alone again.

 He had used every excuse he could imagine to have her near him, to touch her with his hands and his mind. Now when they were apart, he felt an immense loneliness. It had taken such a short time to become attached to her. A short time, he tried not to chuckle, was an understatement. It took a single glance, a single smell of her unique scent, a single touch of his eyes to the sea green of hers.

 If he was honest with himself, he knew that first glimpse of her charging into the clearing to rescue him was all it had taken to bond him to her. She was in his soul now, in his heart, and all from one projection of his fear, his silent cry for help that had compelled her to him a week ago.

 And he had never been so happy in his life, or so fearful. To have this type of possessive, all encompassing feeling for another was, at times, debilitating. Not only did he feel immeasurable contentment but also extreme terror with the thought that something terrible could befall her. That she could be harmed with the simple projected thoughts of another person. He tightened his hold on her as he drifted off. He vowed he would not let anything happen to her.

  

 Chapter Five

 Serena was dreaming. It began like a gentle whispering in her ear—the dream. She was floating in a cloud of mist. Her hands came up to test the air.

 Is this real? she wondered.

 When she commanded it to, her hand fell through the white haze. It chopped a wedge in the murkiness like one might cut off a slice of meat from a particularly succulent spit-roasted boar.

 Where was she?

 She spun around in an attempt to gain her bearings. As the mist settled around her, a slow panic began to take hold. Her breath came rapidly and she could feel the dampness of her own sweat forming on her forehead. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm her rapidly beating pulse.

 With hands extended, she cautiously moved forward. She took one wary step after another, wondering with each one, where it would lead her. Suddenly, alerted that something was missing, Serena stopped and ran her hands over her own body, wanting to feel for the security and comfort of her weapons. Her hands continued their exploration then stopped with certainty. She was unarmed.

 "Damnation.” She swore out loud and shook her head wondering what good it did to voice her frustration. No one was listening. At the discovery she was unarmed, she crouched down low and surveyed the mist.

 Now what?

 Unexpectedly, the mist cleared, and she remained crouched low to the ground, her eyes frantically searching.

 Where was she?

 What...? Serena rose when she recognized her location. It was the clearing, the very camp that she, Richard and Roan had worked so quickly to assemble.

 Glancing around, she took a guarded step toward the clothing that Roan had carefully arranged by the fire to dry. She spun around and saw, to her surprise, that she was looking at an exact replica of herself. Clutched in Roan's arms, she was resting peacefully at his side. One of his hands was tangled in the dark hair at her neck, while the other rested on her head. Watching them from this position she realized how protectively he held her.

 He was attempting to guard her.

 Even in his sleep, he was trying his hardest to keep her safe. She smiled at the implication.

 Just as she walked forward, she felt a prick against her neck and the familiar feel of a sturdy blade pressed there. She sucked in a quick breath, and rotating her eyes to the side, she tried to identify her attacker.

 "No need to labor so hard to ascertain who I am. I am more than willing to identify myself."

 "Ziem.” She hissed out his name as if it was a vile curse.

 "Ohhh, Serena, you wound me with your disdain. Why so unhappy to see me? Observe ... as a token of my goodwill I will release you.” With those words Ziem swiftly pulled his sword away, leaving a small nick on her neck. She noticed a small prick also appeared on the neck of the woman who curved so comfortably against Roan. The body jerked before the cut appeared. Her hand clasped over her neck to stop the small blood flow.

 "Ahh, yes, I see that you noticed. What I inflict in your dreams also hurts your physical form."

 Her eyes swung to Ziem's hooded expression as he fingered the crystal around his neck. With a flash of quick thinking, she decided to take immediate action. “Is that so, Ziem? Does that work both ways? Let us find out?” As she was speaking, she fisted a hand and strategically placed the other hand under it in a cupping fashion. She swung her fist, propelling it with her body weight and the strength of both arms, directly into his face.

 He was surprised ... her fist plowed into his face, and he went down like a sack of highland boulders, his feet flying out from under him, to land heavily on the ground.

 Not waiting for him to get his breath back, she was on him in a flash, her fists flying, hoping to strike something, anything. It didn't matter. At this point all she wanted to do was punish him for the week of anguish he had put her through. Invading her dreams and mind, making her dread falling to sleep for fear of what would happen, when he would appear. Sometimes he didn't come at all. This was a different type of torment. One that was designed to torture her in an altogether distinct way, mentally, rather than physically. Every time she fell asleep, she anticipated his tricks. In her dreams she peered around every corner, eyes shifting with suspicion, heart beating, sweat beading on her brow. When would he come? She would question. When?

 "Does your physical body hurt as well, Ziem?” she screamed and continued to strike, taking pleasure in the blood and bruises that were forming on his face. She wouldn't be able to keep him down for long. Ziem was a strong warrior in mind and body. Standing nearly as tall as Roan, his skills were honed like a finely tuned instrument and enhanced by the crystal. Hearing his yell, she prepared herself as Ziem pushed her so hard she sailed through the air and landed on her back.

 "I will kill you,” he roared, as he charged her.

 Serena jumped up and backed toward the trees, intending to run. She didn't make it. He was on her before she could turn and flee, and she returned to her back with an oomph.

 Ziem smiled.

 "Mayhap we will have some fun before I kill you.” His dagger moved very slowly, almost gently to sever one of the leather thongs holding her vest closed. It opened revealing her breast. His hand cupped the weight.

 "You should have chosen me. You should have.” He fingered her nipple.

 She cringed, bucking under him.

 Without forewarning, she heard Roan's voice in her mind.

 Serena, come back. Serena!

 She shook her head, closing her eyes to embrace his call. It became more urgent.

 Come back to me!

 Roan shouted her name and that final call helped her draw into herself. She honed in with her mind ability and concentrated on his voice. She pictured him in her senses and told herself to wake up. She barely recognized Ziem's cries of protest.

 "Damn that man to hell!” That was the last phrase she heard. When she next opened her eyes, it was to the concerned expression of Roan.

 "Serena.” He held a cloth to her neck.

 "What happened?” she levered herself off the log.

 "You were caught in a nightmare, by Ziem I suspect.” Richard materialized next to her and efficiently checked her wound. Her shoulder appeared untouched. He took over for Roan and gently lifted the cloth off her neck.

 "It is not deep, merely a scratch."

 She growled when her memory returned.

 "I wish I had killed him this time!"

 "What went on?” As Richard signaled to him, Roan took over holding the bandage on her neck. Richard left to retrieve his bag from his horse. When he returned, he gently picked up her hands. Both Roan and Richard saw her bruised and bloodied hands. She clenched her fists and sucked in a breath at the pain. Then she actually did the unimaginable—she laughed. Roan looked at her with an expression of disbelief.

 "As you can see.” She held up the back of her hands to add credibility to her next statement. “I was not the only one hurt. I delivered damage myself and without weapons, mind you. Can you guess where these bruises came from?"

 "Serena."

 Roan's warning had her attempting to stifle her laughter—laughter that had almost a hysterical sound to it.

 "You should have seen his face when I hauled off and busted him with both fists."

 "I can imagine.” Roan did not appear amused as he tended one hand and Richard worked on the other.

 "God's blood, Richard. Is there nothing we can do to stop this?” his voice elevating, “This man will kill her if he gets half a chance."

 "Do not talk as if I am not here. I can defend myself. I am a trained warrior. Do not worry overmuch."

 "A trained warrior.” His head jerked up at her statement. “A trained warrior,” he said again just to emphasize his point. “Let me remind you what you face. Yes, you are a trained warrior. One that is injured, without her wolf protector, without weapons, without any device to enhance her skills, and without any other skilled warriors to help her.” He pulled the wrappings around her hand so tight in his anger she winced.

 "Not very amenable odds I would say."

 She reacted to his insinuation. She held out both hands, “Step back, both of you. Now!” Richard and Roan stopped tending her hands and looked at each other. With a nod from Richard, they both arose and stepped back as she had requested. Serena jerked to her feet unsteadily. She pointed her finger at Roan when he moved forward. “I said step back, Englishman."

 He stopped.

 "I do not,” she started to unwrap the bandages from her hands. Neither man moved to stop her. They could see she was pushed beyond her limit. “Need these bandages.” She unraveled both, then smartly handed them to Richard. “Nor do I need others to protect me. I have done very well for five and twenty years without it.” She turned and barked the last statement to Roan. His eyebrows rose at her announcement. He looked ready to pounce on her and that just angered her more.

 She turned to walk away from them. Unfortunately, she had pivoted too quickly and her head reeled, causing her vision to blur. She instinctively pushed out a hand, only to have it drop into nothingness. Her knees buckled, and she fell with a grunt. She tried to steady herself, but the hand that reached out touched the cold dirt. She raised her other hand to her whirling head.

 What is wrong with me? she wondered.

 Had all of the strain and tension finally defeated her? She glanced over her shoulder. Richard and Roan had not moved. They both watched her with pained expressions on their faces.

 She eased one foot under her and managed to struggle to one knee leaning her head and arms against it. That was it, she told herself. Her body was breaking down physically. The lack of sleep, the injuries—all of them were beating her down. She needed to rest. How long had she slept?

 She would not accept this.

 She fought her way back into a standing position, easing her body straight. She would not slow their purpose—they had to find Ziem. Absorbed in placing one foot in front of the other, Serena didn't notice when Richard and Roan shifted positions around her. She froze when the nausea from her swirling head threatened to overcome her. Then she felt her eyes roll back as the blackness finally claimed her.

 * * * *

 When Serena finally collapsed, she never hit the ground because Roan was there to catch her. He swore as he heaved her into his arms.

 "Richard, your sister is the paradigm of stubbornness.” He signaled to Richard, then laid her on the blanket that Richard had spread for her.

 "Humph, that is an understatement of the grossest nature.” Richard laid his hand on her brow.

 "She is well, she is simply in need of undisturbed rest.” Roan nodded as he gently fingered the bruises on her knuckles.

 "She was proud of these, was she not?” He touched the cut on her neck and felt a renewed rage at the man called Ziem, who so plagued his woman. His woman. His hand stopped its movements.

 Where did that come from?

 Was Serena his? Why had he claimed her? Why would he?

 She was the most inflexible woman he had ever met. She was also the most beautiful, courageous and loyal one and, yes, he sighed to himself, she would be his, in this he was resigned.

 "She has always taken as much pride in her battle wounds as she has her independence. She is arrogant that way.” Richard spoke quietly. “Do not take her harshly spoken words to heart. When she is injured, she has been likened to a wounded wolf."

 "I can see that.” Roan laid a hand on her hair and lightly stroked it.

 "Hand her up to me. Let's ride. I cannot even fathom what will happen if she awakens, and we are not on the trail. She will sleep comfortably in my arms."

 "Agreed."

 Richard lifted Serena into his arms, as Roan retrieved their gear.

 "I confess, I swear the day I was frightened by a woman's wrath I would turn in my spurs.” He strapped Richard's bag to his horse then easily launched onto his.

 "That should be this day, Richard, I swear it."

 Richard chuckled at his statement as he transferred Serena to his waiting arms.

 * * * *

 Ziem swore and jerked his body awake and up from its prone position on the straw-filled mattress. He winced as he fingered the cuts and bruises on his face. He raised his hand to survey the damage. He flinched and yanked his hand away, then cringed when he saw his own wet blood against his fingers. Curse that woman, he thought, and groaned as he swung his strong, muscled legs around and off the edge of the bed.

 Moving slowly, Ziem eased off the bed and made his way toward the empty bowl and accompanying water pitcher beside it. Now he was glad he had requested that dim-witted bar wench to fetch him the water. Ziem splashed the water over his face, growling as he did so.

 He thought about Serena. He had almost had her this time. He grinned against the hand cupping the water and washed it over his face. Almost, he concluded. He really didn't want to kill her; he just so enjoyed threatening her. He also took pleasure in tormenting her dreams.

 This time when she had joined him in their dream world, Ziem had noticed the dark purple circles under her eyes. What he really wanted, Ziem told himself, was not just her body—but also her soul. He'd held those lily-white breasts in his hand. His dick grew hard just re-living it. His hand traveled down to cup himself, moving the annoyance in his breeches to accommodate its growing length. His hand remained cupped to his rock-hardness and he groaned, rotating his hand. Just pondering what it would be like to bury himself in her almost made him release in his pants. Ziem braced his arm against the wall and concentrated on ridding himself of this frustrating hard on. Giving up he hauled down his breeches and pulled on his dick.

 He had wanted Serena in his life, under his body, fighting next to him from the first moment he had laid eyes on her womanly curves. He remembered that moment well. It was embedded in his mind like the unique carving of a wolf adorned on the hilt of his sword.

 * * * *

 Ziem's residence lay outside the village of the Realm, although still within the protected valley. It was his choice to build it so, in direct protest to the elders of the Society. His selection to remain alone, outside the Realm, was a statement of his chosen life. He did not agree with the manner in which the elders ran the Society and he told them so in every action he took. He believed that their people, the Society of Solaria, should rejoin the outside world and lay claim to their rightful rank.

 The Solarians, Ziem reasoned, were superior to all other people. He was superior. They should have a place of honor, not scorn, in the outside world. He would build an army of dedicated soldiers, teaching them the ways of the Wolf Warriors. They would rule their own territory and with that control would come power. And with that power would come the strength to defeat the English Kingdom that had so unjustly attempted to eradicate his people.

 Ziem would form alliances with the King's nobles and attempt to gain the King's favor. With the scrolls he had stolen, he would have no problem convincing the King's nobles that the Society existed and gaining support to build his own force. He would show the King and his trusted men what benefit the strong warriors he could train would gain the King. Ziem recognized that men of power, like the King of England, desired to acquire more. That was why the King had originally ordered the death of the Solarians. King Edward I had feared the Solarians. When he learned of their skills, he became alarmed at their abilities and the alliances they could acquire from those abilities. They had already gained powerful support from the house of Bruce, Scotland's self-proclaimed King, by lending their assistance to his people.

 But Ziem had a plan. He would show the new, weaker King, Edward II, what could be attained by embracing Ziem and his talents. He would then join with him to rid Scotland of the weaker Solarians. The ones who believed their anonymity would shield them from the outside world. The ones who believed keeping their powers a secret would save them. The ones like Serena's father—the leader of their people.

 Thinking of Serena's father brought Ziem's mind back to that fateful day he had first seen Serena at the river outside the confines of the village. He had known of her as a small girl but had never seen her as a mature woman. She had not directly trained Ziem because he was over ten summers older than she.

 Ziem had been trained by Serena's father and had little time for courting the Realm women. Choosing to live outside the Realm after his training had only weakened his ability to make contact with the women of the Realm. He traveled outside the Realm to take his pleasure in neighboring towns, swiftly and quietly.

 Of course, no one knew of his travels. He would escape in the deepest, darkest period of the night, when the Realm guards would nod off and he could sneak past them. He was quick and efficient, usually sneaking in, stealing the woman of his choice, removing her to a far away place so her screams could not be heard and taking what he needed. Of course, their deaths were usually required after this undertaking. Regretful, but required. He needed no simpering woman crying out the next day about his exploits.

 That day, the day he had noticed Serena, she was bent over the river. Her hands were cupping the clear, flowing water, and she was heartily drinking from them. She was almost delicate in her strength. Although most women of the Realm were tall, hearty women, she was small in stature. Her curves stood out and screamed to him as he slowly knelt in the place he had chosen to watch her.

 He sucked in his breath at her beauty.

 The woman was exquisite. Her dark hair was pulled over one shoulder as she leaned over, showing the delicate curve of her breast against her leather halter. She had removed her vest. It was a particularly warm day, and it seemed she had chosen that riverside location because she felt it was private. She began to cup more water and gracefully slide it over the skin of her upper body. The water pooled, pausing momentarily, then slipped down her arms, cascading over her halter dampening the front, and down to her stomach, where it disappeared into her tightly fitting leather breeches. Ziem had felt an immediate and painful hardening of his penis and he knew he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any other woman.

 He didn't even know her name or her place in the Society. He just knew that, with one simple look at her body, his lust was unequaled to any other experience he had ever had. He watched as she continued her uncomplicated bathing, hearing her sigh as the water cooled her obviously over-heated skin. At that sigh, Ziem had launched into action, coming fast from his hiding place, to hopefully take her unaware.

 She stopped moving, as if she knew his intent. It was the wrong assumption to think he could take her without notice, because upon his upsweep, a fierce growl and bark had him stopping in his tracks. His head swiveled as he caught sight of her wolf protector. He was an enormous gray wolf, and his fangs were bared, his eyes almost glowing red with fury. The wolf looked ready to pounce and kill him without a second thought. Ziem froze and his eyes narrowed in anger. What was the matter with him? He should have sensed the wolf, should have realized that a woman of the Realm always traveled with one.

 Ziem had long ago given up on the bothersome creatures. They were simply another link to the ridiculous beliefs of the Solarians. He was convinced that their people should have never committed to protecting these wolves. That was what had caused the threat to the Society in the first place. These annoying canines had been ordered for extermination, rightly so, and that was how the Solarians had been discovered.

 Ziem turned back to the woman, who had drawn her sword at his surprise appearance and against any threat he might pose. He raised his hands in surrender and proceeded to clear his mind of his intent so she couldn't sense his feelings. Clearing his mind was a skill Ziem had mastered long ago and it had served him well when he was in the company of the Solarians. His trainer had been stunned by Ziem's ability to completely block others from sensing him. “I mean you no harm.” He tried to reassure her as he slowly stepped forward from the trees.

 "If that is so ... why do you lurk behind those trees, hiding yourself?” She continued to hold her sword in a defensive posture. Ziem remembered thinking how much he was moved by the charming lilt of her voice.

 "Look, if you doubt my word, simply sense my intent.” Ziem hastily placed a false friendly demeanor in his mind for her to extract. Ziem felt her probing his thoughts and continued to smile. The woman slowly lowered her sword, yet didn't completely re-sheath it.

 "Know this, I don't completely trust you. Why are you here?” she asked suspiciously, as she waved her wolf to stand next to her. Ziem briefly thought about how magnificent she was, her warrior weapons strapped to her body, her nipples pressing hard against her leather halter. His eyes followed the line of her figure as she stooped over retrieving her leather vest and dropping it around her upper body. The covering didn't fool Ziem. He could see her large breasts peeking out from beneath the leather.

 "I am Ziem.” He held out his hand to exchange a Solarian welcome with her. “I live here. It is you who is in my territory. Perhaps I should be asking the same question of you.” He smiled and tried to give her a teasing look.

 "So you are Ziem. And I am Serena de Reincolt, daughter of your trainer, John de Reincolt, and future leader of this Society.” He watched with breath held as she buttoned up her vest, carefully pressing each leather-rounded knob through its corresponding leather eyelet. “And I know you, Ziem. Yes, I know of you and do not agree with your beliefs.” At her final statement, she pulled a leather bag from the ground.

 He ground his teeth together at her declaration. Wouldn't you know it, he berated himself. Wouldn't you know he would be attracted to the future leader of the Solarians!

 "So you will not give me a chance to woo you, I suppose, for I am painfully attracted to you.” He stepped back and leaned against a tree, effectively blocking her trail. Where had that come from? He was asking the future leader of the Society he hated if he could court her.

 "I do not think that would be wise. I would not want to see you hurt, despite your unacceptable beliefs, for I am not looking for suitors."

 "That is a shame. I think you would find a passionate mate in me.” His eyes ran down her body at his statement, “One who would keep you aroused and in bed for a good deal of the time.” He smiled at her with that vow, stripping away her clothing with his eyes.

 "What I find about you, is insulting. Now step out of my path, directly,” she commanded, as she moved to walk around him.

 "Certainly. I do not want it said that I am not a gentleman.” He slowly stepped back. When she moved past, he snaked her arm in a tight grasp and pulled her swiftly against his body. She was strong, even in her smallness, yet she was not as strong as he. He enjoyed her struggle. He saw her eyes widen, and her anger flowed over him while he heard the frantic barking of her wolf. He gasped when her free hand flew to her leg. The next thing he knew she had a dagger held to his throat, stabbing the artery that carried the blood to his brain.

 "Release my arm immediately!” Ziem felt a prickle against his neck. She had drawn blood! Ziem was amazed. He smiled at her, only to frown when the dagger dug deeper.

 "Release me. I do not pretend. I will slit your throat ear to ear if you do not do so!” To prove her point she started to make a small incision on his throat. He released her arm. She stepped back, distancing herself from him. Her dagger was held in front of her body, a shield, his blood tingeing its tip. He couldn't help but smile. She was so magnificent in her anger! She would be a hellion in bed. He held up a hand and slowly redirected it to dab the small trickle of blood easing down his throat with a lack of seriousness he hoped she noticed.

 "I regret my action. I meant you no harm,” he lied again, projecting the trueness of his lies into his head so she could sense them. He watched her sigh then return the dagger to the sheath at her thigh. His eyes followed the movement and he became aroused again.

 "Will you stop me if I seek you out in the Realm?” He watched her eyes narrow and felt her probing his thoughts.

 "I wish to see you again.” He took up a casual non-threatening position leaning against the tree, attempting to appear calm and sincere. Of course he was anything but cool. He wanted to pounce on her and bury his dick so far into her that he could feel her womb. And he wanted to do it right now. But he didn't project any of those wanton thoughts into his head. He projected a soft sincerity that women enjoyed. Thoughts that would make him appear trustful.

 "Do not, Ziem, we are from two different worlds.” She backed up further. He knew she wanted to escape him.

 "We are from the same people. We simply have different beliefs.” He shrugged his shoulder. “When has that barrier ever kept people apart?” He sensed her unease.

 "I appreciate your interest. However, I think I have made my position clear. I am not seeking any suitors. I must leave.” With that comment she turned and left him.

 He smiled and made a parting vow to her, one she could not hear.

 "You will have me and no other, or I will kill you."

 He had gone on a campaign after that vow to win her. She had rebuffed him at every turn. He became more and more angry with her. He remembered well the day he had finally lost his patience, striking her when she had told him, in no uncertain terms, she would not have him. She had taken the blow to her face, her head snapping to one side from the force he had intentionally applied. A small cut on her cheek caused blood to trickle down her face. She had swiftly punched him back and dropped him to the ground with a kick to his knee. And that is where he stayed when he came face to face with her snarling wolf. At her command the wolf backed off and stood next to her. It was at that point he began to wonder if he had underestimated her. Then she warned him. He could sense her sincerity.

 "If you come near me ever again, Ziem, I will kill you. Make no mistake about that, do you understand?” she asked, kneeling down to calm the greatly agitated wolf. “Do you understand?"

 He slowly rose off the ground, swiping the blood from the nose she had most assuredly broken.

 "I think I get the picture, sweetness.” He spat out the words. Raising his gaze to touch hers, he finally released all of his dark thoughts so she could sense them. He heard her gasp.

 "Stay away from my river, Serena, or all of those wonderful actions you just sensed will come to pass. And do not bother crying to daddy because I am a master at cloaking my thoughts, and I will simply deny them.” He strode off toward his hutch with relief. He hated entering the village and that was where he had been required to go to pursue her. He smiled at her parting remark.

 "You are a lowlife of the vilest kind."

 He turned and began walking backward and smiled while answering her. “Yes, I am, you'd best not forget it, my sweet.” He had laughed at her outraged expression, and then he had saluted her with a hand to his head as he set out to return home. He had other plans anyway. Too many to worry about this bothersome woman, he thought as he made his way out of the village. Plans which would bring his dreams to fruition. And how disappointing, he only had to kill one scroll guard.

 He would deal with her later, he had assured himself, he would deal with her.

 * * * *

 Ziem shook his head as he came back to the present. He pumped his dick until he finally came, thinking about giving Serena the fuck of her life.

 Yes, the time had come to deal with her. His smile remained fixed to his face as he hauled up his breeches then gathered his belongings. He had plans to make and he would have Serena or eliminate her. In this he was determined.

 * * * *

 That night Serena almost collapsed from her horse in her fatigue. Her wound was still healing, and her body continued to demand rest. Roan, with an angry growl and a declaration of what a stubborn woman she was, pulled her in front of him so she could sleep.

 She slept for several dreamless hours nestled into the warmth of Roan's chest, only to be awakened by his gentle shaking when they neared the next town. The sunrise cast a golden glow upon the morning as they rounded the curve to the small village.

 "He is near. It is well cloaked but I still feel it,” Richard declared. He was searching the village as they rode ahead.

 "Yes, I feel it, too.” Serena echoed.

 "And I also,” Roan said, his low masculine voice chiming in after hers.

 She was surprised, this was the first time he had felt the same as they had.

 "What do you feel?” she asked, turning slightly in his arms, the top of her head brushing his chin.

 "At present?” He projected his desire into her senses. Obviously, having her ride nestled in his arms the past few hours had played havoc with his mind, a slow sensual exercise in torture. He told her so.

 She gasped at his thoughts and playfully batted his arm. “Roan,” she sighed in warning.

 They had developed a strong friendship in the last week, his uncontrolled yearning at times becoming a jest between them.

 He plucked his gloved fingers underneath her chin. “I apologize, little one.” He used his pet name for her and she was attempting not to smile back. He dropped his hand and his face became serious as his eyes surveyed the area.

 "I feel a presence,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “A dark one, a threat, very close, perhaps within the village.” He glanced around again as if a new image had come to him. “Actually, this presence is watching us, and it senses us,” unceremoniously he turned their party toward a nearby barn.

 Serena was surprised. “I did not sense this. Did you Richard?"

 "No. Roan's skills are already exceeding ours."

 "What does that mean?” she noticed Roan had directed them into a nearby stable.

 "I do not know.” Once they entered the barn, he and Roan slid off of their horses.

 Roan reached up to assist Serena down. She enjoyed the show of masculine strength as he easily lifted her, allowing her body to slide down the front of his. He held her in the protective cocoon of his arms for several moments as he concentrated on scanning the area with his mind. She watched him close his eyes, tilt his head slightly as if he were trying to hear a very quiet sound in a sea of noise.

 His hands lightly stroked her back. Even in his deep absorption he seemed to touch her instinctively. With his eyes still closed, he turned and placed her behind him, between himself and her horse.

 He made a motion with his hand, and Caine took up post next to her, his teeth bared. He looked at Richard, she assumed to give him an order, because Richard moved to her other side, next to Roan, unsheathing his sword. Roan did the same.

 "What is happening?” Roan's voice connected with her mind.

 Serena, you will listen to me on this, Ziem is approaching, and you will remain where you are!

 She let out a curse in answer to his command. “By God, I will not,” she said, ready to pull her swords.

 "You are still sorely wounded, and you will do me no good dead. Do as I say. You will only distract me if you do not, now heed me.” He voiced his command this time in a low powerful tone, full of scorn.

 She clenched her jaw in disgust because she knew he was right.

 "I believe he approaches."

 Richard tensed at Roan's words and readied himself. Serena watched a hooded man cloaked in all black slither through the door. Roan's sword rose and angled, his knees bent in preparation. Ziem tossed back his black hood and drew his sword. He remained by the door, noticeably assessing the group, his dark cruel features twisted with his wickedness.

 "So, fellow Solarians, no honor greeting for me I see.” He sneered his remark as he stepped around them. Roan's eyes followed Ziem's every movement. He didn't miss a single step or a single breath. He paced forward in anticipation of his next move, one that even she had not sensed. Their two swords struck so powerfully that sparks flew. Roan's sword locked with Ziem's black handled one. He pushed him using his sword for leverage, throwing him back at least five feet.

 Ziem stumbled on his feet, almost going down, but righting himself at the last moment. He didn't charge again. He remained where he was, staring at Roan.

 Serena saw the crystal then, hanging from his neck attached by a leather thong. She realized that he was using the crystal's power to block his movements, explaining why she or Richard had not sensed him. But the crystal didn't seem to be affecting Roan's senses. She sent him a message with her mind warning him of the power Ziem held around his neck. He nodded his head in understanding. He hadn't moved from where he was. He studied Ziem.

 "Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Ziem's malicious voice descended over all of them. She shivered, recalling the last week of his torture and the evil he was capable of delivering, a darkness she had experienced first hand. Ziem remained where he was for a moment, and paced toward Richard.

 "An outsider, is it? And a gifted fighter as well, I must say, hum, I wonder...” His voice trailed off as he launched at Richard, but Roan twirled and swung around, blocking Ziem's strike with his own sword, pushing Ziem back again. Roan waved his hand when Caine attempted to explode forward. Caine pulled back next to her.

 "I will kill you, Ziem, if you continue on this destructive path. I will warn you only once. You will return with us to seek judgment for your crimes or you will die,” His voice so intent, so sure, that it even frightened Serena.

 Ziem's laugh penetrated her consciousness, and his powerful mind link caused her to raise her hands to her head in pain. He was purposely causing her agony. She tried to fight it, but he was too powerful and she was weakened by his constant invasion of her sleep.

 So, my beautiful Serena, I see clearly now that you have chosen this man over my attentions and this hurts me. For this I will punish you.

 She heard his laugh from far away and felt a searing agony in her head so great it forced her to her knees. She cried out, fighting the link with all her strength. Something warm trickled down her face, she dropped her head to her lap. The added blinding pain in her shoulder caused her to groan. She was having a difficult time breathing, gasping for breath, each one more strained than the previous. She felt Caine's nose against her cheek. “Stop him!” she croaked out while gasping.

 Roan flew into action, charging Ziem with a battle roar and his sword, attempting with his mind to break Ziem's psychic connection with Serena. He commanded Richard to see to her. He sensed Ziem recognized that he was out-manned and well below his fighting abilities. When Ziem chopped forward with a leg, attempting to sweep Roan's legs out from under him, Roan stumbled, and in that instant of reprieve, Ziem fled.

 He hesitated, his head swinging back to her. She shouted to him and he realized she tried to reach out with her mind but was unsuccessful. “Go after him.” With remorse, he turned and rushed out the door after Ziem, sword in hand. Caine followed him barking in his affirmation of Roan's command.

 Serena slouched, stunned. She felt Richard's arms gently laying her onto the ground.

 "Go with him,” she said, her throat dry. The command came forth hoarsely, through trembling lips.

 "I cannot. He has ordered me to stay with you. I must follow his commands as you have approved his leadership. You know that."

 She nodded as Richard eased her down to examine her wounds.

 "Oh, Serena.” She heard Richard's voice from a distance as she felt more warmth seep down her face. She lifted her hand to touch it and when she pulled back her fingers saw her own blood startlingly dark red against her white skin. The blood was flowing freely from her nose. She cringed when she realized how much damage Ziem had done in such a short time.

 "What has he done?” Her voice was strained as she closed her eyes. She felt like giving up her fight to stay conscious and even her struggle against the pain. She was so tired of Ziem's attacks.

 "Serena.” The sound of Roan's voice caused her to open her eyes. She asked him in her mind if he had killed Ziem.

 He sighed as he knelt next to Richard.

 He moved his head in a negative motion, causing her to cry out in frustration.

 "He was well prepared for an escape. I knew immediately he was lost to us. He had his horse waiting just outside the stables. However, I sense this will not be my last chance, and I knew I was needed here."

 He took the cloth Richard handed him and gently pressed it to Serena's nose while Richard pushed her vest aside to look at her shoulder. All the stitches were severed. The wound was an angry red slash against her alabaster skin. Blood oozed freely from it washing down her shoulder to puddle next to where she lay.

 "He has done much damage this time.” Richard worked frantically to stay the bleeding from the punished wound.

 "I fear for her."

 * * * *

 "How could this have happened? I thought you said he could only direct the power of the crystal on Serena in her sleep. I assumed he could only hurt her in that manner. What in God's name is going on here?” His angry cries bordered on hysteria.

 "Roan,” Richard spoke softly, seriously. “I don't know how he did this. I sensed much anger from him toward Serena. He had pursued her as a mate when he lived in the village and she refused him. Perhaps he is using the strength of that anger and the power of the crystal to do this. None of us are really certain of the extent of the crystal's power. It is usually only in the possession of kind-hearted Solarians. A Solarian with this much evil must have more power."

 Richard continued to work, hurriedly re-packing the wound. “I don't know. This is beyond me. In her weakened state ... I don't know.” There were tears in Richard's eyes, a strained expression on his face. Roan panicked. He started to plead.

 "You must help her."

 "I am trying. Get my healer's satchel from my saddle.” He jumped up and gathered what Richard needed, sliding back down next to Richard, reclaiming his position at her side.

 Roan continued desperately to stop the blood flow from her nose. The sight of her blood made his heart pound in panic as he watched Richard plunge his needle in and out of her abused shoulder wound, attempting to reseal it, and his stomach clenched in alarm.

 He had seen much death, many savage mortal wounds, and enough blood to fill a river, but he had never felt this type of terrifying dread for the life of another. He watched her eyes flutter. She opened them. Her marine green eyes sought his and bit by bit, she raised her hand. He immediately clasped it in his. She spoke to him then, in his head, because he was sure she was too weak to use her voice.

 Promise me you will find Ziem and the scrolls.

 His eyes met her pain-filled gaze and he nodded. “You know I will.” Richard glanced at him. “She's speaking to me.” Roan smiled sadly at Richard.

 Roan,Serena's voice weakened in his mind, which caused his smile to disappear. He felt her limp hand tighten very slightly on his.

 Take care of Richard for me. He is not strong like you. Look after him for me. Promise me you will?

 Roan's heart suddenly lurched while his hand tightened on hers. He surveyed her face, realizing what she was saying, what she was asking. Without knowledge of it, his vision became blurry. He suddenly recognized what she was doing.

 These are death promises she is having me make.

 "Serena, no,” he demanded as if that would stop her. “No, no, you're not going to leave me.” Roan tried to command, choking on his own words. He wailed out her name as her eyes closed and her hand went slack in his. Her head fell to the side and she exhaled a long breath, then stopped, and didn't inhale again.

 "Mother of God! No, no.” He yelled Richard's name. Richard moved, issuing orders like he had never seen before, much calmer than he could even think to be.

 "Move to the other side of her, place your hand under her chin, put your mouth to hers as if you were going to kiss her, blow in, gently, only once, then stop. We are going to try an age-old technique, a desperate one.” He followed Richard's instructions, moving around her body.

 Richard positioned himself over her heart, forming a fist with his hand. He leaned down and placed his mouth to her still lips. He gently positioned his hand under her chin and began to share his life's breath with her. The blood running down her nose to touch his lips was warm. He stopped breathing at Richard's command, and with his mouth still positioned over hers, his eyes swung to Richard. Raising his hand over her heart, Richard brought his fist down sharply, thumping her heart, then he nodded his head.

 "Again,” he instructed.

 He leaned down and lightly blew once more. In rhythm to Roan's breathing, Richard's hands massaged her heart with calculated movement.

 Roan chanted to Serena to come back to him. On the fifth try he leaned down and projected all his powers. He attempted to link with Serena, sending her one focused message, Come back to me, Serena. God, DO NOT do this to me. Come back!

 All of a sudden her lips moved under his, she sucked in the saving breath he offered, gasping in her own air, arching up as if to grab it. His lips remained hovering above hers. Wetness of his unnoticed tears dropped onto her mouth.

 * * * *

 Serena heard Roan's command and knew that she couldn't surrender to the bright warm light beckoning her. His words and his threats pulled her back to the living. She inhaled a breath and opened her eyes.

 She felt immense relief when she opened her eyes to see him. Her hand came up to tangle in his dark hair and she pulled his mouth down to hers for a kiss of gratitude. She wasn't sure whose tears touched her cheek, but he had just saved her life. She heard his muffled cry against her lips, and his own hand moved into her hair. His lips began gently tasting, tugging against hers, deepening the kiss, their tongues lightly mingling as if the world would stop if their lips did not touch.

 He reluctantly pulled away from her when he heard Richard cough.

 "I guess she needed a deeper breath that time.” Roan smiled.

 She reached her arm to Richard and they clasped them together.

 "I know you play no small part in this, my brother, and I do not have words enough to thank you.” She saw the tears in both men's eyes and was so proud to have them care so deeply for her, to fight so hard to bring her back to the living.

 "Ahh, thank the Gods.” Richard leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, their arms remaining clasped.

 "You had us frightened, little sister.” Richard smiled and pulled back to work on her shoulder.

 "Now, just because you slipped out of our mother's womb three seconds before me does not make you older.” She teased, then grimaced as the pain assaulted her body.

 "She will be fine.” Richard confirmed as he worked, gently cleaning the blood away from her face and shoulder.

 "I will seek lodging for tonight,” he murmured, leaving Richard and Serena alone.

 Richard watched him depart and wondered what was wrong as he finished wrapping Serena's shoulder.

 "He feels guilt. Please go to him, see if you can help him. I'll be fine. You've done all you can for now. He needs your help."

 Richard nodded, and placing his hand on Serena's forehead, he placed her in a healer's sleep.

 "Rest, Serena,” he instructed. She closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep. Sitting back, Richard was satisfied with his quick work. She was correct, he had done all he could for her at this point. He just wasn't sure if he could do any more if Ziem didn't stop.

  

 Chapter Six

 Roan leaned his arms against the wood structure and dropped his head. He closed his eyes and allowed his emotions to flow through him—regret and sorrow. His heart was pounding from the adrenaline surge caused by Serena's near death. He could not slow the rapid beating. He raised his hand to his chest, massaging the heart muscle, trying to make sense of what had happened. If he had not distracted her in the first place then she wouldn't have received that fateful wound. If he had killed Ziem the second he saw him, instead of giving him a choice, then Ziem wouldn't have been able to hurt Serena.

 Roan continued to massage his heart, willing it to stop hurting.

 A hand came to rest upon his shoulder and the feelings it created were soothing. Roan relaxed when he saw Richard.

 Richard shifted his hand to cover Roan's heart. “Release the guilt,” he said, and with the quiet command, Roan's strained breathing calmed and his heart unclenched.

 Richard removed his hand. “Serena was worried, she asked me to help you. Your actions have been right and just, you cannot question them. Serena will be fine and she needs you.” He inclined his head toward the stable.

 Roan rested his forehead against the wall, absorbing Richard's words, attempting to face returning to Serena's side.

 "In the small amount of time I have known her she has affected me as no other woman has, and this, the thought of...” he waved his hand toward the stable unable to continue, running his other arm over his face.

 Richard noticed the trembling in Roan's hand. Roan laughed, not a pleasant laugh, but a pained one.

 Roan shook his head. “I am one of the most feared warriors in England yet this ... I cannot...” struggling with his words he bent his knee and leaned into the structure, using it for support.

 Wetness coursed down Roan's face. “I cannot lose her, but I fear I cannot protect her."

 When he turned, his tortured expression played on Richard's sympathies. He related to Roan's feelings. Perhaps too much.

 He shifted his gaze from Roan's, glancing toward the cloud-ridden sky, his gut clenching. Roan's agony, Serena's pain, he experienced it all. At times Richard cursed his sensing gift, the ability to feel others pain. Now was one of those times. With their haze of emotions surrounding him, he leaned his back against the wall and suffered in silence. After a long moment, he began to speak quietly, not looking at Roan, just talking.

 "It is said in our scrolls that a man and a woman of the wolf will save our people. Those two, this man and woman, are said to be soul-mates and once united the link becomes so strong that when paired they are invincible.” He continued softly, “I believe you and Serena have finally been placed together for that purpose.” He sighed and reached up to wipe the wetness from his own face, straightening. “But you have not completed your link, and I fear until you do, you are both weak in your desire for each other."

 Roan stared at Richard while attempting to absorb the information he'd just heard. It was hard to believe. “I assume by united you are speaking intimately?” He needed to ask although he was confident of the answer.

 Richard looked away and nodded. “So it is written."

 "Serena, has she—?” he paused, embarrassed to ask, but the expression on Richard's face gave him the answer he sought. “So, she has never been with a man. I cannot dishonor her by ... she's injured...” he stopped at Richard's pointed look.

 "If legend is correct and she continues in this distracted state, with Ziem's anger and the power of the crystal, she is in grave danger. I am unsure if I can save her next time. Dishonor and injuries mean nothing if she is dead."

 Roan turned and leaned his back against the same wall. “Are you giving me your permission to bed your sister?"

 "The permission is not mine to give. The decision is between you and her, although if my senses are true, her feelings for you are as strong as yours for her."

 He pushed away from the wall, “She asks for you, Roan. I will look for lodging. Go to her.” Richard walked away without looking back, expecting Roan to do his bidding.

 Roan inhaled a deep cleansing breath, wiping the wetness from his cheeks. He counseled himself to have strength and stepped away from the wall determined. He knew what he needed to do.

 * * * *

 Serena sensed Roan's pain before he entered the stable. He was calmer than earlier, as though he'd come to grips with something. His step did not waver.

 She sighed as her gaze traveled the length of his body, from his long dark hair, to his ice blue eyes, down over his thick chest, finally settling on his muscled thighs. He was by far the most beautiful man she had ever seen and she smiled at the heated stare he was trying so hard to veil. He fell to his knees beside her. Picking up her hand, he laid it in his and returned her smile.

 "How do you feel?” He asked, bringing her hand to his cheek, closing his eyes when her fingers gently stroked his face.

 "Better. You and Richard are a powerful team.” She exhaled when he opened his eyes, his other hand coming out to gently push back the hair from her face.

 "Richard is seeking lodging for the night. I await Caine's return. I sent him to track Ziem as far as he could.” His hand continued to stroke her cheek, his finger trailing down her jaw. “We will rest here tonight and start again at first morning light. Caine will have returned by then."

 She closed her eyes as the desire caused by his stroking finger penetrated her senses. His hand strayed to her neck, over her bared shoulder. Serena watched as Roan nodded his head and she assumed he'd received a message from Richard. A private message. Roan reached down for her, his lips connecting with hers as he lifted her body into his arms. Her uninjured arm encircled his neck. He stood, his lips tenderly consuming hers, his arms gently cradling her body close to his. In his arms, the pain began to recede, making her stronger.

 "Do not leave me.” She vaguely recalled hearing that plea from him before, but hearing him voice it now, watching it roll off his tongue, made it all the more sweet.

 She smiled against his lips, returning his vow. “I will not.” She breathed heavily as his lips swooped down to claim hers for a more passionate, more consuming kiss. His head tilted, deepening their union, before his tongue sketched the outline of her lips. Her hand rode up his neck, sinking into his hair, and she heard him groan.

 He pulled back suddenly and walked out of the stables toward the center of the small village. She nestled into his arms.

 Richard greeted them at the door to a small tavern and inn. He acknowledged Roan with a single nod. Their eyes fixed on each other, Serena sensed they were talking and wondered what they were communicating. Talking to each other with mind sense without including the other person present was like whispering a secret in front of someone. It made her feel left out. Richard nodded and turned, heading back toward the stables.

 Roan stepped into the tavern with her dangling in his arms. Briefly acknowledging the innkeeper, he continued up the stairs to the room her brother had acquired.

 "Where does Richard go? What is going on?"

 Roan kicked the door closed and gently settled her on the bed, removing his cape. He did the same with hers.

 "He sleeps with the horses so that he may guard them and will alert us when Caine returns."

 Lowering himself onto the bed beside her, he stroked her shoulder, careful of her wound. Her desire returned with the heat of his body so close to hers. His eyes darkened to a smoky blue. Leaning over, he trapped her lips beneath his in a long unhurried sensuous meeting. He opened his mouth over hers, entreating her to let him in. She loved the feeling of overwhelming intimacy and hot demand the kiss created low in her belly.

 * * * *

 Roan took the kiss deeper and all of his thoughts tangled. The touch of her, the taste of her, captivated him. He couldn't recall his objective. He experienced only heat and pleasure and want. As his tongue tangled with hers, the flash of desire was fast and overwhelming. Denying his need to fuck her only made his want hotter. It flooded him with its intensity, his cock so hard it hurt. He took the kiss deeper and heard her moan as he ran his hands over her pliant body.

 * * * *

 Serena lost all sense of propriety, casting it aside like her cloak. She couldn't resist him anymore, didn't want to. In a slow exploration, she opened her fingers against the heated flesh of his neck, caressed his broad shoulders, tangling finally in the thick mat of hair at the opening of his tunic. His heart pounded beneath her palm. Emboldened, she trailed down his abdomen to his erection. The long, passionate kiss ended as he groaned and arched into her touch.

 The size of his cock amazed and even frightened her. Yet she had to touch him, had to discover every part of him. When she stroked him through the cloth of his breeches, he growled. She sighed and wanted more. Her body took on a mind of its own, dampness pooling between her legs, her vagina pulsating, her nipples hardening. She rubbed the peaks of her breasts against his chest. His face tensed and his eyes blazed with the look of a wolf about to pounce. Her breath hitched with excitement.

 His mouth traveled along her face to her jaw, and then his tongue trailed to the sensitive meeting place of her neck and shoulder. He nipped her neck, his teeth scraping against her jugular. She whimpered and jumped with a slight jerk of pain, calmed by enjoyment. It was so amazing, his mouth leaving a wet trail down her body, the contrast of his dark hair falling against her alabaster skin. He was incredibility strong, yet his lips were gentle.

 How wonderful.

 He smelled manly, a spicy combination of sweat and the outdoors, so him, a scent she was beginning to love. She was wrapped around the unique feeling of sexual awareness, hot and wet.

 He leaned closer to her ear, whispering, “I can't fight myself any longer. Jesu, I want to take you like I have wanted no other."

 Her body tensed, a flood of moisture between her legs. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her breath quickened. Blood was racing through her veins, throbbing in her head. Nothing mattered but the need for this man to have her, to take her virginity, and please her, as she knew only he could. She trembled with anticipation.

 "I want to ride you, little one. Show you what it can be like. Make you mine."

 His low, seductive words drove her senses wild. A primitive yearning sent her over the edge of sanity. His hands caressed their way to the tie of her leather halter. Not moving, awaiting her permission, his fingers clenched and unclenched as if he so badly wanted to untie it and only his last ounce of will stopped him.

 She plunged her hand into his hair, pulling his head down for another drugging kiss. Her lips followed the same exploration his had. Kissing his jaw line, she answered, “Yes. Make me yours, Roan."

 His breath rushed out, fanning her hair. He loosened the halter-top, pushing it aside. Tugging at his tunic, she urged him to remove it. He complied, quickly pulling his shirt over his head.

 * * * *

 Roan's chest heated where her hand made contact with the naked grooves. Her touch was like the warmth of the sun after a brutal battle. His head fell back. He closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to gain control when her small hands tentatively traced the muscles of his chest. Desire burned with each hesitant movement of her hands, his cock filling, and twitching, needing fulfillment.

 * * * *

 "I'm afraid I will hurt you,” he confessed, caressing her bandaged arm with his lips.

 "We will take care."

 She ground out the words when both of his hands came to rest on her bare breasts, kneading them, his thumbs caressing her nipples. Her nipples peaked against his palms. He replaced his fingers with his mouth as he rose to straddle her body. She wanted to scream her pleasure as his lips and tongue worshipped her breasts. She arched against him, her hands pulling at his head, straining against his sucking mouth, moaning in response. His touch filled her senses. Her body quivered down to her toes, and her breath hummed from her throat as his chest made contact with her stomach. With each brush of his lips, she tensed with anticipation.

 What would he do next?

 His hands skimmed across her rib cage, then slipped lower to find the fasteners of her breeches. He pressed his lips to the flat planes of her stomach. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, “everywhere."

 Never had she experienced such heady emotions, she'd only dreamed them. She wanted him to kiss her all over. His mouth was wet and soft, his tongue cool and coarse. The mass of his frame poised over her, contrasting with her smaller frame was heady.

 A hostage to her newly discovered passion, all she wanted to do was succumb to the sensations his artful hands and mouth elicited. His mouth stopped at the junction of her breeches. Untying her laces, he unwound the leather, one eyelet at a time, pulling it through the holes. The sensuality to his movements increased her anticipation. Her breath was coming faster, her body pulsating.

 He separated her breeches from her body, peeling them down. His mouth followed his hands until she burned from his simple touch, yearning for something more than his kisses. She was naked now, bared to him. Her hips moved, strained against his mouth. She wanted him to move lower, to soothe the throbbing ache in her vagina. His tongue slid out to touch her pussy.

 Oh God. He devoured her dripping wetness. She arched against his mouth. Oh God, this is sooo good, she thought.

 "Ohhhh, Roaaan."

 His tongue delved deeper, lapping at her. She couldn't stand it anymore. She needed to touch him, to see him, to have his cock in her. She had never been with a man in this way. She wasn't sure where this sense of urgency was coming from, but it was there, along with the hunger to have all of him buried in her. She thought in her first joining she would be shy, maybe unsure, but these feelings were making her aggressive. As though she could do anything with this man without consequences. She trusted him completely with her body.

 She moved her hands to his chest, gently pushing him back, craving the feel of him. “I want you naked."

 Pulling off his boots, he rose to his knees in front of her, allowing her hands to stroke his body, to appease her curiosity. His body was hot and alive with hard curves of muscle. He flexed beneath her hand.

 She trailed her hands over his chest, lower to his ribs, his sculptured stomach, and stopped at his breeches. He panted, his chest rising and falling with his desire. Her hand was so small next to his body. Amazing. Arousing.

 * * * *

 Roan restrained his urgency to touch her, needing her to satisfy her curiosity. Her hands slowly moved over his breeches to make contact with his erection. He closed his eyes in response to her touch, harnessing his burning desire to push her back and enter her pussy in one fell swoop. His hips pushed against her hand. She cupped him. His prick was one squeeze from making him come. He grabbed her hands, staying her movement.

 His arms tightened around her, drawing her firmly against his chest. The erratic thud of her heartbeat reverberated inside his chest. He held himself back with the last remaining thread of control he could muster. He didn't want to scare her. She was a virgin. This was her first time. He wanted to make it good.

 "I feel your restraint,” she said, tipping her head to one side. He nodded and dragged her hands to the top of his breeches.

 "Unlace them,” he commanded.

 * * * *

 Serena followed his instructions until she had completely loosened them. He helped her push down his breeches, freeing his shaft. Her hands stopped, and she gasped in surprise, her curiosity peaked at the sight of his large cock nestled against a dark stain of curls. Hard and veined, it strained upward to his navel. Pushing her hands away, he pulled his breeches off until he was magnificently naked.

 Serena sensed his restraint. “Restrain yourself no longer. Release your passion. Have me."

 She touched her lips to his chest, running her hands down his back to rest on his tight ass. He opened his mouth against her neck, then trailed lower, to her breasts. He ravaged her with his rough hands, the pace savage in its intensity, yet somehow tender. Traveling to the dark curls surrounding her vagina, he delved, stroking her clit. His fingers were long, his hands callused as he moved one finger in and out, back and forth, the friction unbelievable. Serena could smell her aroused scent as he rocked his hand against her.

 "You're so wet for me, little one. God, I want to please you. I'm going to send you to heaven."

 He tweaked her clit. Pleasure burst through her, she arched. “Yes."

 "I feel your pleasure, Serena. Come for me, little one, come for me."

 While his mouth claimed her lips, his statement made her heart pound. She wanted to come for him, she wanted to satisfy him.

 "Roan, I feel your pleasure.” She moaned against his lips. He smiled.

 "Yesss,” he murmured, as she cupped him. It was his groan, his hitched breath, the heated perspiration covering his body that drove her forward. His body's powerful reactions urged her to continue her explorations. His mouth claimed hers in a primitive, overpowering kiss. His tongue lapped in rhythm to his fingers encased in her heat.

 "Come, baby. Fly for me."

 Her body became pliant in his hands, her pleasure building, her heart racing, her breathing rapid. Her legs fell open, giving him better access to her nether lips, her body his now. She was watching herself from outside her body, his hands possessing her.

 * * * *

 The heave of her breasts, the rosy flush of excitement across her skin, tempered by the dewy spread of perspiration, told him what he needed to know. She was close to orgasm. His fingers set a seductive rhythm, her slick heat fueling him on. She was sopping wet.

 * * * *

 She was going to explode.

 A need built inside her, for what she wasn't sure. She only knew there must be some final release, something spectacular coming. Her muscles drew taut, sensation rolled over her, blinding, incredible pleasure like she'd never known. Her hips moved of their own volition. She rode the bliss he created, her hips pumping in a natural rhythm to his touch. White light exploded behind her eyes.

 "That's it. Ride it out, little one."

 His lips claimed hers as his fingers left her body. She cried out at the loss, but he quickly pulled her legs around his hips, locking them behind his ass. He lowered her onto her back. For her there was only this man now, his dick at her entrance, hard and unyielding, his hips spreading her wide. His body eased down on hers, a wonderful heaviness, a needed weight.

 She whispered his name as he entered her. Absorbing her initial murmur of pain when he breached her maidenhood, his hands clasped with hers, his thumb soothing the rapidly beating pulse at her wrist. It wasn't possible to want more, but at that moment she did. The deeper arousal shocked her. She thought when she lost her virginity she would be scared, it would be painful, but it was neither. It was a profound joining, making her one with him. Tears of joy formed in her eyes.

 * * * *

 She tightened herself around him. Roan filled himself with her scent. He wanted to stay buried in her pussy until there was no tomorrow. It was so tight and wet, sucking him in, forcing him to bury himself to the hilt. They fit perfectly. He nibbled her mouth until his rapid breathing forced him to lift his lips from hers. His forehead resting against hers, he closed his eyes with the enormity of the sensations. She was sweet, so succulent. She had that spicy heather scent, the one that drove him wild. Need tore at him. Desperate for release, his cock pulsated, but he knew he needed to take it slow and easy.

 "We were meant to be together, little one."

 * * * *

 Serena sighed at his words and his warm breath at her throat. She felt the same satisfying union he did, and with his cock buried inside of her she had never been so whole in her life. He was a part of her now. Her pussy squeezed around him, his cock hard, his declaration soft, the contrast was so right. She loved it.

 She began to move with him. He slid in slowly at first, pumped with a determined urgency. With each stroke, Serena's breath hitched and her desire mounted. Her body reached, reached ... until she was surrounded by his emotions. Their mind senses were united into one tingling hot thrusting motion, completely bonded. She arched into him, her heart pounding, panting, she was compelled to meet his thrusts with her own, enhancing her enjoyment. With each thrust she met her desire mounted, a sheen of perspiration glistening on her body.

 She was burning up. His pleasure became hers. She could feel his longing mounting with each thrust. His need became urgent, he drove faster, higher. She could see the strain in his expression, and as her lips latched onto his, he moaned. She could taste herself in his kiss, and it excited her. Serena had never been so close to another individual than she was in that moment. She ran her hands down his back, stroked his ass as he pumped into her. Her head fell back and she arched, her sighs released, all the muscles in her body tensed, as her orgasm built.

 Her body tightened around his. “Roan.” He groaned and stiffened. Her body trembled and shuddered in unison with his as they climaxed together.

 * * * *

 Roan's head rested against hers as his breath slowed. His eyes still closed, he tipped his head to the side and kissed her lips, sipping gently, as one would a fine wine to be savored. Her tight pussy had milked every bit of cum he had to give and then some.

 He eased them around on the bed to lie side by side. Reaching down, he pulled the coverlet over them to warm their cooling bodies.

 "Serena,” he breathed into her hair, “there is naught I could say that would equal my feelings right now."

 She nodded. “I know."

 His legs tangled with hers. He pulled her close and rested her head against his chest. His easing heartbeat lulled her into an exhausted sleep. Her breathing slowed as her body finally lost its battle to stay awake and she burrowed into his warmth.

 The evidence of their coupling smeared his penis. He knew he would find the blood from her virginity there. He puffed out a breath and pondered the fact he had been her first man. He knew now he would stop at nothing to ensure he was her last. She was his now, body and soul.

 As far as he was concerned, she would know no other man. He tightened his hold on her slumbering body, resting his chin on top of her hair. Her unique heather aroma had his prick rising again. He tried to calm himself.

 He couldn't take her again so soon. She was injured and needed time to recover. He closed his eyes. Just to confirm his claim on her, he said it out loud, “You are mine now. You will love no other."

 At the sound of his voice, her small, callused hand slid around his waist to rest on his ass. She snuggled in closer.

 He smiled at her unconscious action. Yes, even in her dreams she knew she was his. He chuckled and joined her in sleep.

 The feel of a soothing touch on his shoulder invaded his slumber, and he jerked awake. Knowing it was Richard, he regretfully untangled himself from Serena. He gently set her on her back against the bed. Pulling the coverlet over her, he swung his legs around.

 Richard crouched low on the floor next to the bed. He motioned toward the door, and departed. Roan pulled on his breeches then stepped out to join him. He kept the door open so he could keep an eye on Serena.

 "Caine has returned. We must follow him now."

 "When?” He asked, as he continued lacing his breeches. But before he could fully cover himself, Richard's eyes widened at the blood.

 "He has just returned."

 Richard inclined his head toward the room. “It is done then?"

 He swung gaze to Richards's face. Roan saw his concern. He didn't answer because Richard already knew the answer, it was as if he just needed it voiced.

 "Did you tell her, did you explain?” Richard stopped speaking and his eyes widened then looked embarrassed when he saw Serena, wrapped in blanket, slide up behind Roan.

 * * * *

 Serena awoke to hushed voices from the hall and opened her eyes to see Roan donning his breeches, while talking to Richard. His naked upper torso still made her heart race with anticipation. She remembered running her hands over the hard lines of his chest, she wanted to bathe his shaft with her mouth. He was so stunningly masculine, he took her breath away.

 She wasn't ashamed of what they had done. She basked in the beauty of their joining. It was unlike anything she had ever imagined, it had been magical.

 Not wanting to be left out of the conversation, she wrapped herself with the coverlet from the bed, wincing as she rose to join them. There was only a dull ache in her shoulder now, the pain amazingly better than it had been several hours before. She was healing faster than normal. It was as if her coupling with him had revived her, given her more strength.

 She knew Richard had already guessed at what they were about, so there was no use hiding her state from him. He was her brother, not her keeper. She heard her brother's voice as she silently moved up behind Roan.

 "It is done then?” She heard him ask. After a pause, he questioned Roan. “Did you tell her, did you explain?"

 "Explain what, Richard?” She asked, coming up behind Roan, clutching the blanket with her good arm. His startled gaze told her he hadn't been using his senses or he would have felt her coming up behind him. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair at her appearance, clearly a frustrated act. A gesture she was beginning to become familiar with. Neither man spoke at her question.

 "What is it you must explain to me?” She asked Roan directly and watched him shift uncomfortably, not answering her. His angry gaze swung to Richard as if to berate him for broaching the subject. She began to wonder why they would not answer her. She looked between them, their faces both held an upset, guilty look.

 * * * *

 Serena turned toward Richard and using her mind, demanded he tell her. He sighed because he knew he was caught, even Roan's warning not to progress further could not stop Richard. He had always been honest with his twin and he could not break his honor, not even for Roan.

 "Serena, don't...” Roan's plea fell on deaf ears as she pointed her gaze directly at Richard and demanded he reveal their secret. To help avoid any further emotion he made a mind connection with her and told her about his conversation with Roan. That he had advised Roan that mating with her on a physical level could save her from further attacks from Ziem and make her stronger. That their union could produce a legendary force.

 * * * *

 Roan threw up his hands in aggravation when he realized they were not going to speak out loud. He watched for her reaction to whatever Richard was saying to her. He heard her strangled gasp. Her brother's hand came to rest upon her shoulder as tears formed in her eyes. She stood in silence and Richard nodded, his hand dropped, along with his head. Feelings of shame permeated Roan's senses. Richard took one more look at Serena's angry face, then spun around and left. She remained stonily still, not making eye contact with him. She turned, and the strong angry emotions he sensed left him weak with the possible ramifications.

 "So is this why you slept with me, to protect me?” She asked after a long silence.

 He approached her, laying his hand on her good shoulder. “Serena, do not question what happened between us, it was meant to be.” He scowled when she shrugged off his hand and laughed sarcastically.

 "Meant to be, meant to be, this was not meant to be. You did this purposely because you didn't trust me to protect myself. You were deliberate in your actions. There was no meant to be here.” She waved her hand, pointing toward the bed.

 He shook his head, and with his eyes locking with hers, stepped forward and forcefully held her face between his hands. She tried to pull away but he wouldn't allow it.

 * * * *

 "Serena,” his tone escalated as he tried to reason with her. “Look at me! Look into my eyes, look into my mind! And tell me we were not meant to be together, as one, tell me!” His voice had risen to a yell, no not a yell—a roar, like a mother wolf defending her young.

 Her eyes flew immediately to his and she saw his sincerity. He moved closer to her, his body pressing against hers, his fingers caressing where his hand had roughly grabbed her face, his lips closed in on hers lightly touching them. The fist she had used to pound on the wall of his chest was trapped, his hand capturing it between them.

 "Tell me.” He whispered the last phrase against her lips. The feel of their near naked bodies touching as the blanket slipped to the floor was so erotic, she forgot what she was going to say all together, her mind crowded with his longing. His cock was hard under his half-unlaced breeches, straining against her stomach. His mouth captured hers in a mind-shattering kiss, his lips slanting against hers, his tongue tangling with hers. His hand released hers and her fingers opened and splayed against his chest. His arms wrapped around her body gently, to bring her fully against him. He broke the kiss suddenly, panting.

 "Tell me!” He bellowed, attempting to force her to deny their mutual attraction. She snapped out of her mind drugging desire to push against his chest. He immediately released her. She moved away and began dressing. He followed her and captured her arm, pulling her around.

 "I will do whatever is needed to protect you. You are mine now, remember—A'Don ar Cuid-ne, I protect my own. Serena, you are mine!” His declaration set her anger to flame. Now she understood his vow so fervently given when they had first met.

 "You.” She pointed at him. “Stay away from me. I will protect myself, you remember!” She punctuated her remark, punching her finger against his chest. He was hurt and she wanted to take back the words, however, she remembered why he had bedded her and her anger returned.

 "Do not forget what I have told you. You are mine."

 She glared at him as she reached for her leather vest to draw it over her halter.

 "Do not forget what I have told you,” she returned, savagely pulling up her breeches and lacing them up. He turned and began dressing himself. Serena watched the play of his muscles as he pulled on his clothes and couldn't contain her own desire to rip all those garments back off.

 "As you wish, all you need do is ask,” he told her with a knowing look.

 "Well do not hold your breath,” she said passionately, then heard him laugh mockingly at her statement, and knew he sensed her desire.

 "I will not, little one.” He stepped over to her when he was dressed and touched her nose with his finger. “I will not.” He chuckled when his senses connected with hers and he felt her need.

 "Serena.” His smile turned into a frown when he read her thoughts. “I will never regret what we have done. It was the most worthy experience of my life, never doubt it."

 His hand reached up and cupped her cheek and she closed her eyes as the sensations washed over her. She knew his words were true. She heard him growl, then his hand was gone and he was out the door.

  

 Chapter Seven

 Richard sensed the conflict and anger between the two lovers and sadly knew he was the cause. They traveled in silence now. Gone were the gentle touches and smiles. In their place was a twine of misunderstanding. Serena's anger was unquestionable and Roan's regret matched her anger. Their silence was deafening. Caine led them to the next small border village where Ziem had traveled. Amid the hutches of the town was a small pub Roan assumed Ziem had visited.

 Richard volunteered to stable their horses while they ventured on to investigate the pub. He breathed a sigh of relief at his luck in parting with the warring couple.

 * * * *

 "I will check with the innkeeper to seek information about Ziem,” Roan abruptly informed Serena. “You sit here and rest, but keep your eyes open. Call to me if there is trouble.” He tapped his forehead to indicate she should call for him silently.

 She nodded, too tired to argue. She lowered herself to a wooden bench and sighed in relief. A saucy barmaid took her order for ale and flounced off to the tit and tat of the other customers. The inn was crowded, which seemed unusual for a small English border village.

 Her gaze alert, she scrutinized the crowd, although she already sensed Ziem was not there or she would have felt him. She attempted to knead the knots in her neck that continued to plague her. The more time she spent with Roan, the tenser she became.

 She couldn't suppress her anger and it was noticeable from the tension in her neck. Angry, she wanted to scream at Roan for his actions. Maintaining her silence had been a constant struggle since they had left the last town. She sat brooding over the two men's duplicity, nursing her somewhat childish resentment.

 She never heard anything behind her.

 Suddenly, strong hands clasped her shoulder, and she quickly reached down to grasp the dagger strapped to her thigh. Then she heard a familiar voice and relaxed.

 "Yer much too fine a lass to be a resting here on yer own."

 She grinned when the man dropped down next to her to straddle the bench. His hair was as rich and warm as her own, long and unruly, just like the large handsome man he was. His frame dwarfed hers. He pulled her body into the vee of his legs on the bench hugging her to him.

 "Robert!” she exclaimed, as her arms went around his neck for a brief hug.

 He groaned against her neck, “Ah, lassie, ye dinna know how good it feels to have ya in my arms again."

 She pushed against his large chest and pulled out of his arms, smiling.

 He leaned in and whispered into her ear, “What brings ye down from yer Highland perch, little bird of mine?"

 "Robert, hush. You know the secrets you hold are bestowed upon few."

 He sighed and drew back, running his hand down her cheek. “I know my bonny lass and ye ken how grateful I am for yer brother's healing.” He rested his forehead against hers and sighed again. “Lassie, yer a site for these poor, sore old eyes."

 "What are you doing in England? What brings you from your stronghold? You know it's not safe for you to be here."

 His hand dropped from her cheek in obvious regret. Pulling away from her he grunted. “Business, my beauty, always the struggle. Now if ye'd just be marryin me as I asked, you'd not be worryin’ about where I was, now would ya? I would, at times, gladly give up this struggle to be making babies with you.” His Scottish brogue was always more pronounced when he was with her, as if he could finally let down his guard and be who he really was.

 She teasingly slapped his face at his suggestion. “As I have told you a thousand times—you know I see you as more of a brother than a husband and what of your current wife, aye?” He smiled at her response. “And need I remind you, your struggle is much more important than a Scottish peasant girl could ever be."

 He groaned, pulling her hand against his heart. “If only it were not so, but ye canna be blamin’ me for tryin'. Ye know my motto, try, try and try again."

 Her heart warmed at his actions. It had been too long a time since she had seen him. “You are a hopeless flirt."

 He pulled her hand to his mouth. “Only with you, little bird of mine, only with you.” His breath exhaled against her hand.

 His expression suddenly changed to one of wariness and he froze when a dagger slid against his throat. The sound in the room was of a dozen Claymores, unsheathed and pointed directly at Roan. Robert's men were ready to defend.

 "That is my woman you are pawing, my friend.” His voice was fierce, calculated, the same one he had used with Ziem, and it made her very aware of how seriously dangerous he could be.

 "Roan, you have no right! Release him,” she demanded, rising from the bench, his highhanded actions only adding to her irritation.

 "I have every right.” Roan's voice had risen beyond the acceptable level of the rowdy room. Everybody in the room, save for Robert's men, flew out of the inn thinking a battle was impending. The sound of scraping chairs finally fell silent.

 "Who is this man to you? You allow him the liberties of a lover.” Roan's accusation rang heavy in the room and she knew the minute he said the words, he would regret them.

 She was furious. She stepped toward him, her purpose clear. “You of all men know your question holds no honor.” She hissed her remark to him and saw his remorse. He began to apologize when a drawn out whistle stopped them.

 "I see the error of my ways just about now. Moreover, I think it will bode better if ye ask yer man to release my person."

 Serena gasped when she noticed the small trickle of blood flowing down Robert's neck. “Release him immediately!"

 Roan pulled back and re-sheathed his knife, making it clear by his jerking motions he was not pleased about her order.

 Robert raised his hand to his men and all drawn Claymores were re-sheathed.

 She reached forward and applied a cloth to his injury. “I am sorry, Robert, he had no right.” She gently dabbed his throat. He stopped her movements with his large hand and took over her ministrations.

 "It would seem, my little bird, ye are the only one who sees it that way.” His gaze went to Roan who was hovering protectively behind her. His arms were crossed, his legs spread, and it was apparent by the look on his face he would much rather thrash Robert than allow her to tend him.

 Robert nodded toward Roan, acknowledging him with his eyes, and raised his tall, heavy frame from the wooden bench. “The Wolf, in the flesh. We have met in battle.” He reverted to his English accent and reached over to offer his hand.

 Roan's expression was one of respect. “Robert the Bruce, you are out of your country.” He clasped his hand in Robert's, stating the obvious.

 Robert dipped his head to acknowledge his words. “Scouting, my friend, just as you most recently did."

 "You knew?"

 Robert nodded in acknowledgement. “I feed the information you seek to your Scottish barmaid, directly."

 "Why bother?” Roan released Robert's hand.

 Robert smiled at Roan's frustrated mumble. “I know it gives you pleasure to stray from your little castle occasionally and well, we must give you a task to occupy yourself."

 At Robert's explanation, Roan appeared stunned before he broke out in laughter.

 She stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

 "Well done, my friend. You are putting on a show for the English King, I assume?” Robert grunted when Roan pounded on his shoulder.

 "King Edward II is weak. I am more afraid of the bones of his dead father than of the living son, and by all the saints, it was more difficult to get half a foot of land from the old king than it will a whole kingdom from the son! But I like him to feel he has some control. Besides, the runs we make on your keep are good training for our young lads, and keep you occupied so you're not warring against us on the battlefield—where I prefer you not be, my friend, you ken?"

 Roan's eyes ran over the incredible man, Robert the Bruce, one of the fiercest leaders of the Highland Rebellion. The self proclaimed King of Scotland was a man who had sweated and sacrificed to earn the respect of his countrymen. “I ken."

 Cocking his head in her direction, Robert asked, “Why are you here with my little Scottish bird?"

 "We have joined, united together for a common cause. Do you ken?” Roan used the same cloaked message technique Robert had.

 "I ken, my friend.” He raised his hand to dab the blood at his throat. “I do indeed ken.” He smiled and reached forward to clasp Roan's hand in his again. In that moment, they formed an unexpected mutual respect for each other. Although they were sworn enemies, they would not fight each other. It was grudging admiration from two born leaders, two seasoned warriors, that gave them the ability to make such a truce, with only a handshake, there, in a small English border tavern.

 "You will protect her.” It wasn't a question, it was an order, similar to a command Robert would give to one of his men.

 "With my life.” Roan assured him, recognizing the bond they shared in wanting to protect this one, small woman.

 "Tell me then, how might I help you?"

 "We need information. We are seeking a man."

 * * * *

 Robert nodded before calling his men over to hear the description Roan would give of Ziem. He suddenly found himself surrounded by a ferocious group of battle ready Scottish soldiers, trained in the old style of fighting with brawn and courage, loyalty and heart. They had come far, fought many wars and Roan could not help but hold them in high regard, and pray he would never again face them on the battlefield.

 One of Robert's huge, red-headed soldiers spoke up. “Aye, I noticed the man you speak of. He was here, one night past, braggin’ about the recent theft of his clan's scrolls, seeking support to build a force to return. His story was fantastic. Most simply disregarded him, said he had lost his mind. Talkin’ about a lost clan in the Highlands, bearing a crystal around his neck, talkin’ about its powers. We thought he was in his cups. One man did believe him, however, and his men led the strange man away to the Castle Brier to his overlord, the second Duke of Brier."

 Serena gasped at the man's explanation and her eyes met Roan's. He laid a hand on her arm to calm her, telling her with his mind all would be well.

 "Give us directions to the keep,” he demanded, his arm snaking around her waist to keep her close.

 "Aye,” the man responded when Robert gave a nod, and proceeded to tell them what roads to travel.

 They learned the Duke of Brier was a greedy, cruel man. A man known for his ruthlessness, he taxed tenants to the point of poverty, did not take responsibility to care for the sick or injured who fought for him, passed the sentence of death on a simple poor peasant who stole a loaf of bread, and kidnapped women chaining them to men's chairs for use in every cruel way...

 The stories were endless and frightening.

 The King tolerated the Duke's behavior because his mercenaries were killers, used when there was no need for a Knight of Honor. And the King, known as a spineless lover of men, needed a place to indulge outside of the English Court, where he wasn't scrutinized. Where his secret preferences for the male form wouldn't be questioned.

 The horrible tales gave more urgency to their quest. The scrolls in the hands of a man of such degradation would surely lead to the destruction of their people.

 Within the hour they were packed and ready to leave, only pausing to say their good-byes.

 Roan stood silently next to Serena as they watched the Bruce greet Richard with much joviality.

 He finally broke his silence to voice the question, the one burning in his consciousness. “Have you known him long?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

 "Yes, many years. Richard and I travel each fortnight to a pre-arranged meeting place. Richard provides healing to the war-torn men and women of his people, and I provide my brother's protection. In return, Robert gives us safe passage and welcome in any village of Scotland.” She held out her arm indicating the leather bracelet upon her wrist. Unlacing it, she flipped it over. Scorched into the back was the sign of the Bruce Clan.

 "Does he know about the Realm?” Roan asked, watching her strap the leather back to her wrist.

 "No, he does not know where we come from. Our people have been helping his family since we claimed anonymity in their mountains. He doesn't ask, but somehow I think he realizes we are different. I have told him I am a simple peasant girl from a neighboring village and he accepts this, but I think he realizes from our clothing and our horses that we are unalike, and doesn't press me further.” She smiled when Robert picked Richard up in a bear-like hug.

 "Are you in love with him?” He watched for the reactions on her face.

 She turned toward him, angry. “If you must ask me, then you know nothing about love. I do love him in my own way."

 Roan sighed. He was so off balance when she was angry with him. He moved closer to her and watched the wariness in her eyes.

 "I am trying to learn. I am a knight not a romantic. Teach me.” His hand came up and ran down her cheek, and he noticed he was stroking some of her anger away.

 "You demand I teach you!"

 * * * *

 "No,” he moved in closer and he gently kissed her forehead, “I ask you to teach me.” He sighed against her forehead.

 With his warm breath skimming her face, she sensed the trueness of his words. He was gently making his way back into her heart. “I will think about it."

 He smiled against her cheek. “I ask you to allow me to kiss you.” His lips hovered above hers, awaiting her permission.

 She was surprised by his request and the wall she had carefully built around her heart finally crumbled. “That is one thing you need not ask.” She smiled against his lips and his mouth moved forward to tenderly claim hers as if in apology for his earlier actions. He lightly encircled her body with his arms, sharing his warmth.

 "I'm sorry for my earlier behavior, for my words, back there. I'm not sure what came over me.” He moved his head indicating the tavern. “You were correct, my words and actions held no honor. When I saw you with him, I...” he stopped, and then continued. “Can you forgive me?” He softly kissed her cheek, rubbing his rough face against the smoothness of hers.

 * * * *

 "Yes.” She breathed the word against his cheek. Her scent encompassed him and her soft skin against his lips made him exhale with regret when a large hand tugging against his shoulder forced him to release Serena. The loss of contact aggravated him.

 Robert clapped his hand on Roan's shoulder.

 "My friend. It seems you attempt to make amends with my little bird.” Robert smiled and pulled him away from Serena so he could speak to him alone.

 Robert tugged a leather gauntlet off of his arm and held it up so Roan could see the Royal Bruce crest branded into the backside. “This will allow you safe passage in Scotland, should you have the need.” He concluded by stripping one of Roan's gauntlets off and tugging his onto Roan's arm.

 "Roan, my Wolf friend.” He was no longer the cheerful, good-humored man who had greeted them earlier. “Serena holds a special spot in my heart and will never be replaced. I will not abide anything bad happening to her or her unhappiness. You will protect her with your life and keep her safe, and you will make her content or I will claim her as my own. Do not doubt after I claim her, I will kill you, my good friend.” Dead serious, Robert's face held none of his earlier pleasantry. He finished tying the gauntlet to Roan's arm, much tighter than necessary.

 Roan's anger surfaced. “You will never get the chance to claim her because the privilege has already been gifted to me, and the only way you will separate us is if I am already dead. I will make her happy, do not doubt it.” He wrenched his arm from Robert's grip.

 Robert had only one thing to say in light of Roan's declaration. “Good.” He then returned to his pleasant demeanor and clasped Roan on the shoulder. “Now I must say goodbye to my little bird.” He stalked off leaving Roan to brood over his behavior.

 * * * *

 Serena was caught in a gripping hug and surrounded by Robert's aura. She smiled as he pulled back.

 "My little bird, when will I see ye again?” He clasped her hand in his.

 "I do not know, we must find Ziem. Others have been tasked to help with the wounded until Richard and I return."

 "I would help ye if I could, lass, ye know, but I have much bigger wars to be fightin.” She lightly caressed his cheek and he closed his eyes.

 "I sense your fatigue of the battle, but you cannot relent. Your role in this fight is much too important to the people you struggle for. I sense much respect in your men toward your leadership. You will do great things, Robert, I know you will."

 He opened his eyes and she saw a depth of knowledge of his responsibility. He enclosed her hands in his.

 "He is a good man.” He inclined his head toward Roan. “And he is much taken with ya.” He smiled when she tried to shake her head no. “Yer tryin’ to deny it, but I see ya with him, lass, and I know what ya feel. We have known each other over long for me to be seein’ otherwise.” He tilted his head again. “Do not be fightin’ it overmuch, lass, yield to him and I promise, ye will not regret it. Do ya question his feelings, lass?"

 "I do not know how he feels. Sometimes it is difficult for me to sense him."

 "Watch and learn, lass.” He turned her so she could see Roan's reaction as he kissed her. It wasn't a chaste kiss by any means, and he smiled when they both saw Roan rush forward and haul her from his embrace. She smiled at Robert and took his meaning for what it was. Roan's feelings toward her were much stronger than she could sense.

 "I think that is enough good-byes.” Roan's raised voice assailed Robert. Robert's laughter encompassed the area as he saluted him and inclined his head to her.

 "Now do ya understand, my little bird?” He asked in front of Roan.

 "I understand.” Roan's hand grasped hers as he drove her toward her horse, hurrying her to mount.

 When they were all mounted, Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, pointed at Roan. “Remember yer promise, Wolf."

 Roan gave one abrupt nod in response and pulled the reins around to begin their trek to the Castle of Brier.

 * * * *

 In evidence of the tales they had heard, the village of Brier reeked of death and despair. Illness littered the street. Peasants were ailing and lodgings overflowed, spilling the ill onto the street, huddled close and shivering in their tattered blankets. Serena held a cloth up to her nose to help lessen the stench of death. The Castle loomed over the village, locked up tight. The peasants who had no more cares were pounding on the Castle gates, crying in grief for their treatment.

 "God's breath.” Roan's curse whistled from his mouth.

 "I think it better if we camp outside of the village and form a plan.” Richard's statement made sense and after seeing the condition of the village, all agreed. Night was falling as they approached the woods. The smoldering odors of the village hung unattended as the sun lowered on the horizon.

 They worked in unison to set up camp. When at last twilight had fallen, they rested around the fire Roan had built, arguing about their line of attack.

 "I will go alone, it makes no sense any other way. If trouble befalls me, I can easily call for you. To place us both in peril is not necessary, I need you to stay here.” They had been arguing half the night about his suggestion that only he attempt to penetrate the Castle. He figured he could innocently enter the castle grounds and demand entry into the castle itself as an English Lord and investigate covertly.

 "I do not like it.” She declared, wincing as Richard probed her shoulder.

 "It is much improved, near healed. It will remain stiff until you force movement. Tis truly amazing, you have healed at three times the normal rate.” He disposed of the bandage once and for all.

 "It is your healing ability, Richard, it far exceeds any other healers.” She smiled.

 "I do not think so.” He smiled back as he left to seek the pallet which had been laid under the haphazard shelter Roan had built, calling as he went, “You two work this out. I seek my bed."

 She rose, and pulling out her swords, began to practice movements, trying to loosen her shoulder. Roan stood and joined her, unsheathing his larger sword, his movements complementing hers. They always excelled at practicing together.

 She turned and engaged him, surprised by the strength of his stroke and swift actions. He was fleet for such a large man. They had both discarded their cloaks and she watched the play of muscles against his tunic. Her breath quickened. Roan locked his sword with hers and in a rapid movement, his arm snaked out and wrapped around her middle, pulling her into his body, forcing her to drop her swords. He smiled at her outrage. She finally relented and grinned with him, her hands falling against his chest.

 "You know my plan is the best."

 She sighed, drew out of his arms, and picking up her swords they began to practice again. He pulled off his tunic and faced her bare-chested. Serena threw off her leather vest and joined him, her arms bare with the exception of her gold armlets.

 Both were laboring hard as they attempted to best each other. He circled around her, his steps sure, yet his purpose unclear as he pursued, then fell upon her when the time was right. She squeaked as he pulled her against him for a second time, this time from behind. His chin fell into a sensitive spot where her neck sloped to her shoulder.

 "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.” He drew her compliant body against his hard one.

 "If you are trying to distract me then you are succeeding.” She sighed against his touch.

 "I sense your fear. I will take care, you must let me do this alone.” His lips buried in her hair and he gave up all pretense of practicing. Slowly lowering their swords, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her.

 "I thank the Gods every day we are together, that we found each other.” Dipping his knees, he whispered his words into her ear, like a lover would his claimed one. He declared he wasn't a romantic, yet his words, like such, never failed to warm her heart, to send her senses wild with longing, and make her pulse race with yearning.

 "I will yield.” She raised her hands in the sign of surrender then slowly lowered them to rest on the arms surrounding her. Simply touching him alleviated her craving slightly. “But you will signal me if you need assistance. Promise.” He nuzzled her neck, his light kisses causing a shiver to pass through her body. His arm tightened on her body, his hard cock against her back.

 "I promise you,” he said, continuing the leisurely exploration with his lips.

 His tongue came out to lightly skim her neck, causing her to sigh and quiver in her pleasure. Her neck unconsciously tilted to give him better access. His hands moved up to cup her breasts and knead their hardening softness.

 "Are you cold?” He asked in a low voice, his breath against her neck.

 She laughed at his question. “No. How could I be cold in your arms?"

 "That was my plan.” He sighed as she slowly turned in his arms. Her head came to rest below his chin.

 "I'm starting to sense your plan.” She heard his chuckle. His hands roved over her neck into her hair where he sifted through her unruly locks, lifting her hair off her neck. His hands gently tilted her head as he bent down, his mouth connecting with the pulse on her neck. Serena groaned, crying out her pleasure.

 "Tell me what you sense, share the feelings with me.” He whispered the words against her throat as he gently pressed moist kisses up her neck to her jaw.

 "Ahhh.” She tried to remember his question. This was something he excelled at, making her forget where she was, losing all conscious thought of her surroundings. She reminisced about the woods, the log, the game they had played. They had turned the game into a sensual battle of wills for control, fought to failure, then defeat for both of them. She remembered what it was like to have this man filling her. Her need far exceeded her protests.

 "Tell me what you sense.” His words were low, with a breathy quality, reminding her of his request.

 "Um,” She tried to concentrate as his lips traced her cheek, moving toward her ear.

 She finally was able to give him a response. “I feel your need, your desire, and it fills me, just as you do.” She heard his growl against her throat as his restraint finally broke, his lips moving in to claim hers in a kiss that branded her with his ownership, gently demanding her response. He lifted her against him. He was hard. Her tongue lightly joined his, touching, tangling, and he pulled her into his mouth inviting a deeper searching. Finally she stopped the kiss, her breath puffing against his lips.

 "This will only lead in one direction, my romantic knight, and it is beyond gentle persuasion."

 He smiled against her lips as he nodded his head. “Uh huh."

 She wrapped her arms around his body as he hugged her to him. “You must get some rest Roan, you leave at dawn."

 He sighed. “I know.” He continued to hold her against his hardened body. “I would gladly sacrifice sleep to spend the night with you.” His hands caressed up and down her back.

 "I know.” She lightly pushed against his chest.

 His lips cruised down her neck, coming to rest above her breasts. “Let me love you, little one.” His hands ran the length of her back easing her halter top down, his lips skimmed closer to her breasts, licking, kissing. His hands on her back worked in unison with his lips, dropping the cloth from her breasts.

 "We shouldn't, Richard is ... Ahhh.” The heat between them began to flame. His lips captured her nipple. He teased, sucked, and settled in to feast on each breast. “Oh.” Her hand framed his head as he drank from her breasts.

 He eased back, his lips capturing hers. “We should,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth.

 Her pleasure mounted.

 He lifted her into his arms, and carried her to a secluded area in the woods where he laid her down on the soft moss.

 He removed her top, his lips caressing her breasts, while his fingers worked to remove her breeches. She arched into his mouth, groaned when his fingers found her slit, caressing her until the heat was too much for her to bear. She began to beg. She was wet for him.

 "Roan,” she groaned. “I need you."

 The pace had been leisurely, but his movements became hurried as he stripped off the rest of his clothing. They came together, a celebration of naked, heated skin. His groans and rapid breathing told Serena the story of his arousal. She could sense he was losing his control, the control he took so seriously. There was a small amount of satisfaction that she could stir him this way.

 She caressed his ass as he eased himself over her and fit himself between her legs. His shaft pressed for entrance, his hips posed to thrust forward then pulled back.

 "God. I want you so much. Want to be inside you. I need to slow down."

 She laughed at the declaration. “Are you telling me, or you?"

 His forehead fell against hers. He took in a deep, strained breath. Serena could feel his heart pounding against her chest, the pulse beating at his neck. He slowly ran his hands up her sides, cupped her breasts and leaned down to consume her lips, his fingers working her into a fever pitch, pinching then kneading. Her body was going to burn up in one big blaze and light the forest on fire.

 He murmured against her mouth, between each kiss. “Me. I think.” He kissed her again, his tongue tangling with hers, his hips moving his cock another small distance inside her. “Yeah. Christ. I...” He licked her lips, his hand moving from her breasts to cup her butt as he entered her in one fell move.

 She arched and gasped. She was so full.

 She had never felt so alive.

 "Ahhh."

 His hands tensed on her bottom, raising her hips so he could move inside of her, just a tiny bit more. His groan matched hers.

 "Roaaan."

 "Sorry. God. Am I hurting you?” As he stopped, sweat broke out over his forehead. He pulled back, just a slight movement. She grasped his rear and pulled him back, her body bowed drawing him more fully into her. He moaned.

 "No.” Her hands framed his face. His expression was so strained, as though he had the worries of the world in his eyes. She soothed his furrowed brow. “You are not hurting me."

 His breath heaved out, his eyes cleared, and the makings of a slight smile touched his mouth. Serena touched her hands to his lips. They were still wet from kissing and she ran her finger over his lips.

 With him buried this deep inside her, she was not sure she would ever see the world in the same way again. She eased her hips up, letting him know he wasn't hurting her. Her lips touched his, her tongue tracing his mouth. His grip tightened on her rear and he began to move, slowly at first, then with much more force. Tingles shimmied up her spine.

 She had known pleasure in her life but nothing, nothing had prepared her for the kind of sensations this man evoked in her. His breath hitched, the noise coming from his mouth spoke to her. Even without her mind sense, she would know he was receiving as much enjoyment from this union as she was.

 "Ahhh, Serena. Jesu."

 His hips were driving against her. She tilted up to meet his thrusts, her heart pounding, her body preparing for the bliss beyond the simple act of lovemaking. She gasped, curved up, and her breath left her body. With one final moan, she flew into the trees. His body stiffened against her, his hands tightening on her to the point of pain. Easing back, he buried his face in her neck.

 Tears dropped unknowingly from her eyes with the relief their union brought her. His breathing evened, his body went lax over hers. He rolled to the side and brought her against his chest.

 They stayed together for some time, but both knew they needed to get back to the shelter. Roan needed to rest.

 They unhurriedly dressed each other. The act of replacing their clothes was as arousing as removing them had been.

 He picked up their swords, replacing his. Then slowly he approached her and his arms came around her to re-sheath her blades.

 His arms lingered for a moment and he gently kissed her, his fingers caressing her cheek. “Thank you."

 She smiled, her hands smoothing over his. “You are welcome. You go ahead. I will be there shortly."

 He nodded and headed toward camp.

 Much later she lowered herself next to him in the shelter, on the pallet Richard had prepared for her. Roan's face had lost its familiar fierceness and in his sleep, his features gentled. His breath rasped lightly from his lips. His sword was sitting next to his body, like a child might clutch a favorite nighttime toy. She set it aside.

 She gently stroked his face. His lips smiled in sleep, and his arms moved out to draw her body into his. She sighed at the sense of rightness and reached over to draw their cloaks over them. Her brother was blissfully snoring away, as always oblivious in sleep to anything around him. Caine took up residence at her feet, claiming himself a prime location. She drifted off to sleep.

 As dawn approached, her dreams became troubled with images of Ziem. He was in a dark, damp place. The soft light of dawn did not penetrate his cell. He was gravely injured, and his screams could be heard across the entire cell as he screeched in terror. This was not the dark dream she'd had before.

 She bolted up, reaching for her weapons. Ziem's scream was his final warrior distress call for help.

 Next to her Roan jerked up, his gaze immediately swinging to hers, his sword already in his hand. He was panting as much as she was. “What was it?” he asked, rising.

 Richard had also now been awakened, and untangled himself from his blanket. “What is it?"

 "A warrior distress call. From Ziem. Roan and I both heard it. He is in trouble."

 Roan was already preparing to leave, strapping on his weapons, saddling his horse. He moved swiftly, announcing his intent, “I must leave. Now."

 Serena remained in the clearing, watching him prepare to depart, her heart heavy and clenching in fear. The fact that Ziem was hurt only made their situation more desperate. The demented men in the castle could be trying to confirm Ziem's crazy tale by hurting him. Knowing the cruel overlord who resided in the castle, torture would be just the method he would choose.

 Roan moved to Richard. Clasping their arms, they recited their Solarian pledge. He approached her and clasped his arm against hers as they recited their pledge, “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne, we protect our own."

 "Roan.” There was pleading in her voice, pleading for him not to go alone, pleading for him not to leave. She leaned forward, and rising to her toes, took his face between her hands. She knew it was pointless to voice her fear. She gave him the only thing she could think to give and put all of her heart into her kiss. His arms wrapped around her, and he kissed her back, devouring her lips under his in desperation.

 When they broke apart, he launched onto his horse, obviously resolved in what he needed to accomplish.

 Serena realized as he rode away that what she had given in that kiss was more than her heart, it was her love. She finally acknowledged to herself what she had known all along. She loved him with all of her heart. The man who had laughed with her, shared his body with her, cried for her, and fought for her was her soul mate.

 * * * *

 Roan walked up to the castle gates, command in his actions, never faltering in his confidence. A wrong step could mean his death.

 "Halt. State your business!” A castle guard called down to him from high above the castle wall.

 "Tell his Grace Lord Roan Aston, the Wolf, has come to partake of his generosity. I am on a scouting mission for the King and am sorely in need of repast, a bed for the next few nights.” He established authority in his voice, hoping he would bode no argument. After a few minutes the gates opened. He had to weed his way through a throng of angry villagers to get by, and guards were beating them back to make way for his passage.

 "His Grace bids you welcome, my lord, he will attend you directly,” the guard shouted out.

 He moaned at the response, hoping he could prowl the castle in anonymity, blending into the crowd of knights. Handing his reins over to the groom, he pulled off his gloves and tread heavily into the great hall. He instantaneously sensed despondency as he surveyed the room and his breath hummed out in a disgusted rumble at the repulsive display. Dirty floors mixed with ragged mercenaries lounging lazily around the room, oblivious to their visitor, some openly coupled with naked women. Most of the females were being taken by force, while others sprawled unwillingly in chains at the mercenary's feet, to be savored for later, he assumed. The room smelled of stale ale, unwashed bodies, and the despoiling of woman. Servants rushed around, trying to appease their masters, clearly abused, some with bruises on their faces, others with torn clothing. All were female.

 He grimaced at the scene and was thoroughly sickened with what he was witnessing.

 This is immorality at its worst.

 He stepped around the various unclothed groaning women and thrusting men to approach the chair of the overlord. Clearly, the most lavishly decorated chair in the room, it was grossly ornamented with wooden carvings of coupling bodies with jewels adorning female nipples.

 An overweight old man slept in the chair, sprawled and snoring, with several naked women chained to his heavy, unmoving chair. He was half clothed, his hand wedged down the front of his breeches. He was asleep, too sated to unhand his cock. In his other hand he held the chain of a big breasted, near naked woman, who lay curled at his feet. She bore bruises over her body, mostly on her buttocks and inner thighs. She lay there sobbing quietly.

 He hesitated at her cries. The knight in him so badly wanted to sever the chain and the hand that held it, to free her from her agony. But he recognized such actions would mark him for failure and right now an entire people's fate rested in his hands. The plight of these women could not be his responsibility.

 His fists clenched at the unfairness of the situation. He slowly inched a dagger from his boot, one that could not be linked to any single man. He laid his hand gently on the woman's shoulder.

 The woman flinched at his touch. Her eyes opened and she regarded him with such a tortured expression that his hand tightened on the dagger. He placed fingers to his lips, a signal she should remain silent. Glancing up he noted the Duke was still contently snoring away.

 He kneeled down, his body blocking his actions from the other seeing eyes. It appeared he was testing the woman for his liking. He eased his head down close to hers as though her were going to kiss her. Her eyes widened in fear and he could sense her fright. He subtly pulled her hand close to his boot as if he was drawing her close to his body and passed her the dagger. Surprised emotion showed in her eyes.

 "Hide this in your clothing, for later.” He spoke into her ear. He heard her soft cry of gratitude and relief and didn't care how she used the dagger. At least she'd been given a choice.

 She tucked the dagger into the tattered material of her dress, hiding it from view. Her hand reached up and stroked his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, as tears dropped down her cheek, touching his face, dampening it where they touched.

 He nodded. Hearing the Duke snort as if he were awakening, Roan rose promptly, as if he hadn't moved in the first place.

 With one final grunt the Duke woke. Seeing Roan, he straightened from his slouched position, his hand pulling out of his breeches. He raised that same hand to Roan in salute, offering his vile hand to him for a greeting.

 Good God, Roan thought, he dare not touch this man's hand.

 "Ah, the legendary Wolf, I am honored, Sir Knight."

 His voice sounded as if rocks tumbled in his mouth and the unpleasant stench of his breath made Roan want to retch.

 He ignored the man's outstretched hand, pretending he didn't see it. Instead, he clasped the Duke on the shoulder, pulling him directly out of his chair.

 Something else caught his eye. A crystal necklace swinging precariously from the wastrel's neck. It had to be Ziem's. The same crystal Serena and Richard had warned him about.

 "The pleasure is all mine, your Grace.” He bowed, careful not to take his eyes off the Duke. Roan watched him drop the heavy chain he had been holding as he moved away from the chair.

 "You are welcome in my keep, sir. Please pick any woman of your choosing and have her until you take your leave.” He laughed at one of his drunken mercenaries who held a screaming, terrified woman pressed flat on her back. The mercenary was ripping off her clothing, obviously enjoying raping her.

 "Randy bunch, my men. My servants will show you to a bed and serve you a meal. My apologies that I can't see to you directly but I have other matters to attend to."

 Roan clapped him on the shoulder again, and attempted to smile. “As I would expect, your Grace. I only seek a few days rest before I continue on the King's business. Please carry on with your activities; it is not my intent to divert you.” He tensed when the Duke placed his arm around his shoulder. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to run this despicable man through until there was no doubt he was dead.

 "I understand you have a prisoner here that might be of interest to the King. Do you mind if I complete my own interrogation of him?"

 The Duke laughed, and fell into a bout of coughing. Roan's stomach revolted as he watched saliva roll down the side of the Duke's mouth. The man made no attempt to wipe it away. He just stood there, grinning.

 "That peculiar man ... I'm not sure if he still lives. He's down in my dungeon with some crazy story and papers. Yet, I must say, my torture has not yet made him deviate from his story. I will send a troop of men to investigate his claim, no matter, and will make a full report to the King myself. No worries, my man.” He coughed some more, choking on his own juices.

 Roan stepped back from him, sickened, unable to stand this man's company anymore. His anger about the entire state of affairs was beginning to take control.

 "But you do what you must, sir. I'm not sure what good it will do you at this point."

 A well-armed man, clad in chain mail and obviously dangerous, appeared at Brier's side. His face was scarred, rending one eye disabled. The scar continued from his eye, falling down his face to his jaw. He had a deceitful, dark look about him. His remaining hooded eye scanned Roan from head to toe, his expression one of contempt. His lips formed a sneer.

 Roan sensed it was disdain this man was feeling for the honor Roan so visibly held. This man was a killer through and through and Roan felt an instant hatred toward him.

 "This is the Captain of my guards, Sir Galen. If you are in need of anything simply request it of him."

 Roan's gaze locked with the man's, a knight, and couldn't suppress his grunt of disbelief. He was sure this man lived by no code of honor, but rather a code of ill repute.

 He saw the dare from Galen the minute their eyes touched.

 Roan nodded, acknowledging Galen's challenge. “Another time,” he stated out loud. Roan's acceptance of Galen's silent, proposed challenge was acknowledged. The man nodded an affirmation, then the two ingrates strode off as if he wasn't even there.

 Roan was convinced the Duke was touched in the head.

 Needing to vent his fury on someone, he spied the mercenary raping the screeching female and kicked the man's naked butt, shoving him off of the whimpering woman. He stepped forward and planted his boot firmly on the man's dick and pushed. The man howled in pain. Then just for added measure, he pressed down harder and made eye contact with the woman. Moving his head in a jerking motion, he told her with his actions to free herself. She scrambled up and left in a dead run. He extracted his foot off of the mercenary's dick, and watched him curve his body into itself, howling. He cleared his throat and declared, “Pardon me, sir, I tripped."

 The man wailed, crying like a newborn infant.

 Turning around, Roan strode off, attempting to find a servant who wasn't in the midst of receiving a rape or beating. He was more resolved than ever that he needed to find Ziem, the scrolls, and get out of here. Now that he knew of the Duke's plan, they could easily stage an ambush for his troop and eliminate several of the man's randy mercenaries while they were at it.

  

 Chapter Eight

 Resting by the river, Serena stroked Caine. She was troubled, her equilibrium thrown off when Roan rode out of the clearing toward the castle. Her emotions had always been steadfast. It was upsetting that she could no longer be at peace without Roan by her side. Even more disturbing was her sense of a sudden, uncontrolled fury in him. Even apart, she was aware he was in great distress. She wished she were there to soothe him, to hold him in his anger and tell him all would be well. But she wasn't. All she could do was send comforting thoughts his way and trust they penetrated his rage.

 Richard dropped down beside her, running his hand down Caine's body. “What are you feeling?"

 "It is Roan. He has much anger and it disturbs me ... and him. I fear he will lose control, forget his purpose.” Her brother was the one person she had always been truly open with, and she confided in him now.

 "It is within you to prevent it. Quiet him."

 "I will try.” She crossed her legs and directed all her concentration into projecting herself. She sent a calm feeling, telling Roan she was near, touching him, connecting with his senses. She reminded him of her smell, her kiss and her smile. She made the projection more intimate, reminding him of their joining, and all those feelings. She hoped her actions would distract and calm him.

 * * * *

 Roan thanked the servant and pounded into his room, throwing the door shut. He drew his sword and began hacking at the furniture, yelling. He needed to dispel his rage. What he had just witnessed had been so vile, so evil, he wanted nothing more than to storm downstairs and run them all through. He wanted it so badly he could taste it, could see their blood against his sword. He cried out in frustration as he destroyed a chair.

 The exercise wasn't helping.

 He stalked toward the door.

 He needed to do it. He needed to help those women, to dispense his justice upon those men.

 Suddenly a feeling of calmness descended heavily upon him, a sensation so profound he stopped and sank to his knees. He lowered his sword as he inhaled. He could have sworn he smelled Serena's spicy heather scent, felt her lips upon his cheek, saw her smile as her lips caressed his chest.

 He sucked in his breath, attempting to calm his heart. She was with him, he knew it. He sensed her. The beast inside him eased. He dropped his head, thankful she had stopped him. He reached out his hand to touch her, but knew she wasn't with him physically. She was in his heart, in his mind, soothing him. He moaned in relief, and rising to his feet, smiled at the sense of well-being invading him. He sheathed his sword and projected his thanks to her. Thank you, little one.

 He had a duty to do and he needed to remain focused on his purpose. He leisurely stepped out of the room, glancing from side to side to ensure he wasn't seen. His destination—the dungeon.

 * * * *

 Gaining access to the deep, dark dungeon had been too easy. Roan's stride was slow, almost hesitant as he made his way to the far cell where Ziem had been taken. The pathway was lit by torches, flickering against the wall like jumping flames in the hearth. He raised a gloved hand to his nose to cover the rotting stench of dead bodies. He remembered the smell too well—it was a stench equaled only on the battlefield—after the killing was over and the sun had risen.

 The guard at the end of the passageway was hooded executioner style. Various unrecognizable weapons were strapped to his body and he held a curved sword in one hand, a battle-ax in the other. The guard was silent. He set down his curved weapon, and after pulling a set of jingling keys from his side, opened the cell door for Roan.

 The simplicity of his entry made him wary. The guard followed him into the cell, his footsteps treading directly behind Roan. Against the wall was a manacled man, his arms stretched far above his head, his legs dangling uselessly. Blood pooled at his feet. He had been beaten so badly his face was unrecognizable. He didn't move when Roan approached him. He wondered if Ziem was already dead. He tried to make a connection with his mind.

 Ziem, tell me what you know.

 Ziem groaned, didn't move, too weak to talk. He did, however, make a link with Roan's mind.

 This man is evil!

 Even the words in his head were feeble, scattered as the man attempted to stay conscious. He briefly wondered how Ziem, of all people, could make that statement. From Serena's description, Ziem was just as depraved as the Duke. Maybe he had developed a warped sense of conscience from taking beating after beating. Perhaps he began to understand how his people had felt during the battle against the English.

 He will kill us all when he learns of our abilities. I just wanted to reclaim what was ours ... he took the scrolls ... the crystal.

 The words in his mind stopped. Ziem attempted to swallow but did not succeed. Blood tricked down the corner of his mouth.

 I am dying ... leave me ... you must stop him.

 His words stopped. Roan thought he was gone.

 Tell Serena sorry, was jealous ... saw your connection with her ... could have killed her with the crystal ... powerful ... enraged ... she was mine.

 He tried to soothe Ziem, to assure him Serena was well.

 Roan caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could turn, an object struck him on the back of the skull and he fell, the ground reaching up to catch him in its blackness.

 He shouted for Serena, then felt nothing.

 * * * *

 Serena sensed Roan's unease. She was finished with waiting. Donning her leather armor and all of her weapons, she was strapping on her swords when she experienced it, a familiar cry for help. Roan's warrior distress call. She cried out, and clutching the sword in her hand, caught her breath. She heard no more.

 Determined, she swung on her cloak and turning toward Richard, announced, “It is time. I must go in.” He nodded. When it came to battles, he never questioned her wisdom.

 Dropping onto her knees, she plaited her hair and threw the braid behind her back with a false calm she didn't feel and a sense of urgency she did. She could sense worry from Richard. “Swiftly. I need the paint."

 Before a battle which could end in death, Solarian Wolf Warriors painted their arms and faces to honor the impending battle, a ritual for good fortune.

 Richard cringed at the significance of her request. He extracted a small, carved wooden jar from the provisions attached to her saddle and lowered to his knees in front of her.

 Serena closed her eyes as he applied the red paint to her face in accordance with tradition. She tried to stay calm, anxious to be off, but this ritual was essential, and the small ceremony would assist her in keeping focused. It could turn the tide of battle in her favor.

 The paint was made from the clay of the Realm mixed with various berry dyes. Richard's fingers glided straight across her forehead. He paused, then drew a line from her forehead down past each eye, stopping midway at her cheek. His fingers moved to her cheek and drew one straight line along her cheekbone toward her ear. He repeated the process, thickening and doubling the line.

 The result was frightening. Painted for war as she was, she knew it was hard to recognize the woman in her and much easier to see the warrior.

 Richard set down the paint and raised his hands above his head. She raised her arms and her hands clasped his, palm to palm. Leaning forward, their foreheads touched, eyes closed, their hands tightened as they prayed for good fortune in battle. Their arms formed a circle, and simultaneously lowered, the Gaelic vow was whispered, “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne. We protect our own."

 She released his hands, jumped up, and prepared to leave.

 "You will remain. I sense Roan will be in need of your skills. I will take Caine. I have a plan to gain entry into the castle. I'll need a cart."

 "I noticed several in town. They appeared unused, likely from a merchant's death or illness. I don't believe anyone will have a care if you borrow one."

 Richard unstrapped his healing bag from his horse.

 "I will prepare.” Dropping his bag, he moved back toward her and said, “Take care. I sense much evil in the castle."

 Richard watched her mount. She knew he was afraid for her and Roan with the type of fear that rendered a person speechless and made them want to empty the contents of their stomach.

 "I will. Be ready."

 In a cloaked flurry, she rode off.

 She retrieved one of the abandoned carts from town, and after lining it with several stolen blankets, instructed Caine to jump up and play dead. Wolves’ carcasses were often given as gifts to castle lords in bartering for lodging or other items. Peasants exchanged their skins for rewards, money offered by the King. She had a plan—she would enter the castle with no problems.

 "Caine, you must stay very still.” Caine raised his head, and understanding her, barked at her command.

 "Good."

 As they neared the castle grounds, she pulled her cloak around her, settling the hood over her head to cover her face. She hunched over and stumbled, dragging her leg behind her as if she were an old feeble man. She started her trek to the castle gates.

 "Halt! State your business!” The guard's shout came from above her. She bent forward, deepening her voice, and hissed back, “I bring the carcass of a recently slain wolf to honor his Grace.” She faked a wheezing cough in an attempt to act her feeble age.

 "Enter.” The gates creaked open. She towed her leg behind her as she pushed the cart ahead of her. She moved very slowly, creeping along, as an elderly, crippled man would. The guard inside the gate flipped up the blanket covering Caine. She could almost believe Caine was dead herself. His tongue lolled to the side, his eyes stared straight ahead, sightless. The guard grunted, then threw the blanket back. “Well done, peasant. Take him to his Grace, directly."

 "Aye, sir.” She let out several hacking coughs, spitting while she did. The man made a rapid move away, back to his post. Hoping she would go unnoticed, she pushed the cart around back of the castle to the servant's entrance. Throwing the blanket aside, she communicated to Caine—he had done well. Instructing him to go limp, she heaved him over her shoulder. She appeared to be an unpretentious, aging peasant toting a dead wolf. Losing her limp, she advanced through the kitchen. No one paid her any mind.

 Bumping into a servant, she croaked out, “Dungeon?"

 The haggled, bruised servant pointed.

 Serena followed the servant's directions. She continued to slouch over but her step was now quick with urgency.

 * * * *

 Roan, bit by bit, awoke into consciousness. As he raised his pounding head, he groaned in pain. He recognized several things at once, his pain was more than in his head, he saw the pool of his own blood on the ground, and his chest was bare, his tunic gone. Several cuts littered his torso including a particularly painful one on his neck. This, he thought, is what must have caused the blood bath on the floor below him.

 His hands and feet were manacled to the wall next to Ziem, his weapons were gone, and his feet hung not touching the floor. He jerked his arms, and the chains rattled. More blood leaked out of the deep wounds. It appeared they intended to let him bleed to death. Well, he thought briefly, what a bittersweet ending. So much for being undefeated. He had had more threats of death in the last few weeks than in his entire fighting career.

 A laugh in the cell caused him to slowly rotate his pulsating head. His vision was blurred, yet he saw well enough to snarl. Leaning against a table with various weapons of torture was the guard. This time his mask was gone, and Sir Galen smiled at him, a dozen “randy” mercenaries scattered behind him. He pushed away from the table, and sauntered over to Roan. Roan's dagger dangled from Galen's hand. As Galen approached him, Galen's arm flashed and he tore another cut into Roan's chest. Roan jerked at the chain in agony. He wanted to rip the chains from the wall. He sucked in his cry, not giving Galen the satisfaction of hearing him howl.

 "Now, sir, I think it would behoove you to tell us why you are really here?"

 Roan's silence blanketed the room. The mercenaries approached Ziem's body.

 "Was it to rescue your man? You share the same mark. A wolf? Do you think us daft? The Wolf coming to call while in the depths of our dungeon we hold a man marked with a wolf?” He inclined his head toward Ziem. “Well, let me take care of that for you.” He nodded and a guard raised his sword and swiftly hacked off Ziem's head, putting him out of his misery.

 Roan flexed against the chains. “Why don't you let me go and fight me like a real man, instead of this pathetic display of cowardliness? Oh, but I forgot, you have no honor, do you?” His fury made him shout, only to moan as the effects of the blood oozing from his body made him lightheaded.

 Galen, enraged, launched toward him, knife in hand, with deadly intent on his scarred face. Before he reached Roan, Galen stopped and smiled. “I think not. You will not goad me into releasing you, Wolf."

 "I will kill you,” Roan growled, jerking against his chains.

 "Oh, I doubt it. You are not in much of a position to threaten me, my lord.” He bowed and then gave Roan another malicious smile. “So now your friend is gone. Tell me what is in those Highland mountains that makes you so willing to die? What are you protecting, I wonder?” He strolled to the table of various weapons, the table where Roan's sword and dagger lay. He plucked a wrapped, aged scroll into his hands and unwrapped it. He turned the document for Roan to see. “Is it this maybe?"

 Roan worked very hard to appear impassive.

 "Do not worry, Wolf. I have already assembled a group of very Scottish-looking men to aid our trip to this place you seem so intent on dying over. They await my presence directly."

 Roan remained silent.

 "Or is it this?” Galen picked up the leather thong the crystal was dangling from. “Your man endured quite a bit of pain until we removed this.” Galen dropped it around his neck.

 He moved toward Roan and handed his dagger to the man standing next to him. The foul mercenary appeared eager to take over his torture.

 Roan's strength was waning, and remembering Serena's teaching, he valiantly tried to decrease the bleeding by slowing his breathing. He inhaled several deep breaths, reciting to himself, relax and breathe slowly.

 He closed his eyes in concentration.

 "Or is it the woman? Your friend cried out her name in agony when we cut him so skillfully, as we have you. Is her name Serena, perhaps?"

 Roan's eyes flew open and he yanked against the chains so hard one of them gave way, breaking from the stone wall.

 He had just made a grave error.

 God's blood.

 "Ahh, maybe I have something there. Serena is it, my friend?"

 Roan said nothing.

 Galen raised his hand to his cheek as though pondering Roan's fate. “So you still refuse to give information. Curious, indeed.” He turned to the man next to him. “Torture him. If he does not begin talking within the next quarter of an hour, slit his throat."

 The mercenary smiled, his head nodding, his gleeful laughter sounding like a hyena claiming his first meal of the day.

 Galen gave one final look at Roan and strode from the room.

 As the man brought the knife to Roan's arm, Roan jerked hard against the chain, praying this time it would fly from the wall. It did not. The pain from the previous two cuts and the dozen others littering his body was excruciating.

 The man moved the dagger from Roan's arm to his throat, the man's face so close to Roan's he could smell the other's foul breath and see his rotten teeth.

 "I think I'll just kill ya now."

 Roan raised his head toward the ceiling and roared at the top of his lungs, this time not caring who heard him. “Serena!"

 * * * *

 Serena noticed the large, scar-faced man brush rapidly past her. He was intent on his purpose, as was she. She reached the top of the dungeon and stopped. Her breath sucked in when she heard Roan's tortured cry.

 She released Caine who became instantly alert and took off running toward the last room of the dungeon. She threw off her cloak and followed Caine in a full run, pulling her swords out as she went.

 * * * *

 Roan was amazed at the vision he saw entering the dungeon. Her face painted with red lines, swords flashing, Serena and Caine crashed through the door at a full run, a beautiful sight indeed.

 The others were so stunned by the new visitors they didn't even try to stop her. She launched toward him, swirling one sword above her head. She circled it once, then brought it down on the man holding the dagger to Roan's throat, cutting the man in two. She twirled around to add more force behind her blow and brought her sword down with lighting speed. Sparks and rock flying, she struck his chain. She swung her arm and severed another.

 Roan braced his knees when his feet were released.

 Serena pushed back with her left sword and disposed of the mercenaries who had come up behind her with weapons raised. She pivoted around again, her battle cry and fury heard over all other shouts. Both swords swinging, she slashed at two more men and they went down. She pounded the head of another with the bottom of her sword handle, splattering his head like a melon. With a forceful movement, she swung around and severed the chain at Roan's wrist.

 Caine's growls and attack could be heard from his position behind Serena as he worked against one of the rushing guards.

 "Serena!” Roan yelled a warning as a man rushed up behind her.

 Leaving him, Serena turned, swords raised and crossed and braced to deflect the man's blow. The man's sword clashed with hers, causing her to drop one. She stepped away from Roan, drawing the man away from him. She forced her prey back toward the table where Roan's larger sword lay. Stepping forward, she locked her sword with the man's while her gloved fist flung out, smashing against his nose, causing him to stumble back. In a split-second of hesitation, she ran him through with her sword.

 More men were pouring through the door, flowing in like an undammed river. Caine tried to hold them back, baring his teeth, emitting a furious bark followed with a growl. Swinging around, Serena paused for a moment to assess their situation. A dozen more men swarmed through the door.

 Turning back around, she yelled at him. He raised his hand in response to her summons, and his sword went sailing through the air to land perfectly into his outstretched hand. Confirming he had caught the sword, she fell to one knee. Standing her remaining sword against her leg, she pulled her crossbow from behind her back and took out at least five men in successive shots.

 When the men began moving faster than her hands, she retrieved her sword and engaged them one by one, hampered by the fact that she didn't have her other sword. She plucked the dagger from her thigh and began to fight two men at a time.

 Roan, feeling stronger now that she was in the room, pulled back his arm. With his sword held high, he swung at the remaining chain restraint with all his might. It broke immediately and he landed heavily, wavering on his feet, while the blood re-circulated into his ankles.

 He picked up Serena's other sword at his feet and rushed forward to help her. He handed her the sword as he moved around her to engage the newly joined men. They were disposed of quickly, silently, one by one. He was angry and out of control. He had never felt such a bloodlust in his life. With her back to his, they fought together until no one was standing.

 Confident they had disposed of the Duke's mercenaries, she wrapped her arm around his waist to assist him out of the prison.

 "We must leave here immediately,” she said.

 They struggled up the steps and out of the dungeon. She had all of her weight behind him. His strength was wavering from the fight and the additional loss of blood. Stopping at the top of the stairs, their eyes strayed over the room full of women. Seemingly lost, some sat bleeding, others crying. All of the men must have come down to the battle and died as a reward for their heroism.

 Well done, Roan thought.

 The Duke, surprisingly enough, lay snoring in his chair, oblivious to all the activity around him. A silver chalice was clutched in his hand.

 "Wait."

 She stopped.

 He saw the woman he had given the dagger to. She remained chained to the Duke's chair.

 "I must free her.” His voice weak, he leaned heavily against Serena.

 * * * *

 Serena glanced at him, saw his determination, and her heart went out to him. She touched his shoulder and leaned him against the wall. “Stay here. I'll take care of it for you.” Stepping carefully through the melee of ransacked women, she approached the chair and raised her sword high above her head.

 The woman watched her with an expression of relief.

 What was this?

 The woman felt relief at the possibility that Serena might slay her? Serena swung and severed the chain holding the woman to the chair.

 The Duke gave one big snort and came awake, but the woman was swift and producing a dagger, she drove it deep into his heart. He howled. Reaching up, the woman twisted the knife and pulled it down, ensuring the Duke would die from her stroke.

 He gave one final cry, blood gurgled out of his mouth and his eyes turned lifeless. His head fell to the side, his hands dropped limp next to the chair and his body slumped deep into the confines of the ghastly creation. He was clearly dead.

 The woman retrieved the dagger, wiping it on her remaining clothing. She spat on the Duke. “That is your payment for my three years of faithful service, my lord."

 The woman handed the dagger to Serena. “Return this to your lord and thank the Gods everyday you have his love."

 Serena nodded at the words and returned to Roan's side. Gently, she helped him outside to the cart and laying him into it, covered him with blankets. Caine jumped up to join him, lying at his side, licking his face and whining.

 Suddenly from the village, Richard appeared, and they both picked up the cart and nonchalantly wheeled it out the gate. She was so glad he had responded to her silent call for help. Together, they returned to camp so Roan could be tended.

 * * * *

 After washing up, Serena stood aside and watched Richard attend Roan.

 "Ayeeee, it hurts. I thought you were to help alleviate the pain, not cause it.” Roan lounged on a pallet, groaning as Richard applied a salve to his cuts.

 "Your wounds are healing so rapidly I did not think my touch was needed. Look, this one is completely healed.” He ran his hand over one of the smaller cuts on Roan's arm.

 "Richard, here can you fill these? Let me tend him. He will likely cause you harm if you continue.” Serena handed Richard several leather water holders.

 "Take your time,” Roan growled at him.

 "Do not worry. It will take at least two hours to fill these. Maybe by then you will have regained your lost temper.” Richard hurried off toward the river.

 Serena knelt down next to him. Taking the salve, she gently applied it to his remaining cuts.

 Roan sighed and lay back against the pallet. “Richard only tries to help. Must you grumble at him?"

 He opened his eyes and sat up at her words, his hands falling onto her shoulders. There was urgency in his tone, to the point of alarm. “We must go after them now. They are seeking the path to the Realm, and they will do much damage. I am sure once they realize our gifts, they will take as many as they can hostage and kill the rest. They will kill them for the crystals alone once they realize their power.” His words spilled out in his agitation.

 "Roan.” Serena pushed him back against the pallet, and leaning over him, she kissed him gently, trying to calm him, projecting soothing thoughts. “We will pursue them. You need a few hours to heal, you have lost much blood. They will not ride through the night as we do. They are too weak. You know this. We will have caught them by dawn tomorrow. Just rest, my brave knight, rest.” She soothed her hand over his forehead, and he moaned against her touch. She gently moved her hand to his neck to stroke the uninjured, tense tendon. His hand came up and entwined with hers, and he pulled her down to lie on his body.

 She cried out in protest as her skin came in contact with his injured chest. “Your injuries...” Serena gasped when he rolled over, placing himself between her legs, pinning her beneath him. His eyes were alert now, his cock pressed against her. His lips claimed hers for a passionate kiss, full of need and promise.

 "God, I need you. I need to feel your body against mine. I need my cock inside of you. I need to smell you surrounding me. I want to forget all the death and feel alive. I need to love you.” His lips mingled with hers. “Say you know what I am feeling and you need the same as I do. Damnation, I am going mad with these feelings.” His hands ran up her stomach over her ribs, inching their way to her breasts, finally coming to rest under the tunic.

 "But, Richard..."

 His words stopped hers. “Knows what I am feeling, that is why he left us alone. He will stay away."

 "I also feel it, this desperation to feel alive.” Serena groaned when his tongue came out to lightly trail her jaw, onto her neck. His mouth replaced his tongue with a light suckling motion. She arched off the pallet toward him, pushing her wetness against his dick.

 "You were spectacular today with war paint on your face, wielding your swords like my true champion. I would have died several times if not for you. You are the most astounding woman. I want to be inside you."

 He whispered the words and they aroused her as they always did. His low voice was compelling. He had the ability to hypnotize her into a deeper desire with his persuasive words.

 "Oh,” she moaned, losing any pretense at going slow.

 He divested them of their clothing. His movements were of a man possessed. His hands were trembling as he pulled down her breeches, sliding them over her hips. His lips followed his hands. She sensed the desperation in his actions, his need to dispel the image of the carnage he had witnessed. His movements continued, pulling, sometimes ripping at their clothing, not stopping until they were flesh on flesh.

 Serena only worried for his state of mind. She knew he would rather die than hurt her.

 "Roan.” She touched her hand to his cheek, running her hand down his strong shoulders. “You will hurt yourself,” she reminded him softly, trying to bring peace within him. She continued to stroke him, wanting to slow his frantic actions. She saw him wince when she accidentally grazed one of his cuts. “Go gently. I sense your desperation."

 He stopped and dropped his cheek to hers. He moaned against her ear. “God, I am sorry. My need is too strong. I can't go slowly with you.” He seemed at a loss how to explain what he was feeling.

 She smiled at his apology. She knew he so badly wanted to take her. She sensed the readiness in him, he was rock-hard and poised to plunder, yet he stopped because she knew he didn't want to join with her like this. Raising her hands, she placed them on both sides of his face, lifting his head. Her eyes sought his.

 She soothingly stroked her hands over his face into his hair. Serenity floated over his features as she touched him. His eyes remained locked with hers. His lips parted and he exhaled. She gently ran her hands down his muscular back and over the contours of his lower back. His penis touched her clit, and she was wet and ready for him. Her hands came to rest on his ass and she slowly eased him farther into her. Lifting her head, she kissed his cheek as she pulled him farther into her.

 "Take me. I need to feel you inside me.” She breathed the words against his cheek. She heard his moan as he plunged the remaining distance, joining them fully. Her thrusts joined his. She arched her back as she experienced the pure joy of their coupling, losing herself in him. It was like this every time they were together, a complete melding of her identity with his.

 * * * *

 Roan's hands reached down and pulled her arms above her head. Stretching their bodies fully, he laced their hands together above their heads, plunging his body farther into hers. His eyes sought hers and he froze, filling her, then sighed.

 It had been like this before, but this time it was different somehow, better, his feelings stronger. He shared his pleasure with her. She moaned, her breath caressing his neck, her smell floating over him. He smiled at the bliss in her face, at her aroused expression, her eyes half closed in her yearning for more. She wanted him thrusting inside of her.

 "You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said against her lips. Moving back slowly, he withdrew and slid forward, rejoining them. He watched her face, her delight, as she sighed in the rapture his movements brought her.

 "Nothing pleases me more than to feel your pleasure, to watch you come, to see the release in your eyes.” His lips re-joined hers, and with his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips, he began his repeated thrusts into the depths of her body, rocking them against each other. She rose to meet him. Her hands tightened on his.

 When he could stand it no longer, he gave his body over to the thrill of their union, closing his eyes. His neck arched up, and he growled in pure satisfaction at the friction and movement. They were beyond heaven.

 She was so small, but her body fit his perfectly. Her legs wrapped around him. She met him thrust for thrust, her breathing as brisk as his, her small hand gripped convulsively in his.

 It was then he knew he would always love her, more than he would ever love any one person. This bond they shared went beyond their physical joining to something much deeper, much more profound, to the mating of their hearts and to a sense of something of such importance, it could not be explained by love alone. They were soul mates in every way.

 He roared as he came and he knew she had joined him because her small body tensed and she screamed his name, her body tightening around him, milking his cock, then relaxing. He thought he could touch the stars as his final thrust drove him deep into her, his hands grasping hers in desperation.

 The only sound was of their breath mingling. He smiled sleepily against her lips. Still hard, he remained joined with her. He pushed into her again and she moaned, smiling at him. His hands flexed in hers and he released them, slowly running his fingers down her arms, into her hair, down her shoulders, his stroking movements deliberate as his hands delved underneath their bodies, coming to rest on her ass, clutching her, kneading her. He wanted to fuck her again and again.

 I can't get enough of her, he thought.

 * * * *

 He was still rock-hard inside her, and Serena sensed he was not yet sated. She squeaked when he lifted her bottom. Rocking back on his knees, still locked together, he pulled her body upward. He motioned for her to tighten her legs around him and he lifted her body fully against his. They were facing each other now, Roan on his knees. She lifted completely off the ground, her legs draped around him. He held her up, his hands anchored on her ass. His eyes sought hers as he reached forward with his lips and clamped his teeth on her nipples, gently biting her, then using his tongue to soothe the hurt. She arched into his mouth, the feel of his teeth on her nipples touching the most erotic side of her nature. Pleasuring her with her own pain. She was so wet, her cunt slipped up and down his cock.

 "Ahhhh."

 "I am not yet finished,” he explained as he lifted her body. Sliding her up, he dropped her back onto his shaft. The position only lent to a deeper penetration.

 "Ride me, little one. Ride me hard."

 They both groaned at the intensified emotions the position brought. Serena raised her hands, locking her arms behind his neck. She watched as his head dropped back and his breath huffed out at her touch. His satisfaction was evident. Knowing she could give him gratification only strengthened her reactions.

 * * * *

 Roan groaned, and his eyes closed when she braced her arms around his shoulders. With his assistance, she began moving herself up and down. The motion made him pull in his breath, then it stopped, momentarily. His back arched as Serena braced her legs and rode him. His hips thrust forward of their own volition to meet her, and he released a cry, his hands tightening on her soft ass. He drove up with one final, strained movement and hugged her to him, still buried deep inside her.

 He remained still, desperately attempting to catch his labored breath. When his legs could finally support him, he slowly stood with Serena linked to him.. Then sinking back down, taking her with him, he lowered himself onto his back.

 Serena stretched out on top of him. He relaxed under her. She gently slipped to his side and stroked his face as she watched him fall into a deep doze, spent from the day's activities. He reached out and clutched her hand to his chest, placing it on his slowing heart. When she was sure he was asleep, she lifted herself from his side and lovingly tucked a blanket around his slumbering frame.

 After pulling on her clothing, she went toward the river.

 * * * *

 Roan woke instantly when Serena touched his shoulder. He smiled at her, capturing her hand in his. She smiled back, however, he sensed her strain.

 "We are ready to leave. Go wash. I must teach you a Solarian ritual before we depart.” He nodded, and she reached over and handed him his clothes. Her hand strayed to his chest, gently tracing a healed cut. The cuts were mending so quickly some were no longer visible. “We are both healing with unusual swiftness."

 His hand met the one lying against his chest. “Let's not question what we do not understand. We are not unbeatable, yet we have both grown stronger since our joining."

 * * * *

 Serena entwined their hands on his chest. He was correct, she did feel stronger, even more so after they had loved, and she was frightened by the strength of her feelings for him.

 The bond they had developed was unnaturally powerful, and she was alarmed to be linked to any one person in such a way. She was becoming dependent upon their union. When they were parted, there was a void in her heart so vast no other person could fill it. When he was hurt, she could sense his pain, when he came, his feelings only enhanced her pleasure.

 "You know it to be true, and I sense you fear it.” He pushed up, the blanket pooling at his waist. His arm came around and circled her, drawing her to him, their hands clasped between them. “Do not fear it, little one. Accept it. Our place is together."

 She saw the warmth in his eyes, the conviction in what he was saying. Abruptly, she pulled out of his arms, releasing his hand as she stood. “Prepare to part, Roan.” She dropped his clothes onto the blanket and left.

 * * * *

 Roan ran his hand through his tousled hair. He was deeply disturbed. She was unable to accept what he had so readily acknowledged.

 They were fated to be mates.

 Richard had told him of the legend. At first, he had scoffed at the idea, unable to believe these fantastic Solarian tales, initially even unable to accept this race of people existed. But he was sure now, as certain as he was that he had always been out of place in his father's world. He had only been comfortable on the battlefield, yet still had a sense something was missing from his life. Well, he had found an absent part of his life, and he had never felt so content and at peace with himself as when he was with her. He was intent on his purpose, to make Serena believe it.

  

 Chapter Nine

 After Roan washed, he strapped on his weapons. On his knees, he eased down to the dirt, facing Serena. He had removed his tunic and she was stripped down to her leather halter. She held a small wooden bowl of some sort of red paint.

 "Tell me about this ritual."

 She leaned her body over his. Her fingers began drawing strategically placed lines on his face.

 Serena was trying to block her senses, concentrating on sketching war lines on Roan, but she was having a difficult time. His bare-chested body was too close to hers and his unique male scent wafted over her. It was a scent she was coming to enjoy immensely—to crave even.

 "Prior to battle, Solarian Wolf Warriors paint their faces and arms in the manner I am doing to you. It is only done when risk of death is high, the enemy strong. It is designed as a cleansing ritual, to help us re-focus our senses. I have completed this ritual very few times since most of my life has been spent in peace, but it has not always been so.

 "Before we took refuge in the Highland mountains, prior to my birth, Solarian Wolf Warriors gave their skills to assist those in need. They apparently fought in many battles. Warriors assisted those people who did not have the skills to fight for their own rights. History says the day Edward's troops came forth to eliminate our people all warriors completed this ritual. They fought bravely, but the enemy's numbers were overwhelming and in order to save our people, it was necessary for them to flee."

 Roan nodded. “When I was found in the forest, my father told me I was marked like the devil and had a massive gray wolf lying dead next to me. I never understood what he meant when he said I was marked. I assumed he was speaking of my tattoo."

 She shook her head. Her fingers continued to stroke his face before moving them over his arm, drawing a single red line from his shoulder, down his arms, to his wrist. She repeated the process on his other side. “Most likely even at a young age you would have participated in this ritual."

 * * * *

 Finishing, she handed Roan the thick red substance and pointed out how she wanted him to draw on her. His fingers glided over her skin. Touching her heated body, as much as he tried, he couldn't control his desire. He made a valiant effort to calm his charging heartbeat. His finger slid over her shoulder and down her arm. Her eyes were closed, her breath steady. Deep in concentration, he doubled his marks. She opened her eyes and her expression told him she was not impervious to his touch. He saw her yearning.

 "Follow your instinct and my movements."

 He nodded at her instructions.

 Closing her eyes, she raised her arms above her head, her fingers spread, palms facing out, and suddenly Roan intuitively understood he needed to follow her movements. Raising his arms, he locked his hands in hers. She leaned toward him. He moved the additional three inches to meet her forehead with his and closed his eyes. Their breath mingled as he concentrated on re-focusing his thoughts on the impending battle. He drew several deep breaths, his hands and arms moving with hers, and circling around, he rested their linked hands next to her hips.

 "A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne, we protect our own."

 He repeated her vow.

 She released his hands but before she could stand, he tugged her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “A'Don ar Cuid-ne, I will protect you, Serena, with my life if necessary.” She raised her hands to his cheeks and cradled his head between her hands.

 He accepted the familiar, soothing feeling of her touch.

 "Roan,” she murmured to him, “you have touched me as no other man has.” He smiled at her declaration, and claimed an instinctual, ancient male victory.

 "And as no other will,” he reminded her, mayhap a bit too roughly.

 She smiled with him. She sighed and gently kissed him. “And as no other will,” she agreed against his lips.

 He deepened the kiss, his fingers cradling her head in his hands. This kiss was different to him, held a certain anxiety. “Remember that thought, little one.” He pulled them both up off their knees. They were battle ready.

 She handed him his tunic while she drew on her vest and cloak.

 "Let's go.” He tied her cloak under her neck, then kissed her.

 Richard was already waiting on his horse. Roan signaled to Caine as he mounted. Serena rode behind him as they pointed their horses in the direction of the Scottish Highlands.

 * * * *

 By riding through the moonlit evening, near close of the second day, they had tracked Galen and his men. Clumsy in their trek, Galen's men had not even attempted to conceal their trail. From the Highland hideaway of the Realm, the group was no more than a day out.

 Roan and Serena laid stomach down on the rocks above the men, watching Galen and his troop bumble along the rocky trail. Their horses stumbled, not trained or bred for the terrain.

 This will give us an advantage, he thought.

 He whispered, “We need to get in front, surprise them. Are we close enough yet to signal any other warriors?"

 "We are within one day's travel at the most. We are close, but not close enough."

 He dropped his head and swore. Although he was confident in their abilities, there were at least two-dozen burly mercenaries down there.

 The numbers were against them.

 "I will send Richard and Caine ahead. I know another route of travel. Richard might be able to return with assistance in time."

 He acknowledged her suggestion, moving his head in the affirmative. With a silent wave, he signaled her to seek Richard.

 Even as she left, Roan was certain their move was futile. Others would never reach them in time.

 We need to move swiftly, he thought.

 He backed down the overhang on his stomach. Reaching the ground, he returned to Richard and Serena, his approach disrupting an argument.

 "You cannot always protect me.” Richard crossed his arms, his expression fierce and unrelenting.

 Standing next to him, Serena was clearly fuming, and beautiful in her anger. He attempted to suppress the quirk of his lips. Probably not a good move to smile right now, he counseled himself.

 "Richard, protecting is my craft. You have known this since we were born. Why do you cry like a child about this?"

 Roan cleared his throat. On the surface, it appeared she was purposely trying to bait her brother. Richard began throwing items into his bags, his expression furious.

 "Now you act as one."

 Richard's head lifted, his brows drawn together, his lips peeled back from his teeth. He charged her.

 Roan automatically stepped forward to protect her. Stopping, he reminded himself of who this man was and stepped back.

 This was between them, siblings, he hadn't the right.

 Richard moved within an inch of Serena's face. His expression was fierce, his breaths rapid and breaking. Roan was amazed by the likeness of their faces, the similarities of their hair and features. At that moment he was confident Richard could be a warrior, if he chose to.

 "You test my patience.” Richard's expression was as hard as a stone.

 Serena's eyes widened in surprise before she schooled her features.

 They stood face to face and toe to toe, staring each other down. Roan feared they would come to blows if one of them did not surrender, yet he still chose not to interfere.

 Slowly Serena reached out and took Richard's fist in her hand. She unclasped his curled fingers and hooked her arm through his, placing them around her arm. She said nothing, just remained still, and eventually Richard's fingers visibly clasped around her arm and tightened.

 "Go,” she said. “Roan will protect me as I have vowed to protect you. I need you to seek assistance. Take the high route. It will be quicker."

 Still clasping her arm, his stare met Roan's, and Richard nodded to him, as if to say he would hold Roan to his vow to give his life for Serena's.

 Roan rested his arm around her small shoulders and reminded Richard of the power Serena and he held together. “We are strong together, remember."

 Richard clasped Serena to him, hugging her, as Roan dropped his arm. Richard's anger, however, was not completely gone. His eyes locked with Roan's, and his message was clear.

 Do not fail me in this. Protect her, as you have no other. She is, at times, reckless!

 He smiled at Richard's request.

 Do not fear. I protect what is mine.

 Richard unclasped Serena, handing her the small healer bag he had assembled. He mounted, and with one last irritated look, he pulled away.

 She watched him, signaling to Caine. “Go with him, Caine. Protect him with your life.” Caine turned and loped off after Richard.

 "Why do you anger him purposely?"

 "His anger will serve him right now, don't you agree?"

 He wrapped her into his arms. She smiled while nestled against his chest.

 "Should anything befall me, Richard will be the future leader of our people. He must learn when to ride away."

 He pulled back to study her face. “What do you mean?"

 "I am fated to be our Realm leader, like my father and his father before him. Richard will lead in my stead, should I die.” She made it sound so simple, being the leader of her people.

 "Are you telling me you are the next ruler of your people? You are a Princess?” He was amazed. In all their dealings, she had failed to mention this fact.

 "Yes, although we do not title it ruler or Princess. I am fated to lead our people, as my father does now. I am the chosen one."

 "Why are you here? Why did they not send someone of lesser value to your people?"

 She stiffened at his question. “In our Realm, no one person has any greater or lesser value than another. I am the highest rank of our warriors, just as Richard holds the highest rank in healing. We were sent because the fate of our people is at risk, and it is our duty to protect them."

 * * * *

 Serena pulled out of the comforting circle of Roan's arms, resigned to what needed to be done. She checked her weapons, tightened buckles and straps. “Make ready."

 His actions followed hers as he readied for battle. They had performed the warrior ritual earlier in the morning, and with dark red lines adorning their face and arms, they made an intimidating pair.

 She pointed to a rocky embankment above. “We will follow this ridge. It will shorten the trail and allow us to drop down in front of them."

 "How far ahead?” He moved up behind her to see where she pointed.

 "Enough time to set several well-laid traps.” She smiled, turning to look at him. He smiled back and moved closer. His gloved hand came up to rest on the back of her neck.

 "Kiss me.” Dipping his knees, he slid closer, angling his head. “Kiss me for all you're worth."

 She rested her gloved hand on his cheek and her eyes ran over his face. She saw his worry and his need. His eyes closed at the touch of her hand. As if he knew this could be their final kiss. She rose to her toes and tangled her gloved hands in his hair, pulling his head down while his arms locked around her body. She kissed him as he had asked, with all of her heart. Her trembling lips melted against his, her tongue forcing his mouth apart. She tasted his warmth, his essence. Her lips caressed his, moving over them, wetting them with her tongue. Her hand tightened against his head, allowing neither to breathe.

 When the need to take a breath finally overtook her, she broke the kiss and stepped back. His arms released her. Her breath exhaled in unison with his. He lifted his hand to his lips. She knew what he was thinking. His expression showed his disbelief that a woman who had been a maiden such a short time ago could kiss him with such worship. He shook his head, his voice tumbling out in a croak. “What was it we were about?” he asked, smiling at her.

 "Killing mercenaries,” she reminded him.

 He nodded, then helped her mount, his hands lingering on her ass longer than they needed to. Finally, he lightly slapped it.

 "Right."

 She laughed and tried to relax with his banter. With the possibility of death before them, they needed the laughter and the teasing.

 He mounted, pulling around to follow her lead on the trail.

 * * * *

 As they approached the area they had targeted, they discussed the plan for traps. The locale was well-wooded and surrounded by tall rocky cliffs. Escape would be difficult.

 "We need to take Sir Galen and retrieve the scroll and crystal first.” Roan reminded her as they finished stringing a rope across the trail.

 She shifted an array of brown leaves over the line to disguise the rope. She assured him it would be thin enough not to see. The rope had been assembled by the village rope maker, who knew the secrets of his craft. The seemingly light rope was strong enough to sever a man's head.

 This would be the first trap of several. They also had secured arrows to various trees, set with concealed trip ropes. They dug holes and masked them to trip up the horses and force the riders down. A few well-placed daggers were planted—to allow them to simply shove a man to a key area and assure his death. These traps were tricks taught to him by Serena. With so few warriors, the Solarians had learned to compromise in battle, to fight smart, and dirty, when necessary. The Scottish influence, he guessed.

 "Now we wait.” She tied off the last arrow to a tree, setting the trip rope.

 He examined the wooded area, trying to find the best location to wait. He spotted an indenture in a rocky cliff, toward the end of their traps. Perfect. He rested his hand on Serena's shoulder and felt the familiar heat where they touched. She turned and he pointed to the cliff.

 "Ah, very good.” She purred her statement out in pleasure and amazingly, even with the promise of battle in her voice, his shaft hardened. He shifted on his feet, trying to block his emotions from her.

 "Is something amiss?” She moved ahead of him, her leather-clad butt swaying as she climbed.

 What he wouldn't give to take her right now.

 The remembrance of running his hand over the smooth surface of her ass as he entered her came into his mind. His shaft growing, he groaned.

 They reached the top of the cliff and dropped into their spot. It was a tight fit, and their bodies pressed against each other as they flattened to get a full view of the area. Roan was on top of Serena, his body so much bigger than hers, his leg pressed against her. There was no doubt in his mind she could feel his hard cock pushing against her hip. The heat of her body touching his made him swallow and grind his teeth. Finally he cursed, “Damnation."

 "It is the threat of battle, it heats the blood,” she said, as if explaining away a bad head ailment.

 "It is not the impending battle which stirs my blood, little one, I assure you.” He stiffened as she shifted around to a better position. He laid his hand on her rear to stop her.

 "God's blood, woman, cease your movements or I'm going to come in my pants!"

 * * * *

 Serena chuckled at their situation and his response to it.

 "If it makes you feel any better, I'm wet, hot and ready for you,” she purred.

 He gently caressed her ass and swore again. A small part of her enjoyed the fact she could stir him to such arousal, even with the strain of impending battle. It made her feel feminine. Being born a woman was an annoyance while she fought for acceptance as a warrior.

 Although there had been other female warriors, like her mother, they were few, some even rebelling against their chosen path, selecting a less strenuous life. Those few women who accepted their calling and proceeded with the Wolf Warrior training, struggled not only with the physical demands, but also the mental ones.

 For Serena, it hadn't been a choice. Her parents were both warriors, a love match they said. When she was identified at six summers as a Wolf Warrior, she was expected to pursue the craft. For her, it was necessary to train three times harder than any of the male warriors to gain acceptance and build the skills to match her male counterparts. She had always cursed her femininity. It was a barrier to approval. With Roan, that changed. Serena enjoyed the fact he saw her as a woman in every way. He rested his head beside hers as they eyed the trail leading to the array of traps they had set.

 "I sense them drawing closer.” His voice was a rumble in her ear. “Make ready."

 "Roan,” she whispered, fearful her voice would carry. He lifted his eyes from the trail to seek hers.

 "I cannot sense them, your powers grow much stronger than mine. It is confusing."

 "I do not know why, but I do seem to have enhanced senses beyond the traditional, let us not question it."

 He had told her that before. He had demanded, after they had made love, she not question their powers. He had asked for her blind acceptance and trust of him. The strange part was, she was willing to give it. She nodded at him now and watched. As his eyes turned back to the trail, she followed his actions.

 When his body tightened, her senses went on full alert. Her eyes tracked with his as she saw the group of mercenaries, with Sir Galen in the lead, stumbling along the trail.

 "If Galen makes it through, I will take him,” he murmured. “You engage the other survivors. Above all, we need to retrieve the scroll and crystal."

 "I understand.” She gave the group her full attention as she watched them approach the first trap, her heart beating in her chest like a drum warning of danger.

 The first trip-line was triggered, and the arrows they had positioned flew with a whoosh, disposing of two mercenaries.

 Pandemonium broke out.

 The men scattered, their warning cries to take cover ringing through the air. Several charged forward on the trail, setting in motion a flurry of movement. Arrows and knives soared through the air, and men fell. Sir Galen pulled quickly to the right, bypassing the trail. He flew off his horse and took cover behind a large bolder.

 Then Roan was up, giving her a hand signal. She was close behind him as they scrambled down the embankment, slipping and sliding, rocks and dirt tumbling in their wake. He drew his sword, the slash of steel against leather slicing through her consciousness.

 When they reached the bottom, he veered right, straight toward Sir Galen. His quick hand movement directed her to engage the remaining mercenaries in the opposite direction.

 She charged to her left, facing a dozen angry, injured mercenaries. They puffed up like enraged boars, roaring and drawing their weapons. For a split second, Serena paused, unsure whether she could fight so many skilled warriors. Then she scolded herself. She had to. Solaria counted on her, as did Roan. Raising her swords, she stepped forward.

 She fought to the maximum of her abilities. Using every trick her father had taught her, she kept her swords in constant motion. Fighting two men at a time, she arched, ducked, thrust and parried. Sweat trickled down her neck, over her body, down her back, where it was finally captured. Her breath huffed out with each strike she absorbed. As her strokes fell true; one mercenary after another dropped.

 With each blow, she shuffled forward, trying to back her prey against the rocky cliffs, the same trick the English soldiers had used on Roan and his friend. She wasn't averse to trying anything.

 A strike from behind made its way through her leather protection, and a deep cut drove into her hip. Pain burned through her. Her cry came as a surprised croak, and the warmth of her blood flowed down her leg. She saw the man in front of her start to swing his huge battle-ax. Purposely, she dropped to the ground. The battle-ax whooshed above her head and struck the man behind her, taking him down, ending his life with a mighty blow. Serena rolled. Dropping one of her swords, she drug the cross bow from her back. When she came up, the pain in her hip made her stagger. Biting down on her lips, she ignored it and released as many bolts as she could. Her arrows took down three mercenaries. How many were left?

 She momentarily wondered where Roan was.

 * * * *

 Roan roared as Sir Galen's blow struck his arm. Blood gushed out, pain coursed from his shoulder to his wrist. He knew the blow was serious. Without a hitch, he tossed his sword to his other hand. If needed, he wasn't opposed to using them both. He managed to move his injured arm, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword to guide it. He shut his mind against the pain.

 "So finally we battle.” Sir Galen's sneer didn't distract Roan as he continued to drive Galen back against the rock wall. “After I kill you, Wolf, I will take your woman and make her pray to die while I fuck her.” Sir Galen's laugh broke into his senses.

 Roan growled. He needed to keep his focus. He sensed this man wanted to kill him in the worst way. He had known it from the first moment they met.

 "There is nothing between your legs my woman would not hesitate to cut off. You will never equal me. Isn't that what bothers you? You are no better than a mercenary, and you call yourself a knight.” He swung again and metal clashed against metal. “You are a shame to our order. You have no honor. Under the pretense of Knighthood, you work for a repulsive mongrel.” Roan taunted Galen, forcing him back, hoping to anger him into losing his balance.

 He sensed Galen's anger before the man yelled. “You will die!” Galen struck out wildly, again and again, wearing himself down and tiring. Roan parried, absorbing Galen's blows. He waited and watched for the opportunity he knew was coming. Sir Galen allowed Roan to drive him back. Roan did it purposely, so Galen's legs would tire.

 Soon, Sir Galen was struggling to raise his sword, his breathing labored and wheezing from his chest.

 "Give me what I ask for and I will spare your life.” Roan attempted to grant him mercy. The knight in him still knew honor.

 Sir Galen lowered his sword.

 Even though Roan sensed Galen wouldn't give up easily, to honor his promise, he too, lowered his sword. Sir Galen reached up and removed the crystal from his neck, thrusting it at him.

 Although Roan sensed Galen's deception, he knew he had to play along to get what he needed. Moving his sword to the side, Roan reached out his hand.

 Just as Sir Galen dropped the crystal into his hand, Galen charged forward, raising his sword, intent on impaling him.

 If Roan hadn't sensed his enemy's move before he made it, he would have been killed. Stepping sideways, he pivoted to avoid the strike and on the follow-through, he struck out. His sword pierced Sir Galen's chest and sliced into his heart.

 Sir Galen dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, his hand coming up to cover the unexpected wound in his chest. His eyes wide with disbelief, he fell onto his back.

 Dropping the crystal over his neck, Roan lowered himself to his knees. Galen's hand reached out as if he was asking for forgiveness. With regret, Roan clasped his hand and watched the blood roll out of Sir Galen's mouth.

 His eyes sought Roan's.

 "Forgive...” He choked on his own blood.

 Feeling Galen's pain, Roan became distracted with remorse at what he had just been forced to do. The hand linked with his grasped tightly, and Galen pulled Roan toward him. When Roan saw the dagger in Galen's other hand plunging toward his neck, it was too late to jerk away. Crying out, he wrenched up his other arm and the dagger sank into his muscle. As Roan swore, Sir Galen's hand went slack. His head fell to the side, his own blood pooling beside his mouth. He was dead.

 Roan quickly pulled the dagger from his arm, and ripped cloth from the bottom of his tunic. Wincing, he wrapped the cloth around his arm to arrest the blood flow. Now both arms were injured. Fighting a stab of pain, he searched Sir Galen's body and found the aged paper of the scroll. He pushed the document down the front of his breeches.

 The sound of Serena yelling had him up and running before he could even think to bless the death of a fellow knight.

 * * * *

 I'm losing this battle, she thought.

 She had six angry battle-ready mercenaries surrounding her. Another blow struck her back, and she cried out. These mercenaries were like a pack of angry wolves and they didn't fight fair.

 They enclosed her, each taking their turn engaging her, taunting her. She pulled in a heavy breath, trying to regain her intensity and her sense of who would make the next move. Using an age-old Wolf Warrior technique, she dropped to her knees. Crossing her swords in front of her, she used her senses. All she could think of was if she was going to die, she would die fighting, just like her mother before her.

 Her mother had been killed in a battle with English soldiers after a pilgrimage outside of the Realm. She had been struck down by a troop of English soldiers out for blood and searching for Scottish rebels, much like the troop who had attempted to kill Roan. Serena had been in her twelfth year. She had experienced a terrible disturbance in her senses and knew what had happened even before her father had told her that her mother was dead.

 Sensing a strike, she raised one sword. Bracing it with the other beneath, she deflected the blow.

 A fierce battle cry stopped the mercenaries as Roan struck from behind. Blood flowed from both his bare arms. Eyes fixed, his thick muscles contracted as he cut down one enemy after another.

 She was again reminded of his skills when he whirled, taking the lives of two more. She saw the crystal hanging around his neck and knew he was drawing on its powerful strength as he freed her from her fate in seconds.

 When not one man remained standing, he snapped his head around wildly, gazing at the bodies littering the ground. Unfortunately, it had been necessary to kill them all. They had shown no mercy and asked for none. These men were vicious and would rather die in battle than give up their way of life. Serena watched as Roan lowered his sword then re-sheathed it.

 It was over.

 Breathing a sigh of relief, she sank back against the leaf-strewn ground of the forest. Lying flat, she dropped her swords beside her. Her labored breath puffed in and out of her chest as she reflected on how close she had come to dying several times in the previous few weeks. She gazed at the greenery about her, the sky and the clouds. Unwittingly, tears fell down the side of her face as she was grateful she had survived another battle to see these glorious makings of nature. Sucking in a breath, she tried to slow her heartbeat.

 Roan fell down next to her, his hands running over her body seeking injuries.

 "Are you injured?"

 The concern in his voice had her smiling and she again thanked the Gods for bringing such a man to her. She stayed his hand before he reached her hip. She opened her eyes, smiling at the glory of being able to gaze upon him.

 "I am well,” she swallowed her tears of joy, “just need to catch my wind.” She saw him visibly drop his shoulders in relief. His hands released hers and he sat back on the ground, his head dropped forward as he too rested.

 "Did you retrieve the scrolls?"

 He nodded, pointing to his pants where they shifted precariously at his movement.

 "Thank the Gods. Sir Galen?"

 "Dead."

 Finally able to catch her breath, she rose to her knees and again noticed the blood on his arms. Pulling strips from the bag Richard had given her, she began tending him. Unbinding the compress he had made, she rewrapped it tighter. He was already healing, the skin around the wound puckering.

 "You are injured.” She stated the obvious as she worked on his other arm. After she finished, she sat back and checked his body, her hands probing, testing for further injury. With a groan, he plucked off his gloves. His hands came up and encircled her face.

 Her gaze lifted from where she'd been probing. Roan pulled her forward, stroking her cheek. His lips hovered over hers, and as if he could wait no longer, they gently claimed hers. Her hands came up to encircle his neck as she deepened the kiss, desperately seeking the warmth and security he offered. His hand strayed to her neck and slid down her body until he reached her hip. She cried out against his mouth and jerked back.

 His hand came up, and he looked at the red on his hand in disbelief.

 "Serena.” He pulled back and forced her to turn so he could see to her wound.

 "It is nothing, two cuts, one on my hip, the other on my back.” She pulled off her leather gloves, wincing as he examined her body.

 "God's blood, why did you not tell me?"

 "Because I knew you would overreact, as you are now. Leave them. They will heal quickly. You know this to be true.” She heard him growl as he worked on removing her clothing to better see the cuts. She sighed and leaned back, forcing herself to put away her disappointment at having to break their kiss.

 "I would much rather kiss you than feel the pain of your hands against these small cuts.” He laughed at her statement. She closed her eyes as she slowed her breathing.

 "I have created a wanton.” He gasped as he bared her wounds to his eyes.

 "Since you have no interest in kissing, you'll not mind if I rest here for a short time, just to catch my breath."

 "Aye, you rest, and catch your breath.” He gently pushed back a lock of her wild hair.

 She sighed and smiled at his gentleness, something he continually confessed he was not, yet always was. At one point, she was lifted and laid onto something soft. The warmth of Roan's body slid next to hers and she rolled into his heat. His arms clasped around her, his breath evened in sleep. He had decided to rest also, she thought briefly before she drifted back to sleep.

  

 Chapter Ten

 Serena was having the most glorious dream. She was completely naked, basking in the cool blue water of a waterfall. The roar of the falls drowned out the noises of the forest and the spray of the water misted the air, blanketing her body in tender wetness. Drops eased slowly down her body, as it would on the outside of a cold, wet glass of ale. She moaned, running her hands over her face and down her body, delighting in the simple joy of bathing.

 Unexpectedly, her senses came alert and her eyes swung to each corner of the water as she looked for the intruder. Her head snapped to and fro. She sensed someone.

 Roan appeared, as naked as the day he was born and glorious. The Realm crystal hung from his neck. She smiled at him and, turning, she continued to glide her hands over her wet body. He moved slowly, silently, stalking her as if she were his prey.

 He came up from behind her, his erection pressing against her back, his hands replacing hers. His finger delved into her slit and his other hand plucked at her breast. The pressure built inside her until he was bringing her to a frenzied orgasm, her hips rocking against him. At the same time he entered her from behind, his hard cock slipping into her wetness. His teeth bit down on her shoulder, intensifying her orgasm.

 She laid her head against his chest and her voice throbbed with want as she groaned, “Roan.” Her head lolled from side to side as their wet bodies began to slide together, the friction intensifying her pleasure.

 He pumped faster. His hands touched her, worshiped her, and loved her. She arched against his. His lips shimmied along her neck, soothing his bite with his tongue. His hips worked in a slow steady rhythm, sinking in and out until she reached for another climax. His body stiffened against hers.

 * * * *

 Abruptly the dream ended. Serena sat up and rubbed her tired eyes as Caine's tongue lapped her face.

 "God's blood."

 Hearing the familiar curse, she turned to see its source. Roan's hand reached out to bat away the offending object that had just awakened him. Poor Caine.

 Serena laughed.

 Roan sat up, and reaching for her instinctively, ran his hands over her body, checking her earlier wounds. They were all healed. He pulled her into the vee of his legs and into his arms. She felt the racing beat of his heart. His cock against her stomach was as hard as a rock.

 She growled when a realization struck her.

 "You used the crystal to enter my dream,” she accused. He shifted back and the guilt on his face gave her his answer.

 "Serena, I vow I did not do it purposely, I...” He was obviously at a loss at how to control the crystal's power, so he switched tactics. “Ahhhh, and what a dream it was.” Locking his hand on the back of her neck, he drew her lips to his and kissed her repeatedly.

 But Caine would not be ignored, and he nuzzled between them.

 The wolf had an introduction to make. Another wolf stood patiently behind Caine. She was a beautiful, large, gray wolf and she was staring directly at Roan, as though she already belonged to him.

 Roan growled, then pulled back and addressed Caine. “That is the second time you have interrupted me, beast.” He pushed Caine's nose away from their faces. Serena laughed and pressed her hand against Roan's chest. With a sigh that shimmered with reluctance, he released her.

 "He has someone he would like you to meet."

 "No matter.” Roan grabbed his clothing. “If he is here, no doubt others are soon to follow.” He tried to tug on his tunic.

 She stopped him to check his wounds. They were healed as well. She nodded. With eyebrows raised, he settled his shirt, thanking her with his mind for her permission to dress. He moved his head toward Caine and his companion.

 "Get on with it."

 He arose, pulling her with him. He plucked the blanket off the ground and secured it to his saddle.

 "This is Caine's friend, Sasha. She has chosen herself as your protector."

 As Roan stalked around working on storing their gear, Sasha followed his every move with her eyes.

 "I am in no need of a protector.” He growled and ran his hand over his horse's flank, checking for any injuries from the battle.

 "You are not well mannered in the morning, my lord.” She used his formal English title as a way of chastising him.

 He jerked her roughly against his body. His erection remained, pressed unyielding and stiff against her.

 "Know this. I am not usually well mannered at any time. I am not a gentle man and I was interrupted from a very, very,” he emphasized his words, “pleasurable experience this morn, which has left me in a foul temper."

 Trying not to smile, she kissed his cheek. “You do not have a choice."

 He stiffened at her remark. “Do not have a choice about what?"

 "Eventually, all Solarian warriors are claimed by a wolf. They have been watching our backs for many generations. Sasha has claimed you, and you should be humbled.” She scolded him for his disregard of the gift he was offered and for his sour mood.

 With resignation and a sigh, he released her and crouched down to meet Sasha.

 Serena lowered with him. “Lower your head and stretch out your hand.” She instructed him on the way of meeting his wolf protector.

 * * * *

 Roan did as Serena bid, in constant amazement of the Solarian rituals. At first, Sasha jumped back from him. After he lowered his head, she paced back and forth, her gaze shooting from Caine to him and back again. Her nervousness didn't go unnoticed. It was apparent the wolf was scared.

 "Allow her time to approach you. Maintain your stance."

 He watched warily as Sasha continued to pace. He wasn't sure which one of them was more frightened. Sasha was a massive gray wolf, and her fangs appeared feral, protruding from her mouth as she panted in anxiety. He kept his hand extended outward. When she paced forward, baring her teeth and growling, he jerked his hand back just a little. “Serena!"

 "Remain calm. She senses your fear.” She continued to tutor him. “Now make a connection with her, soothe her, give her permission to approach you. Release your unease, and she will be your friend for life. This I promise you,” she whispered against his ear.

 He sensed her sincerity, and took her counseling. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and released his fears. He sent his thoughts to Sasha, telling her to calm herself, to bind herself to him and he would protect her as well as she did him. He opened his eyes to connect with Sasha's red glowing ones. Her body still, she locked eyes with his.

 He knew the moment she decided to trust him. Without hesitation, she approached him. The fur of her warm gray head touched his hand, her pink tongue reached out and began lapping him as she let his hand stroke down her body. Completely under his spell, she jumped up on him, pushing him over backward with her excitement. Her huge paws bracketed his shoulders and her tongue ran over his face.

 He laughed and mentally commanded her to sit, which she promptly did, awaiting his next order.

 Serena leaned forward and murmured, “You have a way of binding women to you. Even those hesitant at the onset are drawn to you."

 His head snapped around and his eyes met hers. Her statement was the most sensual any woman had ever given him. What was she telling him? Did she feel bound to him? Her next statement had him sucking in whatever breath he had left.

 "She is yours now. She will protect you with her life."

 Rising, he drew Serena to him, locking her in his arms. “Are you mine also?” he asked, waiting for her response, unsure why he needed her to say it, unsure why a confident knight of his stature needed reassurance from a woman. But, oh, he needed her vow, he needed to hear her answer so badly he ached with yearning. Her pause made his heart accelerate. He began to regret the question.

 The sound of approaching riders broke the moment as she whirled out of his arms. She made one last comment. His heart dropped to his feet.

 "We cannot be together at the Realm. As people believe me to be a maiden, there will be certain expectations of my behavior. If we were to see each other, it would be under the gaze of others. We were allowed this freedom because we were in battle together. Normally, a maiden is not allowed to be alone with a man unless chaperoned. My father would make demands. It would be most uncomfortable...” She stopped talking when she saw his rage. He moved closer, and she backed up.

 "Serena, make no mistake, whether you believe it to be true or not, you are mine.” He emphasized his last few words. “I will face your father. I will challenge anyone who disputes my claim."

 "And if I dispute it?” Her anger mirrored his. It was apparent to him she was not accustomed to being claimed.

 Roan didn't answer her dare, only pushed her into her saddle and vaulted onto his own with one swift movement. “You do not dispute it."

 Her eyes narrowing, she moved her horse aside his and shook her fist at him. “You arrogant—!"

 The clomping of galloping horses stopped her. They both turned and watched Richard leading several fierce warriors straight toward them. Unlike Serena, these warriors wore chain-mail as part of their battle raiment. The men were scarred and hardened and looked as fierce as Roan would expect experienced warriors to look.

 "Roan! You will listen to what I am telling..."

 * * * *

 Roan grabbed Serena and, stealing her from her saddle, kissed her. It was a possessive kiss, stirring, all his yearning centered on their locked lips. She screamed his name, but her cry was lost in his lips. The familiar desire overtook her as he projected all of his need into the kiss. She stopped fighting and her hands crept up over his shoulders to lock in his hair. He crushed her to him. It was just the two of them, in the wet dripping Scottish forest, all surrounding noises ceased, nothing penetrated their desire, nothing but...

 "Serena!” Her father's roar pierced Serena's mind. She tried to pull out of Roan's arms but not before his parting comment reached her ears.

 "Now, no one will be unsure of to whom you belong.” He smiled at her outraged expression and finally slowly released her, only to raise his hand in a defensive gesture when a sword came around him from behind. A strong, muscular arm grabbed his hair and exposed his neck to a nasty, sharp dirk. He grunted and froze.

 The man was angry. No, he was beyond anger. A fury so intense emanated from the man, it actually gave Serena an instant of panic. The man spoke directly into Roan's ear.

 "You'll be explaining yourself right now, man, and it better be worthy or you'll die as I live."

 Serena saw Roan tense at the threat.

 "Father, release him."

 Serena saw the determination in her father's eyes as he held the blade to her lover's exposed neck, and she knew how close Roan was to dying. Their petty argument became inconsequential. Her father's love for her had blinded his senses and he was ready to act without further ado and ask questions later.

 The arm around Roan's neck tightened, and the blade drew first blood.

 Serena needed to do something drastic to still her father's fury.

 She moved forward, and her hand reached out to touch Roan's face. His eyes met hers and she sensed his regret and something else. Something much stronger. His mind melded with hers, Pray, Serena, you are worth dying for a thousand times over.

 "Father, please.” She ran her hand down Roan's face, caressing him. Her hand wrapped around her father's dirk, wedging between the blade and Roan's neck. The sharpened edge of her father's dirk cut into her hand. Her blood mingled with Roan's.

 "Serena, cease!” Roan shouted, his neck pushing out as he spoke, causing her father's sword to cut further into her flesh.

 She winced, her eyes straying to her father's. He was still locked in his rage, not realizing he was hurting his own daughter. Not her words, her actions, nor her blood infiltrated his mind.

 If she couldn't stop him with words, she had one other way of communicating. One other chance to save Roan's life. Concentrating, she projected all her love for Roan into her father's mind, her devotion to him with her life, as well as her protectiveness. “Father, please. Release him."

 Finally, after many long seconds, her father heard. Saw. He peered at her hand and instantaneously pulled back his dirk. The blade left one final, angry red cut on her hand.

 Her father swore as Roan ripped the bottom of his ragged tunic. Clasping her hand in his, he tightly wrapped the cloth around her wound. When he finished, he kept hold of her hand.

 Serena curled her fingers around his. From the corner of her eye, she watched her father move around to face her.

 "Do you see what I was trying to tell you, Roan?"

 "Bloody hell, you try me like no other,” Roan murmured.

 She stiffened at his remark and glanced at her father.

 "You better be telling me this is your husband, because the way his lips were locked upon yours I can think of no other explanation.” Her father's expression was ferocious.

 She grimaced. As a trained warrior, she realized a distraction was needed. “Father, we can discuss this later.” She plucked the scroll from Roan's side and waved it in front of her father's face. “We have been successful in the quest. We must return this to the Realm. This,” her hand waved toward Roan, “is Roan Aston, III, called the Wolf. He is the lost Solarian Wolf Warrior from the English war. He retrieved the scrolls for us and his contribution should be celebrated."

 Roan was already pulling off his tunic to display his mark. Serena's father moved his horse closer to inspect the tattoo.

 "I'll be.” Her father touched Roan's shoulder in awe. “The crystal?” He asked as he continued to inspect the mark. Roan lifted the glass from around his neck and gave it to her father as though it were a peace offering. Serena's father nodded and looped the crystal around his neck.

 "Roan, meet John de Reincolt of Solaria, third generation leader of our people. And my father.” Taking a deep breath, she hoped her father would forget the kiss he'd witnessed and the passion he must have sensed.

 Roan tipped his head in respect to John, who inclined his head in return.

 "Father.” Exhaustion swept through Serena like a wind storm. “We are weary, in need of food and rest.” John surveyed the area, noting the array of dead bodies. “We have fought many battles and incurred several injuries while retrieving the scrolls. I would like to have Roan reunited with his family. May we go home?” The pleading in her voice was real this time, and she sagged in her saddle, her head bending like a dying flower.

 Sensing her fatigue, Roan immediately moved next to her and pulled her off her horse. Setting her in front of him, he wrapped his arms around her, again asserting his claim.

 This time, Serena was too tired to stir to anger. Instead she leaned her head against his chest, grateful for his support.

 * * * *

 Roan watched John's gaze sharpen at the way Serena rested against him in complete trust, the way she laid her hands against his arms, touching him so easily. Aware of the pleasure he and Serena radiated in their nearness, he knew John must sense it too. Finally, John nodded, and Roan felt relief, more for Serena than himself.

 John raised his hand to signal the group to return to the Realm and then he pointed his finger at Roan and Serena.

 "We will address this man's familiarity with you at a later time."

 Although his voice was gruff, his face softened and he moved closer. His arms rose to clasp Serena's and he pulled her into a quick hug.

 "I am sorely happy to see you safe, my daughter.” Roan was amazed by the wetness he saw in the battle-ready warrior's eyes. “Sorely.” Then John sent a warning that flamed with the full force of his fury into Roan's mind. You will explain yourself, Wolf.

 Roan lifted a hand to his head as if to ward off the other man's anger. He nodded at the command and dropped his hand. Answering to Serena's father would be no small task.

 With Serena's horse trailing, they followed the group back toward home. Richard, at one point, dropped back to check their injuries. Serena assured him they were fine. Unwrapping the cut on her hand, Roan saw that it had already begun the healing process. Richard muttered something about their unnatural magic while together and reminded Serena she would have much to answer to from their angry father. Richard finally left at Serena's command to go and soften their father's demeanor.

 Watching Serena and Richard together made Roan wonder about his own family.

 "You said I had family back at the Realm. Tell me about them?"

 Serena raised her head from his chest, gazing at their surroundings while she spoke. “Yes, your parents remain, aged of course. They were deeply grieved when they thought you gone. You have two siblings, a sister and brother. Jacob, the brother nearer your age, was born directly after the raid and...” She paused. “Diana, the youngest, is a score and one now."

 She smiled when she began talking of his sister. “A warrior, of course, like you and your father. She is under my training and, by the Gods, she is skilled. You will be proud to call her sister. She is dedicated to our craft, but she is brazen, uncontrolled, and at times wild and passionate in her enthusiasm."

 "Remind you of someone, little one?"

 "She reminds me of you ... but not when you fight.” His legs tightened against her as she rested in front of him. He knew very well that she talked of his manner of loving. He cleared his throat and tried to distract his thoughts. Remembering her father, fierce in anger, helped keep down the part of him that always responded to the beautiful warrior.

 "Tell me more of her."

 "She struggles to control her passion for battle. She has yet to marry. She is uninterested in any of the men who court her. She is much more interested in mastering her skills, much like me.” He gently stroked her hair as she talked.

 "She has made herself, much to Caine's constant irritation, my personal guard. I did not allow her to assist in this quest because she has yet to learn how to control her senses. She is too undisciplined and I needed a steady hand on this quest, which is why I chose Richard.” She leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes. “You will understand, just wait."

 Roan watched her as her breathing deepened and his arms tightened protectively around her. He realized how much he truly loved her and wanted her with him, by his side, for the remainder of his life. This small woman, who sat in his arms as if she was meant to be there, who fought so bravely by his side, who touched his soul as well as his body. Oh yes, he loved her.

 Resting his chin on top of her head, he vowed with all his heart she would be his.

 * * * *

 Roan blinked in amazement when he saw what they were required to scale to enter the outskirts of the Realm. A massive waterfall. Serena slipped off their horse, gazing at the falls in reverence, as if in prayer to the God of water and light.

 He eased up close behind her. Remembering what happened during her dream, he ran his hands over her shoulders, worshipping her with his eyes as she did the waterfall.

 He tugged her body back against him as he massaged the kinks in her neck. She sighed and he immediately sensed her longing. He bent, eyeing the sweeping glorious curve of her neck, moving his mouth close to her ear.

 "This is the waterfall in your dream?” He knew it was true. He just wanted to hear her confirm it.

 She nodded in response, automatically sighing.

 "I'd like to come back someday, just you and me, and fulfill our dream.” His hardness pressed against her lower back, proof of his desire.

 She stretched her neck when his fingers kneaded a particularly sore spot.

 "Oh yesssss,” she breathed out.

 Roan chuckled. He sensed some radiating anger and glanced up. Serena's father stood not twenty feet away, his arms crossed, glaring at Roan as if he wanted to spear him for their evening meal.

 Roan dropped his hands from her shoulders. He had tried to resist and keep his hands off her, but as usual he failed. Her riding in front of him, situated between his legs, so small yet so strong, only served to quicken his yearning and the need to touch her, to make love to her. These wants were so overwhelming, he couldn't resist them.

 "I think your father would rather skewer me like a pig for a meal than celebrate my return."

 Serena laughed. “He has been very protective since my mother died.” She sighed. Moving away from him, she motioned for him to follow her toward the path leading through the great falls where the others were already headed.

 "Tell me about your mother."

 She stopped short for a moment. Initially he thought she would refuse his request, then her words tumbled out.

 "Ah,” she sighed and closed her eyes, as if to picture her mother. “She was the most beautiful woman, not just in the physical sense but in her inner beauty and strength. My father...” She paused, then continued, “...never recovered from her death. As are most couples in our society, my mother and father were a love match. They say Richard and I resemble her, not only in beauty but spirit.” She laughed. “It is the highest compliment."

 Sadness edged her smile. He wanted to pull her into his arms and ease her sorrow. Although he sensed she didn't talk much about her mother, he asked another question.

 "How did she die?"

 "At a battle with English soldiers. She was out hunting with a group of warriors when they were attacked by an angry troop of English soldiers. The soldiers had defied orders and were searching for Scottish outlaws when they came upon my mother's camp."

 "It was night, and they had experienced a successful hunt. My mother was the leader of the group and she let the others celebrate their achievement. They let their guard down momentarily, leaving themselves open. Sometimes we wear plaids to disguise ourselves, and the soldiers mistook the group as Scottish."

 She shrugged her shoulders as if it were of no matter, then he saw her tears. He placed his hand on her shoulder in comfort.

 "My mother,” she said gruffly, looking up toward the stormy white clouds, “always the protector.” She shook her head in anguish. “She was struck down, killed when she stepped in to help a young, inexperienced warrior who was under her training.” The tears coursed down her face now and he reached forward to enfold her in his arms.

 "The only good that came out of the incident was that the young warrior lived. When my mother engaged the soldiers, at her order the others escaped.” She sucked in a breath as he placed his chin upon her head. Her tears soaked his tunic.

 "She saved eight lives.” Stepping back, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “And this is the only condolence I have. I am soothed her death was not senseless.” He touched her chin and gently placed a conciliatory kiss on her lips.

 "I'm so sorry, little one,” he said against her lips. “You are right. It was a senseless death, but she saved several lives. Your mother died with honor,” he reminded her.

 Serena nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “I just wish that knowledge could take away the pain."

 "It will ease. Time will heal."

 Placing one of her hands in his, she led him up the path to the waterfall. The trail was only wide enough for one to pass, and it appeared to travel precariously under the falls to an unknown location.

 He watched in awe as the others walked their horses up the path and disappeared under the falls.

 "We walk one-by-one now. Follow me and you will be fine."

 He sucked in a breath, hoping she was right. They were soaked immediately. The falling waters thundered in their ears. The path, although thoroughly wet, was sound. It led them under the roaring falls, through a thick, round passage in the rocks, entered a cliff and then miraculously reappeared on the other side.

 He cautiously followed Serena, attempting to reassure his dancing horse all would be fine. He was so absorbed in his task that when they reached the end of the dusty cavern, he skidded to a halt, his horse and Sasha bouncing against him.

 They had emerged into a world so lush and beautiful he shielded his eyes from the glory of it. Below the cliffs from which they had materialized, dropping about thirty feet and stretching for miles, was a vast forest. It was beyond his belief, beyond anything he had ever imagined. Alongside ran a lake, as blue and clear as a precious jewel.

 Serena continued walking. She had obviously seen the view so many times she no longer stopped to enjoy it. He slipped behind her, traversing down a worn trail, descending to the forest's edge.

 As if by magic, several wolves appeared, surrounding them and guiding them to their destination. Most kept their distance. Some approached and followed the other warriors, the way Sasha and Caine followed Roan and Serena. He assumed those wolves were their protectors. Once they entered the wooded area, a thick weaving of green trees stretched as far as the eye could see. Occasionally, he would spot other wildlife—several boars, various game, and more wolves than he could count.

 "This is incredible."

 Serena turned. “Yes, we are blessed with this valley."

 "How did you ever find it?” They plunged forward through the overgrown forest. Had Serena not been so close, he was sure he would have lost her and his bearings.

 "It is told that when we were forced from England we sought a remote location to settle, one isolated enough from others to allow us to thrive in peace. My father had heard from some of the Scottish warriors that Scotland had several remote forests. Our people followed the rumors of hidden lands. Contact with local villagers gave way to the legend surrounding the waterfall.” She pointed behind them.

 "It was said to be haunted, unsafe. At one time a maiden supposedly killed herself over the death of her love, her betrothed. He was a fierce Scottish clan laird killed in battle. They never married, and in her grief, she drowned herself in the waters of the falls. So the legend told that anyone who came close to the falls would be killed in memorial of her grief. Much later another death in the falls’ water reaffirmed the myth."

 She shrugged. “I don't know if the tales were true, but they kept people away from the falls. My father thought if we settled around the falls, we would be fairly safe from intrusion. Initially we did live outside the forests near the falls. One of the warriors who was scouting found the path that led through the falls. So we relocated. We felt it safer for us, and the wolves.” Her hand swept the area.

 Several wolves tracked their progress. They didn't approach, just watched and waited, as if to ensure their travel was safe. The symmetry of the relationship between the wolves and these people comforted a sore place deep inside Roan. It was a mysterious mutual understanding to live in peace and protect each other. One which had obviously withstood the test of time.

 "Your father was astute in his choice,” he said. Aware of the catch in his voice, he stopped talking and walked faster.

 * * * *

 They traveled a good deal of the day, traversing the maze of the forest. At one point Roan wondered if they were lost. It felt as if they traveled in circles.

 While these thoughts plagued him, another matter captured his attention. Bearing down on them, at a speed more suitable for fleeing than simple traveling, was a beautiful, dark-headed woman. She barely allowed her horse to stop before she vaulted out of her saddle, screaming Serena's name as she launched herself into her arms. “I sensed you were coming."

 He could sense the pent up energy radiating from her. Her inner strength flowed from her like a wolf's nighttime cry to its pack. There was an uncontrolled element connecting him to her. He instinctively knew she was his sister.

 "Tell me of your quest? Did you retrieve the scrolls? Did you capture Ziem? Did you recover the crystal?” All her questions were thrown at once, tumbling forward, leaving her mouth in faster than Roan could follow.

 Serena laughed, a joyful sound.

 He placed himself next to her.

 "Diana, I will answer all your questions later, I have someone of great importance to present to you.” Serena's softly spoken command halted Diana's words in mid-sentence.

 Diana's head tilted as she regarded Roan. Something flared in her eyes, and her hand went directly to her heart.

 "I feel as if...” She stopped and closed her eyes.

 He projected his identity to her and her light blue eyes opened, matching the same color eyes he saw every time he peered into a cool lake.

 "You are known to me,” she finished softly.

 He nodded and watched tears form in her eyes.

 Serena's voice broke into their reunion. “This is your brother, Roan, the lost Wolf Warrior. He has returned to us."

 "My brother, yes, my brother.” The words came out hoarse, her expression awed. “By the Gods, we have searched...” her voice dropped off, and her hands came up to cradle his face.

 As tears coursed down her cheeks, her emotion matched the wonder in his heart.

 She reached forward and placed her wet cheek against his. “We have searched for so long, my brother, so long...” She swallowed, and he knew her emotions were too volatile to continue talking.

 Roan felt her grief, then her joy. He hugged her and buried his face in her hair. They clung to each other as if afraid something would tear them apart again. There was an instant connection, a bond close to the one he shared with Serena, but not as strong or sensual. The bond resonated with kindness instead of passion.

 Serena thoughtfully stepped back to allow them the moment.

 He glanced at Serena. “Thank you,” he whispered, as his hand touched his sister's dark hair. Although he didn't really need to voice the words, he knew his eyes said it all. She smiled at his praise and turned to leave them, to give them privacy.

 "Serena.” She stopped at his voice. “Please stay."

 "You must tell me everything,” Diana said. “We will know each other, you and I."

 It was a command, not a request, and he laughed. He nodded, vaguely remembering Serena's comment. He understood what she was talking about concerning his sister's energetic persona. Tucking Serena next to him, he rested his arm around her waist.

 Diana raised her eyebrows at Serena.

 Serena shook her head, indicating they would discuss it later.

 "Yes, little sister, we will.” He released Serena and hooked his arm through Diana's. Serena started off and they followed. He patiently walked with Diana as they made their way to the village.

 He answered one question after another, chuckling at his sister's zealous nature. She reminded him of what he pictured a young Serena to be like before she mastered her control. At times there was an uncontrolled passion in Serena too. Mostly, as she indicated about him in her earlier cloaked remarks, when they made love.

 * * * *

 When they finally arrived, the greeting from his parents and brother was much the same as with his sister. He was so caught up in the emotional reunion he didn't notice when Serena left him. When he saw she wasn't near, he wanted to go to her, to meet his obligation with her father. But his responsibility was to his family right now, and they demanded his attention along with the details of his disappearance. He owed them much, he owed them some memories of his life, and he owed them the chance to know him.

 He was shocked when he first shook hands with his father. Jarod's bright blue eyes and graying hair held Roan speechless. Not only were their facial features alike, but also their stance. Jarod was a huge bulk of a man. His muscles were well honed. Even for his advanced age, he was clearly a strong man, and his head rose above Roan's exceptional height. His muscular arms rippled when he clasped Roan's hand in his.

 "Father.” Roan choked on the word, his emotions raw at finally reuniting with his family. An intense, painful feeling of belonging rendered him near wordless.

 "Son.” Jarod's other hand came up to overlap their clasped hands. Then he finally gave up and tugged Roan into his arms, clapping him on the back.

 "By the Gods, son, I thought to never again lay eyes upon you.” He stepped back. Smiling, they stared at each other, drunk with the happiness of an instant bond.

 "Roan is a strong name, son. I cannot tell you how pleased I am you are alive and safe. That you were cared for by another. There are not words to describe...” He clasped Roan to him once more.

 "I know, Father, I understand,” Roan confessed, feeling just as suffocated by his own emotions as his father.

 They were interrupted by Roan's sibling. His brother was a carbon copy of both of them. H was tall, stunningly handsome with his blue eyes, dark hair and regal features.

 "This is your brother, Jacob."

 Roan clasped his hand to Jacob's in the Solarian greeting. “Jacob, I am honored to call you brother."

 "As am I.” Jacob's grip tightened on Roan's hand, his grin spreading across his face.

 Roan watched as Jacob's eyes drank in Roan's features, so similar to his own.

 "We thought you were lost to us,” Jacob confessed. “Although we have never known each other, I have felt your absence greatly."

 Nodding, Roan acknowledged his brother's declaration. “I have also experienced a deep loss from the separation,” Roan admitted, “like a hole inside me. I never understood it until I met Serena and Richard."

 Then Diana jerked him away from Jacob and launched into his arms. Laughing, Roan swung her around and set her next to his beautiful mother, Leena. He folded his mother into his arms.

 "Mother, I cannot even begin to tell you what it means to be back with you. All of you,” he amended, as he held his sobbing mother in his arms. She was a small woman, so small he thought he might break her with his strong hug.

 "Ah, Roan, this is a day to celebrate,” she cried out against his chest as her tears soaked his tunic.

 He laughed as he ran his hand over her light hair. “Yes, it certainly is."

  

 Chapter Eleven

 "Tell me you jest."

 Serena had just spent a good portion of the last hour with her father, recounting the details of events leading to the final battle. Of course she had left out the relationship between herself and Roan. When her father asked her directly if she was now Roan's wife, he'd exploded at her answer.

 "Father, we are fellow warriors.” She tried to sound convincing, but her father would have none of it.

 "Fellow warriors do not kiss.” His face turned red, a muscle throbbed in his cheek. “They do not touch each other without a by-your-leave. They do not,” he paused, breathing like a legendary dragon, “gaze at each other with passion like that."

 "You and mother did,” she reminded him softly.

 He blanched at her remark. If it were possible, he descended into a deeper rage. “Aye, your mother and I loved each other and we were,” he jabbed his finger in the air to emphasize his word, “wed."

 "Not until she was pregnant, and you loved her from afar all those years after the struggle."

 "Ughhhh.” He threw up his hands as if to absolve himself of the entire situation. “That was different."

 "I am not a child. You must let me live my own life. Yes, I love him, more than I have ever loved anyone, but I am not ready to marry. Besides,” she stared at her hands, very interested in them, “he has not yet asked."

 Her father actually growled. Throwing back the carved wooden door, he stalked out of their small thatch-roofed hutch.

 The door bounced against the wall. Serena tore after him. She knew what he was going to do. Catching up to him, she tried to get a hold of his arm but he shook her off. She pursued him as he stalked to the small hut of Roan's family. The entire family stood outside catching up, laughing and smiling. She picked out Roan's tall muscular form and sent him a mental warning.

 Watch out.

 His head swung in their direction, his eyes widening at the approaching boar-like man Serena's father had become. But he didn't run as she mentally screamed. He stood his ground until Serena's father grabbed him and threw him to the ground like a felled tree. Roan landed with a distinct bounce. Straddling him, John held a dagger to his throat.

 She cringed.

 Poor Roan.

 She ran forward, screaming, and tried to pull her father off.

 "Serena, cease,” Roan commanded. “I can fight my own battles."

 Halting, she squeezed her injured hand.

 * * * *

 Serena's father reached down, the sweat from his brow dropping onto Roan's face, the ale on his breath assaulting him. He spoke softly into Roan's ear so the crowd gathering couldn't hear his words.

 "Did you bed my only daughter, the future leader of my people? Think carefully about your answer, man."

 "She is mine, and I will fight any man who disputes this,” Roan confirmed without actually saying he had bedded her.

 From the frozen gaze John gave him, his statement was enough evidence. Roan was a condemned man.

 "Then you'll have no problem marrying her, will ya?” The knife tightened on his throat.

 "None whatsoever."

 * * * *

 Serena watched, barely breathing. Roan's response was sure, as if he'd already known the question and answer before Serena's father had asked it. Her father smiled and sheathed the dagger. He hauled his large frame up and offered Roan his arm. When Roan grasped the offered hand, John dragged him to his feet.

 "Well then, welcome to the family. The ceremony will be on the morrow.” He clapped Roan on the back, sending him staggering, and turned to the crowd around them.

 "Prepare for a wedding,” he announced loudly. With a nod of satisfaction, he sauntered off the way he had come.

 She watched her father's retreating back in disbelief. She would not be forced to wed any man, nor would she have her father compel a man to wed her. She turned toward Roan. He had a grin on his face so big she was afraid his mouth would crack.

 "Why do you smile?"

 "Your father is a persuasive man. I see why he leads your people.” he commented, wiping the blood from his new wound.

 "I will not do this, and he will not force me. He might be a boar on the outside, but it will not take much for me to convince him he has made a grave error."

 With her words, Roan's smile was wiped off his face. He looked hurt.

 "What do you mean, error?” he asked moving closer, so close she could see the angry rise and fall of his chest.

 "I have already told you I am my own woman. I will have no one push me to marry, nor push you. What manner is this to start a life together?” He was still, then he shrugged his shoulder and his face took on a pensive expression.

 "I have no quarrel with it.” His statement left her mouth hanging, forming an O with her lips.

 "No quarrel, no quarrel—?” She shook her head at his smile. “You have gone mad,” she finally declared.

 "I have told you since the first time we joined that you were mine. I knew it then. I told you not to doubt it. I never have.” His hands reached out and ran down her back. She shivered with the want he so easily evoked.

 "A forced marriage is no answer. Our people have always been free to choose their mates.” She sucked in her breath as his hands moved down to rest on her rear, pulling her against him.

 "Serena,” he whispered against her lips, “I am one of the most feared knights in England, the Wolf no less. No one forces me to do anything against my will, not your father, not anyone.” His lips claimed hers for everyone to see, and she responded as she usually did—with passion. He bent her back against his arms in his enthusiasm to taste her.

 "Wolves, little one,” he said, smiling against her mouth, “freely pick a mate and keep them for life. And I pick you.” His breath panted out, and he finally released her. She sagged against him, her legs weakened by passion. Righting her, he took one step back.

 She glanced at him then. At his disheveled hair, at his wrinkled tunic where her hands had clutched it, and finally at the hard erection he was trying to hide. The absurdity of her protest hit her and she laughed so hard she doubled over, holding her sides.

 What was she thinking to refuse this glorious man? The one she loved so much, who obviously had no issues with marrying her, who announced to the entire village his intent by bending her over in his arms and smothering her with his mouth. He had kissed her intentionally in front of a troop of warriors just to solidify his claim on her. She held up her hands when he tried to talk, to stop him, and finally straightened.

 She turned and walked away, but his shout stopped her. “Serena!"

 She whirled. In his eyes, she saw uncertainty and something akin to fear.

 "You'll marry me?” he asked in a low voice. In all the time she had known him, she had never seen him so contrite.

 She raised her arms. “When you ask so sweetly, how can I refuse?"

 His smile gave way to one of her own. She waved and swirled around, and vaguely heard his shout of triumph followed by the congratulations of his family.

 * * * *

 The celebration of the impending nuptials lasted throughout the evening. The Realm musicians were at their best, dallying with their Celtic instruments as if they were children discovering their first toys. Feeling an even deeper love in his heart, Roan watched Serena spin with wild abandon. She was at ease with her surroundings, involved in living for the simple joy of it. She had cast off her warrior leathers and now danced in a delicate hand spun ivory dress, twirling in a circle, her head thrown back, her arms raised in abandon, her smile glowing. He had never seen her look so ravishing, nor so alive.

 He leaned against his family's dwelling, captivated by the woman he would marry in the morn. Immersed in his yearning, he didn't hear his father's approach until an arm fell onto his shoulder. He turned and smiled.

 "You are lucky, son, to capture a woman such as Serena."

 "Yes, Father, I wholeheartedly agree. But I must say, I believe she captured me.” In a return gesture, he clapped his hand onto his father's shoulder. He watched his father's chest expand.

 "You cannot imagine how sorely thankful I am to hear the word ‘father’ from you.” The wistful expression on his father's face nearly brought tears to Roan's eyes.

 "I too, Father.” His life was full now that he had reunited with Serena and his people. Although he would always be grateful to his adopted father and his brother Stephen, he had never felt the sense of belonging with them that he did here. He had a real sense of purpose.

 They both remained silent in commemoration of the activities, the moon, and the warmth of the evening. The sight of Serena held Roan in awe. He glanced at his father, who watched his mother with what he guessed must be the same expression of wonder. He breathed in contentment, happy to live in the warmth of such love.

 * * * *

 "Where is she?” Roan asked.

 Serena's father pointed to a small ridge rising above the forest. It was an oddity in a sea of trees, a tall mossy mountain steepled above the numerous green sticks. They were to marry in less than a quarter hour and no bride had yet appeared.

 Worrying, Roan wondered if she had reconsidered his clumsy proposal. He'd been grateful to her father when he dropped him to the ground and announced he would marry his daughter. It had saved him the trouble of bumbling through something he had no idea how to do, that of asking the woman he loved to share his life. He was a knight more attuned to which sword to use in battle than how to woo a woman.

 He paced, back and forth, side to side. With each step his gaze rose to the ridge. As the moment of reckoning neared, he became restless. A hand on his arm soothed his rapid breathing.

 "Go to her.” Richard nodded toward the ridge.

 * * * *

 Roan found her standing on the ridge, looking like an angel come to life. She was absorbed in the landscape of the Realm. The valley was untouched, forgotten by outsiders, made it seemed, for only one purpose—to provide her people with a way to live, a life of security and comfort, and peace. The wind lifted her unbound hair from the shoulders of her hand-spun wedding dress. The gown draped against her feminine curves, falling just below her ankles, pooling and swaying in the breeze.

 He stood next to her, trying to sense her true feelings. She was purposely blocking him. His gaze left the view of the forest to fall upon her face. He saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, and suddenly her thoughts hit him like a full force gale. He wasn't sure what to say, what to do, so he simply pulled her into his arms and rested his head against the top of hers. When she spoke, he sensed he wasn't going to like what she was about to say.

 "What is it, little one?"

 "I cannot leave here."

 He closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the rest.

 "These are my people, my family. I have vowed to protect them, and someday lead them, just as you have vowed to protect yours. I cannot leave."

 "And I cannot stay. I must return to my castle. My people depend on me. I fear if I stay away much longer, the King will confiscate my lands. My reign is kind, others may not be. Life for my tenants could hold starvation, a life of servitude and poverty, if I do not return."

 "I know.” She raised her hands and ran her fingers along his brow. “I know you must return.” She dropped her hands.

 "I want to take you with me.” He picked up her hands and held them to his mouth. “As my lady wife."

 More tears coursed down her face.

 "Roan, I cannot leave, and any belief I could would be purely self-seeking on my part. I'm sorry for ever agreeing to this union."

 "Tell me plainly what you are saying.” He dropped her hands.

 "I cannot marry you. We are destined to be apart. You have your castle, your people, and I have mine.” She waved her hand. “Look around you, what do you see? What would you have me do, leave them? I am needed here."

 He knew it to be true, she was their future leader. Everything she was saying was real. He pulled away and walked to the edge of the clearing, his eyes unfocused.

 "No,” he said as if to deny her words. She slid behind him, her warmth nestled against his back. He caught her scent. Her arms crept around him from behind.

 "You know it to be true. Why do you deny it?” She was using his own words against him. It wasn't fair.

 He dropped his head. Damn his duty, damn his knightly vow to protect his people, damn it all. “I will give it all up gladly. You know I would."

 She forcefully turned him. “You cannot, you will not!"

 He knew she was right. Too many people relied on him.

 "You will prepare to return on the morrow.” She straightened his tunic.

 "I cannot..."

 She turned away. Gazing out over the terrain, she squared her shoulders. “I do not love you."

 He never wanted to hear those words; they pierced his heart like thrown daggers. He grabbed her arm and swung her around. “You know I can prove you wrong with one touch of our lips. Your words are cowardly. They hold no honor.” His anger rang in his scornful voice.

 She shook off his arm and stepped away, trying to ignore him.

 "Serena, do not...” He saw her determined expression.

 "Please leave.” Her voice was cold, her resolve unmoving.

 "If you wish us to part, I will leave.” His voice and his body shook as her words sank in. Was it possible she was telling the truth? No, it could not be. She was just trying to build a wall between them.

 "I do!” Her voice became louder as if she was trying to convince herself by increasing her volume. “I do wish it."

 He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. He hadn't actually ever declared his love, although what he felt inside was as big and deep as the ocean. And ... she hadn't declared her love either. Maybe she didn't feel what he felt.

 "Be sure of this."

 "I am sure. Take your sister with you. Teach her your ways and she will teach you ours."

 "Serena...” His voice trailed off because her emotions were completely blocked. With a sinking feeling, he realized he could not sense whether or not she told a falsehood. “All you need do is ask,” he said gruffly.

 "I will not ask. Go.” Her voice lowered, became a whisper. As a final gesture, she whirled back around and slowly removed the crystal her father had given her. She dropped the jewel around his neck. “I will not ask."

 His pride finally kicked in. He gave a cold bow and said, “As you wish.” He left without looking back.

 As he stumbled his way down the mossy bank, his anger peaked. If she didn't love him enough to fight for him, to sacrifice for him, maybe they were not destined to be together after all.

 He gathered his wits in the short trip down. Upon his return, he dispersed the waiting group, announcing that Serena had decided against the marriage.

 Her father approached him. Roan's jerky movements while saddling his horse left no doubt of his anger. “What goes on?"

 Roan leaned his arms against his horse while he contemplated what he would tell this huge man. Finally, he dropped his hands and faced him.

 "She has chosen not to wed. She explained in no uncertain terms she has no love for me."

 Even voicing Serena's words caused him pain. He raised his gloved hand to the back of his neck in an attempt to rub out the tension.

 "So that is it then?” John's eyes narrowed as he stared at Roan with an expression closely akin to disgust.

 He threw up his hands in frustration. “What would you have me do? The woman was clear she did not want me!"

 "You appealed to her?” John leaned his hand against Roan's shoulder in an unexpected gesture of affection.

 "I appealed to her. God's blood, I begged her, man."

 John slowly nodded his head, and dropped his hand in a sign of finality. “You will always be welcome here."

 Surprised, his eyes met Serena's father's to confirm the truth. He nodded to acknowledge John's invitation. “Thank you.” An awkward silence fell between them.

 "Give her time. Perhaps it will change the situation."

 "She has all the time she wants.” He turned and continued to load his gear, sensing John's disappointment at the turn of events. He chanced a quick glance at John as he worked with practiced efficiency, preparing to depart. He knew the pain John was feeling and shared his frustration, but there was nothing he could do.

 "Roan, I...” He watched John fumble with his words. “I have always given Serena the freedom of choice in who she weds. It is our way, but...” he paused again, “but I can order her to marry, should I choose."

 Roan went still. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to nod affirmatively to John's proposal to make Serena marry him. But he could not. He could not wed Serena under forced circumstances. Just as he had told her, he entered into the marriage freely, and he wanted the same from her. He shook his head, eyeing John. “It could never be the way."

 "I know, Roan. I know. Safe journey. I will not say goodbye in hopes that it will not be.” John turned and walked away.

 Roan's anger returned, driving him to finish packing. His family surrounded him, filled with concern. He damped down his fury enough to give them an explanation and leave directions to where they could reach him. His mother's sniffles could not be muffled, not even with his promise to return to visit someday.

 Lastly, he turned to his sister. “Diana, I would invite you to journey with me."

 Without hesitation, she said, “I will gather my gear.” She swiftly departed.

 He faced his brother. “Jacob, you are welcome to come, yet I sense your duty is here."

 The younger version of himself, his brother, nodded. “I regret you are correct. I am saddened our time together has been so short. Someday I would like to know you better.” Jacob clasped his arm in his and spoke to Roan with his mind sense.

 I must stay and protect them. It is my duty. Yours lies outside of this Realm.

 I know, Jacob, I understand. Someday we will be together again.

 I do not doubt it.

 Then Jacob smiled at him. Roan sensed this brother of his was strong, maybe even stronger than he.

 "Take care, brother.” Roan made the rest of his goodbyes, then left with Diana in tow. Sasha trailed him until the end of the forest. He commanded her to remain. Diana disputed his order, but he explained what the world outside the Realm was like for the hunted wolf and she ceased her protests.

 Sasha remained where he commanded her, but her howls of grief could be heard for miles. Her cries were nearly his undoing.

 * * * *

 What he didn't hear were Serena's own cries as she watched him depart the Realm, creeping out of the forest to stand next to Sasha. Between her howls of pain, she whispered how much she loved him. She and Sasha were truly one in their anguish. Serena tried to tell herself it had been the right thing to do, a necessary sacrifice. She would not have him give up his lands, his keep, his people, and resent her for the rest of his life. But no matter how much she told herself it had been the true action to take, her heart broke. Her eyes did not stop tearing, and her mind did not stop loving him.

 * * * *

 Three months later:

 Wolfsmoor Castle, England's Border

 Roan leaned against the battlements facing the surroundings hills. He was looking toward the Highlands. The rising green embankments encircling the castle reminded him of the color of Serena's eyes. His mood was unsettled, and the anger from his final encounter with her remained. He was aware that his fierceness, combined with his anger, made being around him impossible. Even though his black mood touched everyone, he could not bring himself to change. Ian was the only one assigned to seek him out, which he did on few occasions.

 Winter was approaching. His breath puffed out in white clouds. He was wrapped in his cape, which draped over full English armor. Under his tunic he bore a wolf, the symbol of his castle and his reign. He shivered, the cold penetrating to his bones.

 Since his departure from Serena, he never warmed. The chill reached much further than his limbs, slicing straight to his heart. He fingered the now-healed cut on his neck and his hand strayed to the crystal, caressing it as if it were Serena.

 Amazingly, it had taken weeks for his injury to heal after he had departed the Realm, proof his connection with Serena was magical only when they were joined.

 The Scottish raids on the castle had grown more frequent and feral. If he didn't know better, he would say Robert the Bruce was doing it purposely, punishing him. He had lost some of his best men in the last raid.

 Ian's sudden presence startled him, and he turned with sword drawn. He, like his sister, had completely lost control of his senses—they were now wild and uncontrolled.

 "Ah, laddie, it's only me.” Ian held up his hands in a sign of universal surrender.

 Cursing himself for not sensing Ian's friendly presence as opposed to an enemy's, he replaced his weapon.

 The war cries of Diana had them both turning to face the practicing field. He shook his head when he saw his sister locked in combat with Stephen.

 Stephen Aston, his adopted brother, had been sent to him at the young age of twelve as squire by his father. His goal was to train for knighthood. Now at a score and five years, Stephen was a skilled knight and a good friend, although he did have a less than amenable demeanor.

 They had seen much warring together, and he was afraid Stephen had not fared well from it. He had a quiet, dark countenance, speaking too little, feared by most, and for this reason, none would challenge him. But his little sister had no fear and she had dared Stephen on her first day at the keep.

 Roan reflected back on that day.

 * * * *

 The day they had finally reached the castle, they had been tired, hungry and his mood had been none too happy when they rode through the castle gates. Stephen and Ian had greeted them, Ian throwing himself into Roan's arms in his typical Irish, outgoing fashion. Stephen had hung back patiently, finally clasping his arms in a warrior's welcome, saying he was glad Roan had returned safe.

 When Stephen noticed Diana, in the traditional knightly way, he attempted to help her off her horse. She snapped at him, slapping his hands away and announcing she needed no assistance. Stephen, not accustomed to the ways of a warrior woman, continued to hold her around the waist until her feet touched the ground. She immediately pulled the dagger attached to her arm and held it up to his neck, requesting the next time she told him to keep his hands off her, he do so.

 Stephen laughed, which made her seethe. He was still laughing when, in a flash, he grabbed her hand and bent it back, making her drop her weapon. His laughter stopped when he drew his own dagger against her throat.

 Roan was quick to draw his own sword, but when he sensed Stephen was only trying to teach Diana a lesson, he lowered it.

 Roan remembered their dialogue well.

 "You could use some tutoring in a woman's way, my lady."

 Instead of blanching or screaming, Diana growled and moved forward, straining against Stephen's knife. At the first sight of the blood dripping from her neck, Roan had surged forward, then paused at Stephen's stunned expression. He was amazed when Stephen had immediately dropped his dagger and touched his gloved fingers to her neck to stop the blood flow.

 "What manner of stupidity accounts for your actions?” Stephen had yelled, but Roan saw his touch on Diana's neck was gentle.

 Turning his attention to his sister, Roan noticed an immediate flaring in her eyes. He sensed a strong emotion emanating from her—one very akin to desire. He sensed it from Stephen as well and carefully watched Stephen's actions. Stephen looked at his fingers, which were pressed against Diana's neck. Slowly, his gaze strayed upward to meet Diana's. An expression Roan could only describe as wonderment blanketed his adopted brother's face.

 Then as if burned, Stephen pulled back and stalked away, flinging expletives at her actions, saying women did not belong in the lists, but in a man's bed, where their energies were best spent. Diana's parting comments had not been flowery to say the least. Their hostile relationship had begun and had remained for the last three months.

 * * * *

 He assigned Stephen to train Diana in their fighting ways, hoping Stephen could help her temper her passion and master her senses. She battled more with her tongue than with her weapon.

 Stephen had refused to allow her to fight in the last battle against the Scots and her anger was evident when she challenged her trainer to a combat of swords. If she won, she would be allowed to fight in the next engagement.

 Stephen had laughed at her challenge, saying she could never best her trainer. So that's what they were doing now. The other men had been ordered to go about their training as Stephen and Diana clashed swords so hard they drew sparks. He and Ian watched them. Diana's skills had bettered under Stephen's hand, but she was still too passionate and that passion would be her undoing.

 "I think they're fiercely in love with each other, aye, I do.” Ian's Irish brogue broke into his thoughts.

 He sighed. “I sense you are correct."

 Diana parried one of Stephen's blows, going down to one knee, which was not a move Stephen had taught her. She brandished her weapon, then kicked out with her other leg, trying to swipe his feet from under him. He was too quick, and jumped back. He lowered his sword then and yelled at her. Pulling her sword from her hand, he threw it to the dirt. It was the worst kind of insult for a knight, especially on the field with others watching. Roan was sure he was counseling her on her unskilled move. How low it had been. How it was not what he had taught her. How it had no honor.

 She stood and started yelling back, her hands swirling around to emphasize her point.

 Stephen was an attractive man, and his long blonde hair had come loose from its queue. The only item detracting from his looks was a battle wound, a long scar running from his eye down his cheek.

 His muscular chest heaved under his exertion. He had donned his chain mail and wolf tunic instead of the heavy armor like Roan.

 Diana, in contrast, was beautiful in her anger. Her long, black hair swirled about her head, creating a halo of dark loveliness. Her cheeks were flushed, and her ice blue eyes were staring Stephen down. She was stunning. She was the female equivalent of him.

 Roan tensed as Stephen advanced on her, his finger jabbing her chest to make his point. She grabbed his finger and pushed it off her. Raising her own, she jabbed him back. Roan relaxed. He truly knew Stephen would never hurt her intentionally. He also knew how Diana purposely taunted Stephen. It was as if she made his anger rise just to provoke emotion from him.

 Stephen grabbed her finger, but this time instead of pushing her away, he pulled her body into his. His expression angry, he bellowed directly at her face. Diana stood tall and straight, her chin lifted high. Stephen wrapped his arms around her and held her steadily. Diana's chest expanded, as if she breathed heavily. Stephen moved closer, a hairsbreadth away from her face. Yelling, his hand released hers, and he waved it in her face. His other arm remained locked around her body so she couldn't move. Roan saw Diana squirm against Stephen in an attempt to escape his ironclad hold.

 "Uh-oh, laddie, I smell trouble a brewin'."

 Roan smiled for the first time in months. He leaned his arms against the wall to watch the drama. These two were the best entertainment since he had returned to the keep.

 At Diana's squirming, Stephen became silent. His hand locked on the back of her head as he aligned his lips with hers and gave one final command Roan could hear from the battlement. “God's blood, woman, stop squirming."

 Diana froze. Both stood still and motionless. Like Diana's, Stephen's chest heaved. Roan saw his arms slowly move up, tightening his hold around Diana. Her free hand crept up Stephen's chest to move gradually over his shoulder. She buried her fingers in his hair.

 Roan straightened, intently aware of what was about to happen. He saw Stephen stiffen at her caress. His eyes closed. Then, as if he had lost the battle within himself, Stephen's hand grasped her hair and crushed her mouth to his. His lips ate her up, devoured her, his hand fisting in her hair. It was a long kiss, but it ended abruptly.

 Before Roan could shout out Stephen's name, his adopted brother tripped back and released his sister. She raised her hand to her lips. Suddenly, her hand snaked out and she slapped him, the clap of palm against cheek ringing through the courtyard. Stephen's head snapped to the side but he didn't move. Diana stood there, and Stephen turned back, his eyes meeting hers.

 She raised her hand and laid it against Stephen's cheek in an obvious apology. Stephen's hand came up to overlap hers on his face. He leaned closer to whisper something into her ear. Roan assumed it wasn't a pleasant comment. Diana jerked back. With a cry, she whirled around and rushed away. As though in shock, Stephen remained, his hand still on his cheek. Finally, he dropped his hand. Picking up Diana's sword, he surveyed the area.

 Roan pointed to him, catching his notice, and saw Stephen's eyes widen and his shoulders drop. Motioning with his hand, Roan directed him to the keep. Stephen nodded and practically dragged himself off the field to meet Roan.

 Ian's hand fell against his shoulder. “Go easy on him, laddie. They were meant to be from the first moment they met."

 Roan nodded and ran a hand through his hair. Ian's statement made him remember the first time he had met Serena, when they too had experienced instantaneous heat. Straightening his shoulders, he slapped Ian on the back. “I know, Ian, I know."

 Roan reluctantly left the battlements to meet with Stephen and wondered, what do you tell a man who is in love with a female Wolf Warrior?

  

 Chapter Twelve

 Roan steepled his fingers under his chin and regarded Stephen. He had changed out of his armor, and they had retired to the room off the great hall, which he used to administer the duties of the keep. He frequented the room as a refuge, closing himself off from the castle activities. He had been using the room a lot since his return.

 Stephen began running his hand though the length of his hair.

 "What are your intentions toward my sister?” Roan's voice was nonchalant but his manner was far from calm.

 Stephen rose and began pacing back and forth, clasping and unclasping his hands before him. He seemed to be attempting to choose his words carefully, but he finally fisted his hands and waved them in the air. “She is the most maddening woman.” He stopped, realizing to whom he was speaking.

 "Are you in love with her?"

 Stephen finished pacing and stood directly in front of him. His face registered shock at Roan's question.

 Had he never considered this possibility?

 Slowly, he sank back down on the chair before the hearth and put his head in his hands. “More than my own life,” he finally admitted. “Roan, I cannot control her. I cannot let her go into battle. I fear for her. I cannot...” He put his head back in his hands and groaned. “I cannot lose her."

 "So you intend to marry her?"

 Stephen's head snapped up. “She will not—she is so stubborn. I cannot even think what she would say if I were to ask."

 Roan regarded him over the top of his fingers. “So woo her."

 Stephen responded to Roan's advice with another groan and his head fell mournfully back into his hands.

 Movement from the door caused then both to glance toward the whirlwind who sailed in, skidding to a stop when she saw Stephen. Of course it was Diana in all her stunning glory, flushed, angry and arresting.

 "Brother, I know what this is about and you may cease directly.” Her cheeks blushed red, her breathing rapid. Her eyes fluttered back and forth between him and Stephen.

 Stephen rose, heading straight toward her. “I do not need you fight my battles for me, woman, nor do I need you in my list.” His heated words were charged with energy.

 Roan sensed the passion between them. They were like a fire not yet ignited.

 "Where I come from,” she said, her eyes fiery, “women are welcome in battle, not scorned."

 Stephen moved very close to her and she squared her shoulders. He meticulously stepped in one inch at a time until his face was pressed close to hers. Diana's eyes ran over his face as if trying to see what he was about.

 "Then why don't you go back to where you came from?” The statement Stephen uttered so carelessly was like an arrow in Roan's heart.

 Diana's outraged cry tore at his stomach and he stood.

 "Yes, perhaps leaving would be best.” Her stammered words left an even worse ache in Roan's gut. Tears formed in her eyes as she waited for Stephen to answer. At Stephen's clearly resigned nod, she gulped for air and ran from the room.

 Roan strode forward immediately. Grabbing Stephen, he shoved him against the stone wall. “That,” he jerked Stephen up higher on the wall, “is no way to woo a woman.” He released Stephen and watched him slide down the wall.

 "If she leaves here I will hold you solely responsible,” he concluded, his fist clenching. He stomped away from Stephen to stand in front of the fire, hoping to calm his anger toward his brother. His thoughts drifted to Serena. Diana so reminded him of her. He ran his hands through his hair and along the back of his neck.

 Would this wanting never end?

 "It is for her own protection I seek to drive her away."

 He turned toward Stephen, his arms crossing in front of him.

 "How so?"

 "She will not stop until she is next to me in battle. It is where she feels she was meant to be, watching my back. Do you understand why I seek for her to leave? No matter my feelings, I will not see her die at my side.” His voice rose to a yell. “I will not!"

 Roan understood Stephen's frustration. He had felt the same way about Serena. Alas, he knew he could not hold her from what she was born to do. He had decided he would much rather have her at his side than not. He waved Stephen to the chair by the fire.

 "Sit.” It was time to tell him a little about where Diana came from. “Have you seen her mark, the one resembling mine?"

 Stephen shifted in the chair. He looked at Roan with an expression of hopefulness. “Aye, I've seen it."

 Roan sighed. It had been necessary to ask, but he did not like what Stephen's answer implied.

 Stephen sat back in the chair and seemed to be reflecting inward.

 Roan wondered if he was reliving the moment he first saw Diana's mark.

 * * * *

 They had been practicing all day, Stephen driving Diana hard. He had hoped to discourage her from continuing in her training. He had paired her with one of his strongest knights, not realizing she would fight so determinedly. He had been strolling the battlements, overseeing the training. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Diana drop to the ground, clutching her shoulder. He sucked in a breath, his heart pounding in his chest when he saw the blood soaking through her tunic. Her partner immediately dropped his sword and leaned down to assist her.

 "Jesu!” he screamed from the battlement, an immediate reaction to his sudden terror. She had been injured. He almost tossed the contents of his stomach as he watched the blood soak through her shirt. Wounded and bleeding, she struggled to throw off the arm of the knight trying to help her. At Stephen's yell, her eyes rose to the battlement. He saw fear in her expression before it was quickly schooled, replaced by anger.

 Stephen's fear also turned to anger. “Get off the field!” he shouted.

 He pointed toward the keep, leaving no room for argument. Her training required her to obey his every command. He was the Captain of the Guards, and his knights were required to obey him whatever the cost. It was good training for the battlefield, which was no place to question his order.

 She pulled herself up off the ground. With one fierce look, she jerked around and stalked off the field. Stephen, attempting to appear casual, slowly turned to walk away from the battlement, but when he knew he was out of visual range of his knights, he ran down the stone steps toward the keep.

 Reaching the bottom step, he tried valiantly to appear relaxed. He walked across the field toward the door Diana had entered, returning the salutes of his men as he passed. When he finally reached the door, he sighed with relief, then quickened his steps toward her room. He knew she wouldn't ask anyone to help her. She would want to dress her wound in private.

 Winding his way through the never-ending stone hallways, he placed a hand on his heart as if doing so would slow its rapid beating. God's blood, when he had seen her go down and watched her blood flow through her shirt, he had wanted to leap off the battlement and take the blow for her. He growled as he hurried along. He could not have her fighting anymore. There was too much risk of losing her.

 Stephen asked himself when losing her had become such a dreadful fear.

 Why would I rather die than watch her get hurt? Blowing out a heavy breath, he continued his path. His fate was set from the first moment his angry eyes had met her defiant ones, when she had challenged him by stepping into his dagger, drawing her own blood. He admitted he had fallen head over heels in love with her when her blood had seeped over the edge of his blade.

 Head over heels.

 Reaching her door, he hung back and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down so he wouldn't show her how much her injury affected him. He had no need to get involved with her. Besides the fact she was Roan's sister, there was no room in his life for a female. He was a skilled knight, responsible for the safety of the lives of his men and the people of the keep. He couldn't be distracted by needless emotions such as love, or by the woman who brought forth the annoying emotion.

 Diana's door was ajar, so he quietly pushed it open. She sat unmoving, her legs dangling over the side of the bed, her head lowered in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried into her cupped hands. He was grateful she didn't look up. Had she seen his face, she would have seen his love.

 His heart clenched in his chest.

 Without knowing why, he somehow felt her pain. He watched blood dribble down her arm and off her elbow to the floor. She had removed her outer tunic and wore only a strange leather halter. With his emotions clamped down, Stephen rubbed his chest and nosily cleared his throat, acting as if he had just stepped in the door.

 "Stephen!"

 Her annoyed exclamation was met by his own anger. He strode to her. Grabbing the discarded tunic, he turned it inside out. He steeled himself to put his hands on her and not reveal his need. Gritting his teeth, he rotated her on the bed, then applied the cloth to the bleeding cut on her shoulder. She sucked in a breath. To hold her still, his hand gently curved over her other shoulder.

 "What goes on that you cannot dress your own wound? Have you a death wish?” She didn't reply, and his irritation grew. He gently dabbed the small gash, applied pressure, then dabbed again. He repeated the procedure until the bleeding slowed. His jaw clenched as he worked.

 "It was a small cut,” she said, her voice husky, “hardly worth my time. At home I would have continued to practice. Of course I would not have an arrogant Captain screaming at me from the battlement, embarrassing me in front of all the other warriors.” Fury rang in her voice and she raised her hand to her face.

 He assumed she was brushing back more tears of rage. He felt rage too. What was the matter with this woman's people? Who let a woman practice while wounded?

 "I...” He was about to make a cutting reply when he noticed an incredible mark on her other shoulder. It was extraordinary in its detail. A wolf overlapping a sword woven between two interlocking Celtic linked circles, it was fascinating.

 He ran his fingers over the mark. He slid in closer to inspect it. “What...?” His hand still resting lightly on her shoulder, his thumb reached out and ran over the mark.

 Her head swung around and she watched him with obvious uncertainty.

 Completely taken with the dark-colored mark adorning her skin, Stephen barely noted his touch was causing her to shiver. His hand ran over the mark again.

 "What in God's name is this?” Stephen whispered against her back. When she tried to pull away, he locked his hand on her shoulder.

 "Stop,” he demanded as he shifted the makeshift bandage on her other shoulder.

 For a moment Stephen had lost his purpose, but now he remembered why he'd come to her room. He removed his hand from her uninjured shoulder. Anchoring the bandage, he tore several strips of cloth from his under tunic. Working efficiently, he placed one hand on the wound. With his other hand, he wrapped the cloth around her arm and shoulder to secure the bandage. He had doctored many men on the battlefield and he moved with practiced certainty.

 "Go down to the kitchen and Maggie will properly clean and bandage this for you.” Her body tensed and he felt a protest coming. He spoke before she could sear his ears with her anger. “This is not a request, Diana. This is an order you vowed to obey while under my training."

 She swore. He couldn't help but smile slightly. He used the knight's vow she had taken to obey against her at every opportunity. It irked her and amused him.

 "Must you constantly remind me of your idiotic vow?"

 He made all of his knights follow not only the code of honor of a Knight of the Realm, but also his own rules. “You can release yourself from that vow.” He finished binding her arm, aware that she realized the only way to release one of his knights from their vow was to remove themselves from his service.

 "You would like that, wouldn't you, to finally have me off your training field?” She jerked her bloody tunic back on, her lips puckering in a wince. He shook his head at her actions. She was purposely hiding her mark from him. He wondered what it meant.

 "Yes,” he said.

 Fire ignited in her eyes. She rose and he moved with her. They stood, facing each other. He watched the rapid rising and falling of her chest, the emotion flicking across her face. Then he noticed her color was fading. His gaze lowered, and he saw blood seeping from under the bandage.

 "Diana!” Stephen reached for her as she swayed on her feet. He clasped her tightly in his arms and slowly lowered her to the edge of the bed. Weak as she was, she tried to struggle out of his grip.

 "Stop it, just rest for a few minutes. You've lost some blood.” Her movements ceased, as if she'd finally resigned herself to his request.

 He crouched in front of her, not liking her pallor. He needed to get her blood flowing again.

 "Women's energies are much better spent in a man's bed than on the battlefield.” It had become a joke between them. It was one of the first sentences he had murmured to her, and since then he frequently used the same words to break the tension between them.

 As usual, it worked. He watched the corners of her mouth twitch as she tried to keep from smiling. She was beautiful when she smiled, Stephen thought. Which was why most of the time he chose to anger her rather than make her laugh. But right now she needed to relax.

 She usually countered his remark with one of her own—telling him a woman didn't need a man's bed to be whole. He reached out his hand and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. He briefly wondered what had prompted him to touch her, but her next statement sent his thoughts spiraling into places they had no business going.

 "Are you volunteering to share my bed?"

 He actually sputtered. He didn't even have a quick retort. Her hand came up to caress the scar on his face and he let his eyes drift closed at her touch. Her other hand came up to join the first one as her hands ran over his face to settle at the pulse point at his neck. His pulse began to pound like a drum against her fingers.

 Boom, boom, boom, he felt it in his head. He snapped his eyes open and met her narrowing gaze. He crouched in front of her, unmoving. Looking up at her amazing features, he found himself at a colossal disadvantage.

 "I am not sure bedding you would be the best use of my time."

 At his flip answer, hurt crossed her face. Then her hands tightened on his neck and her thumb ran over his rapidly beating pulse.

 He growled in response. He was trying hard not to wrap his hand around the back of her neck and pull her into a kiss so absorbing she would never doubt his interest in her.

 "Perhaps not. And perhaps you will cease making comments to me in the future if you are not prepared to follow through."

 He shook his head. Her hands remained locked around his neck. “You are pushing me,” he said, “and I am not sure you are prepared to handle the consequences."

 "Do you really believe that?” She lowered her voice along with her eyes. There was a sensuality in her now. It showed the unspoken promise of the woman beneath the hard outer trapping, a softness she always tried so hard to conceal. It was a look he had always hoped he would never see. Her essence inflamed him.

 His hand lingered, his thumb caressed her cheek. In turn her hand continued its light touch against his neck, barely touching, fluttering over his skin as if brushing off a small fleck of dirt.

 His head dropped forward as he enjoyed the feelings her touch evoked in him. His breathing began to speed up to match the booming of his blood. He closed his eyes. His hand moved from her cheek to settle at the back of her neck and rested there. Her hands tightened on his throat as she gently massaged his neck muscles. Not wanting to, he groaned in response to her touch.

 He could no longer take the stroking of her hands on the sensitive part of his neck. He abruptly rose, breaking her hold on him, and backed away from her. She raised her eyebrows. Somewhere in the back of his mind, through the haze of desire flaming through his body, he realized he shouldn't be alone with her in her chambers. He shouldn't be touching her. He definitely shouldn't be allowing her to touch him.

 "I challenge you,” she said.

 Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows as he ran his unsteady hand through his long hair.

 "Now what, pray tell?” He eased back on the chair across from her bed. It was safe there, a least ten feet spread between them.

 "If I can best you in a battle of swords, I fight in the next skirmish."

 He laughed at her dare. “I think not. Besides, you are injured.” He pointed at her shoulder.

 "When my shoulder heals sufficiently I will make good on my challenge."

 God's blood, he thought, she was serious.

 "Are you afraid I will win?” she demanded.

 He chucked and ran a nervous hand through his hair again. “Certainly not, I am the best swordsman in this garrison. I fear more you will be injured again."

 A flare of familiar anger flashed over her face. “Let me worry about that."

 He crossed his long legs in front of him and nodded his head.

 "Fine, if you want it like that. When you heal, I will consider your challenge.” He ran a hand across the shadow of his jaw.

 "Accept it now."

 He growled in frustration. “Fine, I accept it, now.” He waved his hand at her. “If it is so important to you."

 "First blood.” Her stipulation made him pause. There was no way he could purposely draw her blood. Never.

 "No.” His voice turned hard.

 "First blood, Stephen. It is the way it is done in your Realm I believe."

 He did not answer her, deciding to change the subject. Resting his elbow on the chair, he propped his chin in his hand and lazily regarded her.

 "Are you going to tell me about the mark on your back?"

 Her eyes widened with surprise. Just when he thought she would answer him, Roan barged into the room. Stephen was on his feet in an instant, but Roan ignored him, charging toward Diana.

 "I heard you were injured on the practice field.” The tension on Roan's face had Stephen clasping his brother's shoulder.

 "She is fine, do not worry. I have bandaged it. She will see Maggie to have it cleaned. All is well."

 At his reassurance, Roan visibly relaxed. Bending down in front of Diana, he took up the position Stephen had vacated moments ago. Stephen hoped Roan was distracted enough that he wouldn't notice they had been alone in her bedchamber. As if sensing his thoughts, Roan glanced over his shoulder at him.

 He tensed. I've got suspicion written all over my face, he thought.

 "Bandaged it, huh?"

 He raised both his hands in the sign of surrender. He didn't say anything, simply started backing out of the room.

 Diana smiled and threw out a parting remark. “So I can consider my challenge accepted, along with all of the stipulations?"

 He pointed a warning finger at her while shaking his head. “We will discuss this later, have no doubt about that.” Before Roan could ask what they were talking about, he left.

 * * * *

 Roan's insistent voice brought him back from his reflections. “Stephen, are you listening to me? What's wrong with you, man?"

 He straightened in the chair and tried to pick back up on the conversation.

 "I am sorry, please continue.” He gave Roan what he hoped was a contrite expression. He watched Roan sigh and lean forward in his chair as if to emphasize what he was saying. His voice lowered as if he was telling him a secret.

 "Diana is a Wolf Warrior. She comes from a long line of warriors. I cannot tell you where they reside. I am putting much at risk even giving you this much information, but my people are unique."

 He sighed when Stephen gave him a doubtful look. “She has been trained since the age of six for her vocation. Do you not find it strange a woman holds such skill?"

 Stephen rubbed away an ache in his forehead and nodded.

 "She will never be anything but a warrior,” Roan continued. “Whether it is here or in our homeland, her life will always be at peril. It is her calling, as it is mine. There is no way for you to protect her, except to hold her close to you. She will always choose to fight. It is our path."

 Roan sighed, rose, and placed his hand on Stephen's shoulder. “It will do you no good to drive her away. What she faces where she is from, is much more dangerous than the Scottish squabbles we have here."

 "What have I done?” Stephen whispered. He vaulted out of his chair and started pacing.

 "Nothing you cannot repair, I pray."

 With a jerk of his chin, he acknowledged Roan's suggestion and tore out of the room.

 * * * *

 Roan fell back into the chair, thinking he would do well to take his own advice. He laid his head back against the chair, feeling no desire to retire to his room. His bed was cold and empty, much as his life was without Serena. A throat cleared, interrupting his dark reflections. He glanced at the doorway where Ian casually leaned.

 "What is it, Ian?” He pushed his legs out in front of him.

 "Solve all their problems, did ya then, laddie?” Ian's soft Irish brogue brought a smile to Roan's face.

 "It is not I who needs to solve his problems, it is Stephen."

 Ian waggled his eyebrows. “You'd do well to heed some of that well-worded advice I'm sure ya gave him, my friend."

 Roan straightened in his chair. He was determined they would not have this discussion. He had avoided an argument up to this point and he was in no mood to listen to his old friend's scorn.

 "Did you have a reason for seeking me out?"

 "Your father, Lord Aston, rides through the gates as we speak."

 Ian's words forced Roan to his feet. His father would want to claim the men he had sent to Roan for training. He said the same to Ian.

 "Aye, he seeks to increase his fighting force with the men you promised him."

 Sighing, Roan ran a hand over his face. Perhaps dealing with his father was just what he needed right now. If nothing else, it would distract him from thinking about Serena.

 "I'll deal with him directly. Thank you.” He clapped Ian on the back as they strode out of the room. He meant his gratitude in more ways than one. Not only did he thank Ian for the information, but also for allowing the subject of Serena go unspoken.

 "You're welcome, laddie. Ya know I'm always here for ya?"

 "I know."

 Roan was still troubled as he greeted his adopted father. They clasped arms and quickly hugged.

 "Roan, my boy, you are a bit worse for wear. Is all well?"

 Roan smiled at the large rounded, balding man before him. His father, the Duke of Aston, was an outspoken, jovial man loved by many and hated only by those he fought. Even aged, he was truly a gifted warrior, bested by few. He stood as high as Roan and although rounded by age and good food, it took nothing away from his large frame. He was still a formidable man.

 "I am well, Father, perhaps a bit tired. Training your young fighters has fatigued me.” He grunted as his father's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

 "My boy, I do not believe you for one moment. You are as hearty as ever. No, yours is a deeper weariness I think. One not shown on your frame. Got woman problems, do you?"

 Roan groaned as he looked toward the heavens. His father, not only a skilled fighter, was also excellent at reading faces.

 "Father, must we?"

 "Ah, not open for discussion, eh?” The Duke of Aston clapped his shoulder. “All right, I will surrender for now.” His father shifted his gaze, looking around the room.

 "Where is my other dark brooding son? By the Gods, I want to have a little sword practice with him. The only time I can get him to smile is when we are locked in battle."

 Roan smiled at his father's description of Stephen. The Duke never censored his words. It was one of the reasons his father was so well liked by the King—and at times so hated. His father didn't have the demeanor of other nobles. He was outspoken and, at times, rude.

 "I am a warrior.” That was how he explained his actions to King Edward. He didn't have time to speak fancy words or wear fancy clothes. He was engaged by Edward to fight, not socialize.

 Everything Roan knew today, he'd learned from this wonderfully candid man. The Duke had done the unthinkable when he had taken Roan as his son. The adoption of a son whose bloodline was questionable, was not done by a Duke. However, soon the King was more than grateful when Roan fought by his father's side and proved himself to be a gifted soldier. Well-trained fighters were an asset, whatever their bloodlines. King Edward had lofty dreams, and men like Roan, Stephen, and their father, made the King's dreams possible.

 So, he congratulated Roan's father rather than disgraced him.

 "Father, I have missed you.” Roan clasped his arm around his father's shoulder and led him toward the battlefield.

 "Stephen is otherwise occupied. Woman problems."

 "God's blood, what do you expect? What woman would have such a gloomy manner of a man?” Throwing back his head, the Duke laughed.

 "I will explain later. Let us go have a look at your men, shall we?"

 "Yes, let's. With this new King earning disrespect at every turn, I must ready my garrison.” With a shake of his head, his father switched subjects. “I still cannot believe there is a woman out there accepting Stephen."

 "Well, your Grace.” Roan gave a mock bow of his head. “Just wait and see."

 * * * *

 Diana stuffed her clothes into the pack she would strap to her horse. Tears fell unchecked down her face. She angrily whipped them away as she continued to cram in her belongings.

 What was she thinking?

 That she could fit into this misfit group of people? That she would, without doubt, be accepted for who she was?

 She laughed at her navet. Woman had a different place in this world than in the Realm. They were expected to run a household, stitch their days away mending men's socks and tunics, and produce and care for their children—without question.

 They were not equal.

 As a matter of fact, they were no better than a servant. Their man was their master. She grunted. She was doing the right thing by leaving. She could never be the woman Stephen wanted. He constantly reminded her of the fact by telling her she was not good enough to fight their battles. Telling her to adjust her fighting style to their code of honor.

 "Humph,” she said out loud as she tightened the straps to secure her traveling bag. She had been good enough to train with the most skilled warriors of the Realm, but here she wasn't even good enough to kiss their boots. Instead she was expected to polish them.

 Well, she had had enough. She was leaving, returning to her own people. She paused for a moment and thought about Roan. She grimaced. She would miss him sorely. Within the last three months they had grown close. Close enough for Diana to see how much he mourned the loss of his only love, Serena. In her heart, Diana knew Serena had sacrificed a life with him so he could have his castle and his lands, so he would remain the protector of his people.

 But Diana swore when she saw how the loss had affected Roan. She would never make a similar mistake. She would always be true to her heart and the rest be damned.

 So why am I leaving? she wondered.

 She shook her head. She had loved Stephen from the first moment he had placed his hand on her waist to help her off her horse. He had looked at her with such regret after he had drawn her blood, she thought she would cry. She loved the man who had picked her up out of the mud when she had fallen on a particularly wet day. Who had touched her with such gentleness when he cleaned the wound on her arm. Who had run his hand over her wolf mark with reverence in his eyes.

 Oh, but she loved him more than her own life. Yet she could take his disdain no longer. He rejected her at every turn, and his parting comment this day gave her insights to his true feelings. He didn't trust her, and she would not be where she was not needed.

 My own people need me more than this.

 She needed to feel like her life skills were gifted to her for a reason. It was not acceptable that all her practice and dedication be for naught.

 Therefore, she would leave and go back to her people. Stephen had spat at her to return. This time, she would obey him without question, even as it broke her heart. She would fight for the Solarians as she had in the past.

 She pulled her bag over her shoulder and made for the door. She stopped, her mouth opening. Stephen leaned against the opening, his arms crossed, his body barring her exit. She tried to skirt around him, but he would have none of it. He stepped inside, and she backed away. He kicked the door shut with an undue amount of force, then turned and threw the bolt with the sound of finality. He slowly moved back around. Diana took another step back. Since he would not let her leave the room, she dropped her bag on the bed and flopped down on the edge. She raised a hand in question, pointing to the door.

 "As this is the single exit in this room, you now have my attention."

 "You will not leave!” His command and domineering stance had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

 "And who will stop me?” She slowly rose, her hand moving to hover at the hilt of her sword.

 Stephen's action mimicked hers. “I will if need be. I will have you listen first."

 She let out a rude noise. “I tire of your babbling, and I am befuddled as to why you stop me. Not a quarter of an hour ago you requested I, hum, let me see if I can recall your exact words, something akin to, return to where I came from.” She raised her eyebrows. Diana sensed regret emanating from him, but she was hard pressed to trust her senses. She had never been good at controlling them and most the time they just confused her more.

 He pushed away from the door and approached her. His expression determined, he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. She struggled against his hold and his hand came up to tangle in her hair, forcing her to stop her thrashing.

 His lips claimed hers. Try as she might to resist him, she was not able to fight the passion that welled up inside her. She melted against him, her arms rising to encircle his neck as he deepened the kiss. It had begun as possessive, then gentled. His tongue tenderly pressed against her lips, asking permission to enter. She opened her mouth and allowed him in. His tongue danced with hers and suddenly she was limp with the emotions she sensed pouring from him. He was so aroused there was no need to distrust her senses. He wanted her like he had wanted no other, his desire a bright flame inside her mind.

 His hands ran down her back to cup her ass, pulling her against his hard shaft. Diana gasped against his mouth. Her contact with men had been limited, but it didn't take experience to determine he was hard with his desire for her. His lips broke from hers then trailed down her neck. As he reached her ear his whispered voice broke through her need.

 "Forgive me, Diana, forgive me. Do not leave, please.” His appeal humbled her. In the three months she had known him she had never heard him beg for anything. He was too strong and too proud to beg. Her knees weakened at the implication.

 His lips moved back to hers and this time the gentleness gave way to devouring need, too overwhelming to be satisfied by kisses alone.

 He pulled back, his hands running over her face. “I have no excuse for my behavior apart from my need to protect you. I fear when you talk of warring with me. I wanted to drive you away so you would be safe. I love you so deeply, I cannot abide losing you. Please say you forgive me."

 The tears she had finally rid herself of only minutes earlier began to fall down her face again, but this time they were tears of joy. Had he just said he loved her? That he didn't want to lose her?

 She smiled through her tears. “Say it again,” she asked, as she stroked his face.

 His expression softened at her words and he smiled back. He drew one of her hands to his lips and tenderly kissed her palm. “I love you deeply, with all my heart, forever, from the first moment I touched you."

 Diana cried out and flew into his arms. “Oh, Stephen, you have no idea how much I love you, you stubborn, arrogant fool. No idea."

 He laughed against her hair. “Not a flowery confession. Nonetheless, I accept it, and you."

 She grabbed him and this time she became the aggressor. Her lips locked to his, she reached under his tunic. He had shed his chain mail and was bare underneath. She ran her hand over the muscled planes of his chest and he moaned against her mouth.

 "Diana,” his warning was moot as her hands pushed at the spot just below his breeches. He stopped kissing her altogether. His hands came up to cover hers to stop any further exploration.

 "Take me to bed,” she said. “Make passionate love to me all night. I have dreamed of it, I have felt it in your kisses, now I want to experience it with our bodies."

 As if her words were a spark to his flame, he growled. He pushed her toward the bed.

 "You'll marry me, tomorrow if possible. I will speak to Roan tonight."

 "Yeees,” she whispered, as her hands made short work of her breeches. “Wait. Only if you allow me to fight next to you,” she added, managing to pick the thought out of her befuddled mind.

 He tumbled her back against her bed. Pulling off his breeches, he followed and landed on top of her. He moved away to quickly divest her of her remaining clothing, then rolled back on top of her. When their flesh met, Diana moaned at the beauty of it.

 "I would not have it any other way, my Diana."

 She smiled against his mouth, then groaned as his hands began to work her body into a frenzy.

 "I doubt you'll be speaking to my brother this eve.” She sighed and arched as his lips replaced his hands.

 * * * *

 "I think that is the most sensible thing I've heard you say yet.” He grunted when her hand lightly slugged his shoulder. His tongue reached out to stroke her breasts, the ones he had longed to bare from the moment he first touched her, and he lapped each one equally.

 Stephen heard her moan. He was inflamed by her responses. She was so passionate, a reaction he did not expect from a maiden. He had met his match with her and he thanked the Gods. He would indeed be spending the entire night pleasing her just for the pure joy of hearing her cry out in gratification.

 And so he did until sometime in the middle of the night when Roan broke down the bolted door and demanded a wedding date.

 "As soon as your sister arises,” Stephen said.

 He chuckled at Roan's open-jawed expression and rolled away from Diana's warmth. The next moment, he was shoving Roan out into the hall. “Now, get out."

 Shaking his head, Roan left.

 Stephen remained standing at the precariously hanging door, gazing down at Diana. Her dark hair was strewn around her bared shoulders, the top of her breasts peeked out from the coverlet. She reminded him of an angel.

 An angel, for all intents and purposes, who was all his.

 * * * *

 They married the next day. Stephen all smiles, Diana all blushes. He added a promise to the traditional wedding vows to protect her for all of his life. Diana's heart expanded at his words. As her hand joined with his, his love projected to her senses, and she felt warmth in every pore of her body. Stephen's father joined the celebration. He had traveled to Wolfsmoor to escort his new soldiers back to his castle. Diana suspected his trip was an excuse to visit with his sons. He was a lovely forthright man, generous and full of pride for both of his sons. He had clasped Diana against his chest, saying he would pay homage to any woman who could place a smile on his son's face as she had done.

 It was a beautiful sunny day. Diana's only cloud was that Roan had not fully enjoyed it. Oh, he had given the customary kisses and shoulder slapping, but when Diana approached him on the battlement that eve, he was gazing off toward the green Scottish hills with the sun slowly sinking behind them. She saw the sadness in his gaze and hugged him from behind. He smiled and patted her arm.

 "Are you content, little sister?"

 She smiled at his pet name for her. “Truly, more than I can voice."

 He laughed at her play on words. “No need, little sister, I can sense it in both of you, and I am happy for you.” His smile turned to a frown as he gazed longingly toward the hills.

 "You told him about us? That is why he decided he could not protect me by sending me away?” Diana wasn't angry, she just needed to know.

 "I told him very little, but yes, I did give him some insight into our heritage. He had some senseless idea that by forcing you to leave he could protect you. I had to make right that wrong."

 She smiled with gratitude and squeezed him. “Thank you, big brother."

 He reminded silent and continued to stare toward Scotland.

 "How much longer?” she asked tentatively. Someone needed to right his wrong. He turned toward her, and the light of the battlement torches reflected his confusion and dark need.

 "How much longer will you live without her?” she pressed on. “Will you let your pride be your companion for a lifetime?"

 He stiffened and turned back around. No one had dared discuss Serena with him since his return.

 "She loved you, you know. I sensed it easily even with my clumsy ability. It was there for anyone to gather.” She laid her hand on his shoulder.

 "She said not, she said...” He dropped his head onto his bent arms and leaned against the stone wall.

 "And you believed her?” she asked in amazement.

 "What would you have me do?” The tears she had suspected were in his eyes fell down his cheeks.

 "Fight for her,” she simply said. With one final pat, she left him to wallow in his own pity.

 * * * *

 Fight for her. Diana's words continued to run through Roan's mind.

 The words were so simple, yet so complex. Fight for her. He heard the words as he said goodbye to his father before he began his trek back to the castle.

 Fight for her. He repeated the words in his head as he sat in his chair that night, in the room that had been his bed for the past three months. Even as he fell asleep, he continued to repeat the words in his head.

 Fight for her.

 * * * *

 Roan groaned and thrashed on the chair as the nightmare held him in its grasp. Red blazing heat plumed into the air as far as the eye could see. He smelled fire, saw the flames, heard the screams of his people. He saw Serena careen through the forest, attempting to outrun the deadly blaze. Her breath was coming in gasps, her clothes singed. She fell, tumbling to the ground. Then she hauled herself up. Limping, she began to run again.

 "Serena!” Roan yelled as the flames licked at her ankles, inching up her body, burning her legs. “Serena!” he yelled.

 Someone shook him. He sat straight up in his chair. Sweat soaked his shirt and lathered his face. His body still reacting to the nightmare, he lunged for his weapon.

 A strong hand shoved him back down in his chair. “Tis not surprised I am yer havin’ nightmares, mon.” The man eased down into the chair across from him and began picking his nails with his dagger.

 "Bruce.” Roan tried to rise again.

 Robert's sword pointed at his gut, stopping him. When he seemed convinced Roan would not move, he laid his sword across his knees and continued to clean his nails with his dagger.

 "Your men have killed some of my best in this war you have wrought upon my castle."

 Robert shrugged. “Och, what a shame. Mayhap, Wolf, ya should have considered that before ya broke yer oath.” He spit on the floor. “Lousy Englishmen are no’ worth a damn."

 "She insisted I leave, Robert. She did not request, she demanded it. I simply fulfilled her order."

 Robert growled at that answer and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “I ought to slay ya now, where ye sit. A pitiful picture ye are, lettin’ a lass fool ya."

 "Robert...” Roan began.

 "Her people are dying."

 Roan's words died in his mouth.

 "Wolf killers are tracking the wolves,” Robert continued, “and burning the surrounding forests. She needs your help. I wouldna be askin but..."

 "She will not burden me herself,” Roan answered for him. “I will leave at first light."

 Robert the Bruce nodded and rose. “Take that she-hellion with you. Me men fear her. And leave that lovesick whelp of her husband behind. Your keep will be safe enough with him."

 Without saying the words, Bruce was telling Roan if he left Stephen he wouldn't attack the castle. How Robert the Bruce knew every coming and going in his castle was disturbing.

 "You have your gauntlet?” Robert's accent reverted to English.

 Roan raised his arm to display Bruce's leather armband encased on his arm.

 Robert nodded and with the blink of an eye he was gone.

 Roan shook his head. The castle was guarded at every entry point. How had Robert slipped past the guards?

 He closed his eyes. He couldn't care how Robert stole into his castle. Serena needed him. He'd known it, he'd dreamed it. No matter what she said, he had to go. If she died...

 A hurt bigger than any pain he'd ever experienced sliced through him. He took deep breaths, pushing down the pain. She was alive now. He had to concentrate on that.

 As he thought of all he needed to do, the pain lessened. Finally, he groaned, thinking about the most daunting task ahead of him.

 He had to tell Diana and Stephen they would need to separate.

 * * * *

 Roan rested on his horse inside the bailey as he watched Stephen and Diana. Stephen was slowly strapping various weapons onto Diana's body. His hand lingered on her thigh as he tightened the buckle on the leather scabbard. She looked at him, her lids lowering in the way of lovers. Finally he swung her cloak around her shoulders and laced it under her chin. His hand lifted to rest on her cheek.

 Pretending he couldn't hear every word, Roan waited as Stephen clutched Diana to him, commanding her to take care, telling her how much he loved her and that he was sending someone in his stead to protect her. There was wetness in Roan's number one knight's eyes before Stephen closed them and buried his face in Diana's hair. He made a fierce sound filled with emotion, then he kissed her.

 Roan turned away to allow them solitude. In a short time Diana was in her saddle next to Roan, wiping the tears from her eyes, a determined look on her face. She turned toward Stephen and he lifted his hand as they rode out the gates.

 * * * *

 Roan spat in disgust when they continued to pass one burned village after another as they made their way toward the Highlands. Not only were the villages burned, but also many of the surrounding forests. The marauders had been hunting for wolves, the peasants told them. They burned the forests to flush them out. Every wolf carcass brought more funds than a year's harvest.

 He began to experience a sick feeling in his gut when he remembered his dream. Was the Realm safe, he wondered, from this mad method of burning out the wolves? Diana's sentiments mirrored his, her expressive face showing her distress at the carnage of forests eaten by fire, seeing the black shells of their once green and mossy splendor.

 The closer they came to the Realm, the stronger their unease grew. Diana shifted in her saddle, lifting a hand to her head. She frowned, her face contorting in a grimace.

 "You feel it also?” he asked.

 "Yes, I feel a pronounced disturbance of my senses.” She took a deep breath as if attempting to calm herself.

 "Your senses are unreliable.” He tried to make her feel better, even though he couldn't convince himself.

 "As have yours been as of late, big brother,” she managed to reply.

 He sucked in a quick breath and held his hand to his head.

 "And you?” she asked, her voice low, leaning toward him across her horse.

 "My senses grow more clear the closer we come to the Realm. But these feelings are not unfamiliar to me."

 "Tell me, what is it?"

 Roan's breath quickened. He hesitated to tell Diana what he had sensed.

 "Roan,” she said, her voice determined.

 He sighed. She would not be appeased by his silence. He tugged his horse and turned to her. She did the same.

 "Distress calls. Many voices. All Wolf Warriors.” He tried to keep his voice unemotional, as if they discussed battle strategy.

 She dropped her head and closed her eyes as if in prayer. “Yes,” she said, “many.” Her eyes raised and locked with his. They communicated with their eyes, and there was no need for words or to even touch their minds. What they mirrored in each other's eyes was raw unadulterated fear.

 "Serena?"

 He knew her question was coming.

 "I cannot determine the origin of them.” He knew what she was thinking. It was the same as him.

 Is she safe?

 He closed his eyes and groaned as he absorbed more distress calls.

 "Diana, let us move, we are needed.” Diana didn't hesitate to follow him when he kicked his horse into a run.

  

 Chapter Thirteen

 Serena crept through the black smoke. The forest was a simmering shell of its former glory. Outfitted in full warrior battle paint, she stalked her pray.

 One month ago wolf killers had entered the forest outside of the Realm. Their purpose was clear, their orders absolute—kill every wolf they could find for a generous bounty.

 Their numbers were strong.

 They had carefully tracked the wolf packs in an attempt to determine where others lay. They were successful and gifted trackers. They had gotten too close to the Realm in the forests outside the waterfall. One had even tracked Sasha through the falls on the final trail to their secret forest before he was methodically cut down by a Wolf Warrior guard. Serena's father had been forced to send out their best warriors in an attempt to dissuade them from tracking any closer.

 The Wolf Warrior's job was now two-fold, complex in its simplicity. They were to lead the wolf killers away—or kill them. The wolf killers were strong, many of Norse origin. Their mounts were steady and they hunted in groups of huge bulking men. They were skilled fighters, gave no mercy, and in the outcome many Wolf Warriors perished. Serena winced as a tree branch brushed against a cut on her shoulder. Her body was blackened in several places from brushing against the hulks of burned trees.

 The wolf hunters had no care for the forest. Most were foreigners with little worry for the Scottish wooded terrain. It was not their home, was it? They only wanted the funds from the wolf carcasses. In that purpose they were true and merciless.

 Serena's healing abilities had ceased when Roan had left and her various bruises, cuts, and wounds were now slow to mend and layering on her body. Her senses were also unclear, and she was much less effective in battle than when she had been teamed with Roan.

 Hearing unfamiliar voices, she crouched. Wolf killers, she surmised with a sneer. They were an unscrupulous breed of men and she had no respect for them.

 She was alone today. Not wanting to take any more warriors, she had convinced her father to allow her to scout by herself. A group of ten warriors had been sent out the previous day after a man was killed on the outskirts of their forest. The group had not yet returned. It was her task to find them.

 Her vision blurred and she dropped her head to breathe deeply and attempt to reclaim her balance. She was fatigued beyond measure. Her father had placed a constant watch around the hidden forest to alert the village in the event of intrusion. Her people would not be caught unawares as they had been thirty years ago with Edward's soldiers. If need be, they would be prepared to fight.

 She had been traveling to each post to relieve the other warriors, resting little and eating infrequently. Although she had grown thin and pale, it did not matter to her. She had a responsibility to the more inexperienced Wolf Warriors whom she had been required to train so quickly. She would not fail them.

 Feeling better, she signaled to Caine to creep around the other side of the encampment in the event she needed to attack. He hunched down and began slowly pawing his way around the camp of rowdy trackers. It was at times like this that she wished Roan was still with her. She had always been stronger when they were together. Besides her external strength, she had experienced an inner peace, a steadiness when he was with her. His simple touch, which he had used on her so often, would give her such pleasure it was immeasurable. And now she had nothing. No serenity, no peace, no contentment. It was just her, and her alone. A lonely place.

 Crouching on her hands and knees, she crept up on the camp. What she saw made her surge to her feet and draw her sword in outrage. She gritted her teeth to suppress the wild urge to plunge in and fight.

 Wolf Warriors were spread out everywhere, some dead, some tied to trees and slowly dying, some thrown in cages with the wolves that were next to be slaughtered. In the midst of the carnage, the female Wolf Warrior, nicknamed Sable because of her long beautiful brown hair, was tossed between the trackers as they taunted her. Her face was stoical, her body obviously weakened from a cut bleeding down her side. She was in full warrior paint, but her armor had been removed, leaving only her leather halter.

 Men's hands were all over her body, pinching, probing, touching, but she did not cry out. She fought the best she could without weapons and slowed by her wound. Finally, when she struck a large attractive tracker with a spinning back fist, he reciprocated. His fist caught her on her chin, sending her tumbling into unconsciousness before she even struck the ground.

 The tracker stood over Sable. He had a dagger in his hand, and Serena tensed. Strangely enough she didn't sense he planned to kill her. Even more confusing was the weighty protectiveness Serena sensed in him toward Sable.

 He bent and drew her into his arms. Her head lolled back over his arm, her hair blanketing down, falling long and straight toward the ground. From her hiding place, Serena bit her lip. Once an attraction was formed with a female Wolf Warrior, it was strong and passionate. The female warriors were hard for men outside the Realm to resist, emitting an energy and passion that drew most men, more times than not, forging a connection for life.

 This man was attracted to Sable deeply, Serena noted, watching the expression on his face. He turned with the dagger in his hand. Brandishing it at the other trackers, he spoke in a harsh foreign language. The others yelled in complaint. When the dagger sailed through the air, missing one of his companion trackers by mere inches, they ceased their bickering and quieted.

 If she had to guess, Serena would say that he claimed Sable to protect her. It was probably the reason he struck her into unconsciousness, especially seeing the way he carried her now, as if he held something precious to him. Had Sable continued to fight, she more than likely would have died right there, along with the other warriors.

 Serena sighed with relief when he grabbed some sort of bag with his gear, slung it over his large shoulder and stalked off into the woods, with Sable cradled like a babe in his arms. At least one warrior would be safe today, she thought.

 Shifting her gaze, she assessed the remaining Wolf Warriors. The ones who still lived were in great peril. She eased back into the cover of the darkened woods.

 She needed a plan.

 * * * *

 Diana and Roan ran their lathered horses to the ground as they entered into the forested area outside of the waterfall. Roan slowed, walked his horse ahead, and Diana saw when his head lifted. His body jolted, as if his senses went on full alert. She saw the energy flow into his body.

 "Serena is here,” he said. “Close."

 Diana nodded. His pale appearance had brightened, his slumping shoulders straightened. He radiated an acute calmness. It was as if the nearness of Serena infused him with strength.

 "You are feeling stronger, are you not, because you are close to her?"

 "Yes!” The word gushed out in a rapturous tone, as if he could smell her scent, hear her voice. His nostrils flared, and Diana smiled. He was definitely a man in love.

 "Find her, Roan."

 "Gladly, that is my intent.” He pulled his horse to the right, focused on the woods ahead.

 He knew where Serena was.

 * * * *

 Serena counted six alive. She slipped around one of the trees that held a warrior tied to it. It was situated farther back from the other trees and she thought she could release him without being noticed. She sawed her knife through the rope binding him to the tree and heard him groan as the blood flowed back into his wrists. She placed her hand over his mouth. With her mind, she ordered him to be still.

 He obeyed.

 She peered cautiously around the tree to discover if the group of trappers had spotted her. They had not. They were busy entertaining each other with their conquests of the day, pinning the wolf skins against each other as if they were prized kills to boast about. They were clapping each other on the back and cheering as each man held up their skins for comparison and congratulations. At the same time they were lifting the leather pouches from around their waists to their mouths, swallowing huge gulps. Some swayed in drunkenness, others wore crystals of the downed warriors.

 Serena spat toward their feet in disgust at the amusement they chose for themselves. She thanked the Gods the besotted trapper had left with Sable.

 Now she had to save the rest.

 She gently towed the near unconscious warrior back into the trees, far enough away to protect him if the trappers approached. She laid him in a small outcropping of rock that formed a miniature cave.

 One down, five to go.

 She ran her hand down his body, checking his wounds. Luckily none were fatal. The trappers had been so busy celebrating they must have forgotten about the warriors they left to bleed to death against the trees. She bound his wounds, softly pushing his hair back from his face. Shelton, her favorite trainee, only ten and six. She had not wanted to send him into battle but he had insisted, and Serena could not deny him. It was his calling, and she did not have the right to keep him from it. He reached up his hand and clasped her arm.

 "We have failed you,” he groaned when Serena tightened a binding on his arm.

 "A Solarian Wolf Warrior does not admit defeat until he is dead. Have I not taught you this? And you are not going to die.” Her words were certain, firm, and as his teacher, left no room for his self-pity. “Do you understand?” she asked, wiping the blood out of his eyes from a cut on his forehead.

 "I understand,” he said, his voice weak.

 "Rest. I have hidden you well. You are safe."

 Unexpectedly, Serena's senses alerted her. A presence she had not experienced in several months flooded her senses. Roan. She knew he was near, so close. Her head came up like a wolf that smells its mate. She looked around slowly, concentrating on sensing where he was.

 * * * *

 Roan and Diana appraised the damaged forests as they searched for Serena. Something had happened here, Roan reflected, something dire. He knew many years ago the King had sanctioned wolf hunters to slaughter the wolves. Travelers from other countries had joined the hunt, the promise of wealth drawing them to Scotland where wolves had fled to escape certain death.

 He slowed his horse when he sensed Serena was nearby. Diana pulled up with him and they tethered their horses to a burned stump of a tree. He tilted his head, concentrating on his next step, on the stride that would bring him closer to Serena. He whirled around, confused by his senses and suddenly knew why. Serena in all of her glory, covered in war paint, quietly stepped out from behind a large burnt tree, her sword drawn.

 "Serena,” Roan cried out her name, joy filling him.

 * * * *

 Serena spun at her name. Seeing Roan, she lowered her sword and dropped down on one knee, feeling as if the sight of Roan lifted a great pressure from her shoulders. Then he was with her, on his knees in front of her, his hands passing over her wet face, and she was folded into his arms. She resisted at first, then the familiar longing infused through her body. And the tears she had not known were falling poured in earnest now. His lips touched hers, kissing her, whispering indistinct words. She thought his face was moist as well, but she was unsure. She was only sure she was in his arms, touching him, feeling him, and all was right.

 His hands framed her face and his eyes locked with hers. “We will not part again.” His vow was nothing less than a pledge, a promise she was unable to defy. She nodded, her head bobbing up and down, her voice caught in her throat because she knew if she tried to talk she would only choke on her words.

 "Are you injured?"

 He was running his strong hands over her bruised body. Serena moaned in surrender. How, she thought, she ever considered living without this man was beyond her comprehension. Speechless, she shook her head.

 Roan finally glanced around. “What goes on here?” He gently brought her to her feet, helping her sheath her sword. She cleared her throat as her eyes feasted on him, running from his most welcome handsome face down the length of his lean body.

 She endeavored to explain, but only two words were needed and they told all. “Wolf killers.” She saw the resignation in his eyes and knew he had already sensed it. Glancing toward Diana, she held out her arm in their traditional greeting.

 Diana clasped hers, then her other arm expanded to pull Serena into her embrace. “We will help, do not fear, together we will make this right."

 Transfused with her lover's strength, Serena nodded. She swiftly explained her situation and plan. Roan growled at her description of the recent happenings.

 "I grow weary of this killing and battling. If I wanted to continue in that life I would still be fighting for the King.” He drew his sword at his declaration.

 Serena drew hers to match him.

 "We will stop this once and for all,” he said.

 Roan's determined appearance would have stopped even the most cunning of prey, she thought, watching him with pride. This was the man who earned the title of the Wolf, not the gentle warrior who had softly wooed her. This man, the one before her, was the true Wolf Warrior and he was ready to defend his pack.

 "Together,” she confirmed.

 Roan turned toward Serena. Together.

 She saw in his eyes, when this was done, he would convince her—they would not part again. They were meant to be together forever. Till death.

 She shook her head. Not now. They would have this out later.

 He nodded. With Diana trailing, they moved toward their destiny, their purpose in life, to defend the wolves.

 * * * *

 Roan stepped boldly into the clearing. The trackers, weakened from their celebrations, stared at him in amazement. He was in full battle paint now, his arms bare and lined in red. His angry face would have scared the fiercest of enemies. His sword was drawn and ready. To each side of him were Sasha and Caine. Their bearing was no different than his, their teeth revealed in hatred, long pointed fangs ready to inflict damage. Behind them were several more wolves, the protectors of the various warriors being held or dead at the camp. Roan raised his hand and more wolves appeared, surrounding the camp, along with Serena on one side and Diana on the other. Roan could not have been more proud of these two strong women.

 "I am Roan, Wolf Warrior of Solaria.” He swung his hand to point out all of the wolves. “These are my people, and under my protection.” He shifted his weight, casually resting the point of his sword on the ground. He was far from the calm champion he was making an effort to portray.

 "You have invaded our home and killed my family.” He swung his sword back into his hands, as if ready to use it. The men began to grapple with their weapons, throwing down the skins they had used to adorn their bodies. He could see they smelled the threat of death and they were alert and sobering.

 "You will leave this Realm, go back to your homes and your families, and never return. Or you will die by our hands on this day.” His voice boomed over the group, it echoed in the burned forest surrounding them in a protective shell.

 He waited, watching and listening. The men talked amongst themselves in their foreign language. Several protested, but the one who was obviously the leader stepped forward and shouted in English.

 "What do we gain if we leave? These skins were to supply our families with food and shelter for the winter."

 * * * *

 Serena mulled over the leader's words. Suddenly she realized what he was saying. She had thought these men were vile abominations, killing simply for sport. Yet the King's bounty for wolf skins had driven them to hunt to fill the mouths of their women and children at home. She was saddened by the results of the order by King Edward I to kill all the wolves. It dismayed her to think the creatures entwined so intimately in her life would never feel the peace the Solarians had worked so hard to create. Serena watched Roan and waited.

 The harsh planes of Roan's face did not soften. “If you leave now you will gain your lives. You will be alive to see those families you work so hard to feed. You will live to feed them another day somewhere far away from here. You do not belong here. You will need to find your livelihood in another place. These wolves are protected and we will die fighting for them if need be, and believe me when I tell you,” he paused, then stepped forward, “I have killed better men than you in less time than it would take you to gather your belongings."

 He inclined his head toward Serena, then Diana. At his signal, they drew their swords, the slashing noise deafening against the quiet that stole over the astonished men. The leader was clearly trying not to show his fear. He was not succeeding. His head rotated around him as he really looked at the threat surrounding them. What he saw was his own death and that of his men.

 His spine slumped and he nodded his head. “Aye, we will depart."

 "You will not return, and you will tell others there are no wolves in this area. If you do not, we will find you, I assure you. We will hunt you down the same way you hunted our friends. We will kill you and your families."

 The leader stepped back, his Adam's apple bobbing.

 "There is other quarry outside of this Realm,” Roan continued. “You need not kill these wolves or my people to feed your families."

 Turning, the leader gave a harsh foreign command to his men. Without any more discussion, they started to gather the existing skins and gear. Serena glanced at Roan. His eyes did not leave the group as he waited and watched.

 "Do you understand me, Norseman?” he asked when they had readied themselves to leave.

 "Aye, we will not return nor our sons behind us. We will tell others that the skins we have were gathered at another location."

 Although he appeared alert for danger, Roan gave him a satisfied look.

 Serena commanded an opening in their circle to let them reluctantly pass. She felt a reluctant respect for these men for choosing to live and honor their families rather than die for their cause. As the last man passed, she grabbed his arm. She felt Roan tense, but ignored him. She had something she needed to say.

 "If my Wolf Warrior Sable is hurt in any way I will come for you personally."

 The man looked at her with dull eyes. “She was claimed by Eric. She will be protected and well cared for, he will not harm her. She will return with us as his slave. It is our way. I cannot give you leniency on this, but I will assure her safety."

 She unclasped her hand from around his arm, acknowledging his small consideration that Sable would be safe. She knew in her heart that the man named Eric would care for Sable. The men trudged on in defeat, carrying their small load, a proud people defeated but still alive to fight another day in another place.

 With the hunters gone, Serena hurried to release the other Wolf Warriors, calling for Richard with her senses as she attempted to assist the injured ones. Two Wolf Warriors had died in this struggle and she bowed over the dead body of a young male warrior. Her hands drew down his face as she shut his eyes for the final goodbye. Tears ran unrestrained from her eyes as she struggled with her grief. This warrior had been the son of a good friend and she now had to deal with the task of telling his family.

 Her head fell back in anguish as her scream of pain rent the air. She was not alone. His Wolf Protector stood next to her, his head raised as he also howled his misery. Others joined him and the air grew heavy with wolf and human cries of sorrow.

 For so many years, the wolves had protected them, giving their lives in their defense, and this day they had repaid that debt. The men had died for their wolves, just as Roan had so unceremoniously told the Norsemen.

 Today they gave their lives in unison, wolf and warrior alike, and the pain was devastating. Serena dropped her head in defeat. Would there ever be an end to this hunt? She suspected not. She feared the English King's reign of terror would never die until every last one of her people was dead.

 * * * *

 Roan left Serena to her grief. He knew nothing he could say would ease the mourning in her heart. Standing silently behind her, he waited. He hoped somewhere in her consciousness she knew he was there for her, to support her when she needed it. He would always be there, he resolved. He would never leave her again.

 At one point Richard arrived and worked frantically to save the warriors who remained in various stages of injuries. One did not survive and Richard's cry could be heard above all others.

 Although the enemy had been defeated, Roan could feel no sense of triumph. Richard was in pain, and Serena was lost in grief. When all was said and done, three warriors had died that day and several the days previous. The woods were a shamble of broken and burned debris.

 They returned to the valley behind the falls in shifts, assisting the injured and taking the bodies of those who had been sacrificed. No, Roan could not be happy, but even through his own sense of grief, for the first time in months he felt whole.

 * * * *

 Roan remained next to Serena and her father as they lowered their heads in prayer. Per their custom, they burned the bodies of the dead warriors. She had no tears left to cry over the tragedy that had befallen them. She was sick in her heart after notifying families of their loved ones’ deaths, bestowing their weapons upon the surviving siblings as per tradition. The telling had fallen on her as the high-ranking Wolf Warrior and their guide. She had held so many as their anguish tore them apart. She was exhausted, worn out from absorbing their emotions. She slowly backed away from the orange glowing heat of the fire that burned her body with its sorrow.

 Her steps mindlessly propelled her toward the ridge that had always been her haven. It was there she choose to be alone with her thoughts. And it was there she remained for several hours, comforted by her solitude and uninterrupted in her grief until she sensed Roan's approach.

 For a good part of the day he had remained detached from her. She sensed his presence, a pillar for her to use, if she so desired. He had allowed her to distance herself out of respect, but now she sensed he was done permitting her to place barriers between them.

 He didn't speak as he unhurriedly stepped closer to her. Eventually he came so close she could feel his exhaled breath against the back of her neck. His arms finally came around her. Locking her body to his, he tightened his grip as if he feared she would disappear if he let her go. She closed her eyes in pleasure as the serenity of his embrace stole over her. His hand caressed her hair in reverence, tangling in her dark locks.

 "Serena.” He turned her around in his arms and his lips inched closer, as if testing her resistance. She had none. At last his lips closed over hers, gentle at first, then pushing into a deeper, more intimate, desperate kiss. This kiss communicated much. It told the tale of his despondency, longing and his sheer loneliness when they were parted. She leaned closer. She wanted to touch him, to press her body against his and absorb the heat and energy he radiated into her cold, tired body.

 She cried out against his mouth and entwined her hands in his hair. When neither had breath left, he broke off, and pulled her into him in an embrace so unyielding she had to take in a breath. She was trembling in his arms, not from the cold, but from the hunger his kiss had created in her.

 "I will not depart here without you. If you will not come, then I will not leave.” His words sounded so uncomplicated, yet she understood the impact of his statement.

 "Roan, you cannot. Your people..."

 He pulled back, his troubled eyes clashing with hers. “I will bequeath my castle and lands to Stephen and Diana. They will manage it in my absence. I have trained Stephen well these past few months and I have trust in him."

 She saw the conflicting emotions cross his expression. Diana had told her of her love and eventual marriage to his brother. She radiated with happiness when she spoke of Stephen. Serena was pleased that Diana had finally filled the void within her with a man worthy of her.

 "I fear that it will not remain safe here for long,” she said. “We might need to move."

 Roan's hands clenched on her arms.

 "Then we will go to my castle. The entire Society if need be. Do you not understand? I love you.” He growled out his last statement. “I will have you as my lady wife, the mother of my children, my life mate, or I will plague your every step until you agree. I am resolved in this."

 Serena smiled at his declaration. He smiled back and dipped down, his face eye level with hers, the joy in his eyes matching hers.

 "Need I throw you over my shoulder to seek the priest?” he asked tenderly, his eyes sparkling as if he recognized he had won her this day. “You love me, little one?"

 Serena dipped her head at his endearment. She smiled into the ground, then she looked up and watched his eyes search hers. She wanted to brush the smile from his face at his arrogance. But she wanted even more to see his smile widen.

 "I love you, my lost Wolf Warrior.” Serena's hand caressed his cheek. She watched the breath he had been holding flow out with his next words.

 "Thank the Gods we were brought together on that deadly day when I neared death, only to embrace life when you rode to my rescue."

 His words were her undoing and she launched herself against him. His arms came up to catch her as they held each other.

 "Thank the Gods, Roan.” She rested her head against his fluttering heart.

 "It is well that you want children.” He pulled back. Although she appeared tired and had lost some weight, the gentle rounding of her abdomen, the increase in her breasts and the inner glow that went beyond her outer appearance told him what he need not ask.

 "Tell me it is true, that you carry my babe,” he asked anyway, his excitement mounting.

 "For several months,” she confirmed as she watched his elation.

 "Damnation!” he roared in joy, and swung her in his arms.

 She groaned.

 Immediately, he halted and lowered her feet to the ground. His brow furrowed with concern, he ran his hands over her body. “Are you well?” His hands came to rest on her stomach. His eyes widened and he looked astonished.

 "I am wonderful,” she said, laughing.

 He laughed back, hugging her to him. Then he pulled back quickly. Although he tried to appear angry, his joy could not be hidden.

 "We will discuss the situation I found you in later,” he scolded.

 He referred to her fighting while she was with child, she knew, and she shook her head. She was a warrior and would always be one, with child or not.

 "I will always be what I am. You must accept that."

 Roan nodded in acquiescence. “I know, I know. I am just glad you are safe, that we are together. Now all will be well.” He sighed against her hair.

 "Yes, all will be well.” She fortified her pledge with a rousing kiss that left him groaning.

 "We will marry this night,” he growled out the order.

 She laughed and nodded.

 With another shout of triumph, he took over her inexperienced exploration with a ravishing assault on her body. He was clearly starving in his need as he smoothly dropped her to the ground, his emotions crowding her mind. It was a time before they came off the bluff to fulfill their promise.

 * * * *

 The ceremony that evening was simple and beautiful. Serena dressed in the beautifully uncomplicated white gown the village woman had made for her previous wedding plans.

 She stood next to Roan, her hand encased in his, as they bowed their head in prayer. They began the wedding with a valediction to those who were unable to attend. The heartfelt goodbye was for those who had sacrificed their lives for the cause of her people. Diana stood by her side and Roan's father remained by his. The priest smiled in front of them as he instructed them to repeat the time-honored vows of marriage. She stumbled over the word obey, but otherwise spoke smoothly.

 They faced each other. She could not stop the tears from gathering as Roan raised her hand to his lips and recited his vows to love and cherish her. His words caressed the skin of her palm and slid into the folds of her rapidly beating heart. When he spoke his final words, the crowd fell silent as he slipped a gold band onto her finger. He was kissing her before the priest even instructed him to do so, and the crowd cheered in response. His kiss was gentle, reverent. His hand moved down to cover her abdomen as he whispered his confession of undying love against her lips. In return she gently disengaged her hand and lifted his to slip on his finger the ring she had made for him, a gold band engraved with the simple outline of a wolf. He smiled at her choice.

 "For you, my lost Wolf Warrior, I pledge my everlasting love and unending devotion,” she said, her voice so low he leaned forward to hear her. “I love you,” she ended.

 "I love you,” he returned her declaration. After the final words they both smiled, then turned to survey the cheering crowd.

 And so the celebration for the new life Serena carried began. Serena and Roan had fulfilled their destiny and found each other. She was sure all the lost Wolf Warriors watched them from above, smiling.

  

 Epilogue

 Richard stood in silence, leaning against the door as he watched the scene before him between his sister and her new husband, Roan.

 He could not hear Roan's quietly spoken dialogue, but the effect on his sister was unquestionable. Richard need not hear Roan's promises to know how deeply his words affected Serena as her hands desperately clung to him.

 Watching them, Richard ran his hand through his long, dark auburn hair in frustration and sighed in longing. He knew he should leave them to peace. Alas, what he needed to confide in them would not wait for the right time.

 Richard wondered if he should simply turn and go away. He began to pivot when Serena's command arrested him.

 "Richard?"

 He hated to spoil this moment.

 Richard approached Serena, kneeling beside a smiling Roan.

 "She carries my child.” There was a sense of wonderment in Roan's voice.

 Richard laid his hand on Serena's stomach. Taking deep breaths, he nodded.

 "Indeed she does. A strong man lies within her womb. The child is well. Serena, you must commit to eat more and rest well in the coming months. Angus, my apprentice, will be here to help you with the birth, and all will go well. Do not worry.” Richard moved back several paces, distancing himself from his sister's emotions.

 Roan rose off his knees to drop down next to Serena on their bed.

 Richard saw Roan glance at his clothing. He was not outfitted in his traditional healer garb. He was dressed as a warrior, his great claymore strapped to his back, and his leather armor wrapped around his body. His leather gauntlet, courtesy of Robert the Bruce, adorned his arm. The gauntlet would assure his safety anywhere in Scotland.

 "You are leaving,” Roan said. “I can sense the finality in this visit. Am I right?"

 Serena gasped.

 "Yes.” Richard was grateful Roan said the words first. He sighed as Serena rose to her feet. He sensed the protest in her.

 Roan stood too. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, restraining her.

 "My path leads me to The Bruce's men where I will lend my sword to his cause,” Richard said. “I have made a difficult decision in light of my feelings toward my profession. I am unsure how long I will be gone."

 Roan held out his arm for a final farewell. “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne. We protect our own."

 Richard clasped his arm back. “A'Don ar Cuideachd-ne. We protect our own, Roan. Take care of my sister and nephew."

 Serena enfolded Richard in her arms. “I sensed your unhappiness. I had hoped it was a fleeting emotion. I was denying what I knew to be true. I should have helped you more.” She shed more tears.

 Richard shook his head at her guilt.

 "Serena, I cannot control my reaction to absorbing others’ pain, the most essential element of my craft. I am disgusted at myself and the means that led me here.” He saw Serena open her mouth to argue. “No, I must do this. If I ever hope to survive this profession, I must do this."

 "Take care, Richard, and return to us when you are ready. Take Caine and Greystar. Please.” She lent him her support as she always had.

 "I will.” Richard stepped back and raised his hand.

 He turned slowly and walked out of the protected Realm.

 He didn't look back.

 * * * *

 Serena was unsure if his answer meant he would return or that he would take Caine and Greystar.

 She dropped her head as she watched Richard walk away, Roan's arm tightening around her. Her head rested on his chest, her eyes closed. She should have seen the signs. She was so wrapped up in solving their problems she hadn't noticed the pain of the one person who had always been closest to her. She knew healing was a demanding profession and Richard was an honored healer with superior skills. One of the most gifted healers that the Realm had ever known, he was deemed to become a legend of her people. He had been absorbing others’ pain most of his life. Why hadn't she noticed the strain it had caused him of late?

 "Do not blame yourself, I also knew of Richard's unease.” Roan pulled her around to hug her to him. “We must let him follow his own way. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, you must trust his judgment. If you look deep enough, you will sense it to be true. He needs to take a different path for a time. He will find his way back. Trust me."

 She smiled at him. He was the most incredible man, so wise, so strong and so easy to love. She knew from the first moment she had laid eyes on him and felt him link with her senses they were fated to be together. Snuggling closer, she heard the rumble of his voice. “A boy, huh? I knew it."

 She smiled against his chest. “Did you?” She punched his shoulder. “Fated to be just as stubborn as his father, I am positive."

 "And just as strong as his mother.” He lifted her into his arms. “Now, wife, I think it is time you abide by your wedding vows and we solidify this union.” The sensual gleam in his eyes and the racing of his heart against her hand told her exactly what he had in mind. Serena threw her head back and laughed, her hair falling over his arm. She heard Roan suck in a breath as his violent desire penetrated her mind.

 "Dear husband, I think we have done that already.” She gasped as he swung her toward the bed.

 "Then, little one, we will do it again and again, until I am satisfied."

 She chuckled. “Husband, I do not think you will ever be satisfied."

 He reached town to lick the shoulder he had exposed. “I think you are correct about that, wife."

 She groaned as he introduced her breast to his mouth. She knew that he would work very hard that night to prove her right.

 And he did.

 The End

 Look for Richard's story, The Solarian Raven, coming soon. WWW.RaeMonet.com

 For the life and breath of this story, my thanks go out to Edie, Karen, Rena, MaryAnn, Amy, Ed, Tera, Shelton and Dick; LSB authors JB Skully and Rae Morgan; Raven Moore, Katie, the SF RWA group, LiquidSilverBooks.com and most of all—my biggest supporter, Rick.

 About the Author:

 Rae Monet is a new Author for LiquidSilverBooks.com, for which she writes paranormal, historical and contemporary erotic romance novels.

 Please check out Rae's website, www.RaeMonet.com and enjoy her world. Rae has been writing for a number of years and is an avid reader. Rae's next novel, The Solarian Raven, the second book in the Wolf series, is coming soon from LSB.

  
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 Visit www.liquidsilverbooks.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.