Free Warrior's Last Gift by Melissa Mayhue

her, and turned her face toward Eric. Her nose nestled against the base of his throat and she breathed in his essence.
    How many times had she lain like this, curled into his embrace, sheltered in his arms, awaiting the break of morning when they’d both have to return to their real lives, pretending their night together had never happened?
    Eymer had been right all along.
    No matter how she might fight the truth of it, she loved Eric. She had always loved him. Would always love him. She knew that now. Admitted it to herself. Her feelings for him were so much a part of her that there was no way she could separate them out and pack them away.
    Perhaps this had been Eymer’s purpose in insisting that Eric accompany her. Even from beyond the grave, her husband was determined to prove that he knew best.
    Slowly, she moved her hand up to lay it over Eric’s heart. Beneath her fingers a ragged, racing tattoo beat in his chest.
    She looked up to find him watching her.
    “How long has it been since I last told you how beautiful you are when you first awake?” he asked softly.
    “Too long,” she returned, stretching up to meet the kiss he offered.
    If only it could stay like this. If only real life didn’t dawn with the rising of the sun and turn them back into the enemies they’d become.
    His lips were warm and tender against hers, his tongue insistent in its demands as he rolled her to her back beneath him. His fingers met the demands of her laces as skillfully as a master while she fumbled with his shirt like some inexperienced novice.
    Her shift slipped from first one shoulder and then the other and his mouth covered her eager breast as her heart pounded in her chest until she thought it might break free of her ribs.
    Her body thrummed with a sensitivity born from having waited so very long for this moment.
    His touch was better than the finest liquid she’d ever drunk. Better than the best food she’d ever eaten, even at her hungriest. Even last night.
    “By the saints,” she gasped, remembering that they weren’t alone. “O’Donar!” she hissed.
    Eric stilled. A low, frustrated growl rolled over her skin and a moment later, his head emerged from under the covers, his gaze locking with hers.
    “Bollocks,” he muttered under his breath.
    She bit her bottom lip to stifle the irrational giggle forming in her throat and clutched the fur to her breast as she sat up.
    O’Donar was nowhere to be seen. Neither him, nor his bedroll, nor the massive destrier that had been tied up next to Eric’s horse.
    But O’Donar’s second animal remained behind, contentedly munching on the dry weeds at his feet.
    “He’s gone. Why would he no stay the night in his own camp?”
    “I canna say, but I’m no really surprised,” Eric answered, draping one of their blankets around her shoulders. “He as much as warned us it would be so.”
    “But he left his horse and one of his packs. Surely he intends to return.”
    She couldn’t imagine leaving a valuable animal behind, but it made no sense that he’d pack up his belongings if he only intended to be away from the camp for a short time.
    “A loan, perhaps?” Eric rubbed a hand over his eyes. “He did say something about seeing us again, though my memories are fair muddled after drinking that mead of his.”
    Her memories of the evening were slightly confused, too, as if she’d watched the events from outside their circle rather than actually participating.
    “It was all very strange, do you no agree? If no for the horse, I could almost believe none of this happened.”
    “It happened, true enough.” Eric tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze fixing upon her as his thumb lingered on her cheek. “All of it.”
    “I suppose we should . . . what I mean to say is, do you think we . . .” Her face heated under his stroking touch and she struggled to finish her thought. “Should we prepare to leave early?”
    “No,” he responded, lifting his