Page 55 of Enchanted Warrior

The wind tossed his dark hair as he looked down on her, his eyes searching her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her magic was spent, and so was her ordinary strength. Waves of exhaustion reminded her it had been hours since she’d eaten dinner, and they hadn’t brought food with them. In fact, they had lost everything but her backpack and Gawain’s sword.

“Are quests always this wearing?” Tamsin leaned back on her elbows, tipping her face up to the afternoon sun.

“Generally,” Gawain said, putting his hands on his hips and squinting at the horizon. “Worse if it involves something with nasty, big, pointy teeth.”

“What now?” she asked. “We have the books. If my father was looking for them to get to the Forest Sauvage, presumably they should be able to help us get home, but we have to find him and your king first.”

“Agreed.” He sank to the grass beside her, then leaned over and brushed her lips with his.

“What’s that for?” She hadn’t expected affection so soon after using her magic on him. Even now, she could see the turmoil behind his blue gaze, but he gave a slow smile.

“I’m expressing my gratitude. A simple thank-you seemed inadequate after you conquered an army of the walking dead and then healed me.” Gawain kissed Tamsin again, this time with more passion. Despite her fatigue, desire ached within her, as languid as the afternoon warmth. She raked her fingers over his shoulders, rejoicing in the raw male force that coiled there. Her body began to ache with need.

“You should rest,” he murmured as he ran his hands down her form, but the stroking did nothing to settle her down. His shirt was unlaced at the neck and showed the strong muscles of his neck and throat. Tamsin put her mouth there, tasting the salt of his skin. Gawain’s breath sucked in. “I want you in my bed,” he murmured.

“In your castle?” She sank back on the grass, looking up at him.

“Yes. It’s a good, strong bed with a feather mattress, and I am lord and master there.”

She smiled, but it came with a tinge of sadness. Though he wanted her now, would he remember eventually what she was? There was a big difference between letting her fix his leg and keeping her forever. “Are you trying to seduce me, Sir Gawain?”

“I am.” He pulled away with an expression that said how much that restraint hurt. “But we have a long road ahead and I’d rather finish my conquest with you safe under my roof. This is the Forest Sauvage, and not a good place to be in the woods after dark.”

His look was regretful but also possessive, as if he was bargaining as much with himself as with her. “I want you in my arms, in my bed, and on my lands.”

The deep rumble of his words and the sentiments they expressed were as sexy as hell. Nevertheless, her exhausted body yearned to stay here in the soft grass, basking in sunlight and Gawain’s good mood. She gave a moan of protest, wishing with every fiber of her soul for a hot meal or a shower or a decent all-terrain vehicle that would get them to the castle without walking until her feet were covered in blisters.

It was there, with her ear to the ground, that she heard the clop of hooves. Tamsin rolled over, shading her eyes. A horse stood at the edge of the brush that lined the stream bank, mouthing its bit nervously. By the color of its trappings, the glossy bay stallion was another of the fae’s horses, still with its saddle and bridle. Tamsin sat up slowly, caution seeping through her. The beast was huge, breathing hard and flecked with sweat.

“Look!” she whispered.

Gawain was sitting cross-legged beside her. When he saw the mount, he rose in one smooth motion. The horse skittered backward.

“He’s terrified,” Tamsin said softly. The horse’s ears twitched at her voice.

Gawain nodded, but he was smiling as if he had finally won a roll of the dice. “This is an excellent piece of good fortune. He is scared now, but he is used to a master. He will come around.”

Tamsin remembered her wish of a moment ago and wondered if their need had drawn the horse their way, or if the beast had been drawn to her healing power. Could Gawain have unconsciously called it to them? She couldn’t begin to guess, and she certainly wasn’t going to suggest it. He’d probably send the horse away if he thought it had been summoned.

And it looked as if the horse and Gawain were coming to an understanding. With exquisite patience, he drifted toward the beast, every motion deliberate and slow. He didn’t approach directly, but wandered over to the beast’s left. All the while, he murmured to it in soft, low tones. The horse stamped, snorting and swishing its tail. Gawain turned and made his way to the right, closing the distance between them by degrees. The moment he got too close, the moment the horse made a low, unhappy sound, Gawain backed away.

Tamsin watched, fascinated. Gawain wasn’t a patient man, but here he showed a leniency she hadn’t seen before. Then again, he was capable of relentless persistence bundled in a layer of charm. How else had he dragged her into an unlikely quest for a stone king?

Eventually, the horse began to follow Gawain’s movements, coming ever closer. He caught the horse’s bridle, whispering in its ear and patting its neck. The horse whickered, bobbing its head as if agreeing to the situation. Then it nuzzled Gawain’s ear.

A minute later, Gawain was in the saddle, Tamsin perched behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist. She’d stowed her pack with the saddlebags, securing it tight to the saddle. She’d never had enough practice to be a good rider, but Gawain more than made up for her shortcomings. All at once, getting to spend the night in a real bed was becoming possible.

By the time the sun was fading, they had almost reached the river that reflected the pinks and reds unfurling in the sky. Clouds had been gathering as they rode, filling the air with a clammy promise of rain. Tamsin rested her cheek against Gawain’s back, fatigue lapping at her like warm water. She snapped her eyelids open and blinked, realizing she was drifting. Then she squinted. There were birds circling in the sky. Crows, surely, but they were behaving oddly. The black forms were flying in an odd spiral pattern, making a whirlpool of silent black wings. Then she remembered the crows on the drawbridge. Suddenly, she was wide-awake again. “Gawain!”

He stiffened when his gaze followed her pointing finger. “By the saints!”

The sky, which had seemed so beautiful a moment ago, filled with threat. There was no cover of trees this close to the river, leaving them completely exposed.

“The demon isn’t done with us yet,” Gawain growled.

The flock of crows was picking up speed, the shapes blurring into a single slash of black that was approaching faster than any bird should fly.

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