Ansel's hand tightened on his sword. "Itold yetae leave!" he snarled, furious at the way his heart was thrumming in his chest. He had fought so hard to stop feeling, and it was crumbling around him just by her presence. "Get out! Go!"
"Ye serve him, but ye must ken it's a fool's game," she insisted. "Kill me if ye want, but what then? Cailean is comin'. The rebel army will soon eclipse the remnants of Ashkirk support. Ye must ken there's nae way that ye can win."
"Win?" Ansel laughed bitterly. "Who said anythin' aboutwinnin'? I dinnae have a choice. I said I'll serve me father, and I will. And when I'm finally cut down, maybe it'll be a mercy for all of us."
She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Ye're wrong. It isnae too late. Ye can still come with me. Leave withme, right now. It will take a lot of work, but the rebels will warm tae ye, just as the did tae Nessa. They ken how tae forgive."
"Forgive." Ansel laughed again, this time with more darkness swirling in. He gripped his sword and moved closer. "I'm long beyond forgiveness, Neala. They'd kill me the moment they saw me, and they'd be right."
"I'd protect ye," she insisted, though for the first time, her voice shook. "I am the true McNair princess, the only woman left in the line they're fightin' so hard tae restore. If I vouch for ye, they'll listen to me."
There was a sudden crashing sound outside, but Ansel barely paid attention. Noise was barely anything new at the war camp. No doubt, another battle had begun.
He closed the gap between them and raised his sword, pointing it to her neck. "Bein' the McNair princess does ye nae good in Ashkirk land. I ken yer blood is true, but that will only make me father's men more eager tae spill it. And despite what ye seem tae want, Iamone of me father's men. That's all I've ever been."
For the first time, fear flickered in her eyes, but she looked up at him with defiance in her stance. She swallowed, her throat moving dangerously close to the point of his sword. "Do it, then," she said. Outside, there was shouting and the sound of footsteps running away from the tent. "Do it, and call yer men tae see me body. Do it, and prove tae yer father that ye truly do follow him—prove tae yerself ye're nae just his prisoner."
The next beat of their hearts seemed to last an eternity, and Ansel didn't even breathe. He stared at her for a lifetime, lost in her eyes, drowning in her voice.
Then he cursed and shook his head. "Damn ye, woman," he snarled. "Ye should have stayed away."
He gripped his sword tighter, and Neala closed her eyes.
Then he threw the weapon aside. As it bounced off the woven carpet with a muffled clang, Ansel grabbed Neala's face roughly between his hands and pulled her close, pressing his lips hard against hers.
18
Neala leaned into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed, the gasp rising in her throat escaping through her lips and mingling with his breath. She melted against Ansel, her senses ablaze. Her skin sparked under the rough grip of his hands contrasting with the intoxicating softness of his lips. She leaned her hands against his hard chest, a token attempt to protest that failed when her fingers curled around the thin material of his leine and pulled him closer.
Ansel grunted and pulled away from the kiss, dropping his fingers from her face and staggering back a few steps. His heaving chest strained at his thin undergarment, and she saw that the kiss had stirred his body, awakening his manhood in a way that was impossible to miss. A deep flush traveled from Neala's head to her toes, hot and tight and delicious. Had she really caused such a physical reaction in him? Her body pulsed at the thought, urging her forward.
"All these months apart," Ansel growled, staring at her like a wary hunter might view a lioness. "All these months, I've tried tae forget ye. All these months, I thought I could put ye behind me."
"I knew I couldnae forgetye," Neala replied. Her heart hammered so hard she felt it might burst from her chest as she tentatively moved toward him once more. "The moment ye touched me hand when we played chess, I was lost. Ye told me when ye freed me that I had intoxicated ye, Ansel, but it was nothin'—nothin'—compared tae how ye've taken over me every breath."
Ansel's eyes flicked briefly to her face before traveling down her body. He swallowed as his gaze took her in. She moved closer, and he did not back away. "I let ye go so ye wouldnae be lost," he said after a moment. "Dinnae ye understand? I let ye go so ye could be free."
Neala reached him and tentatively reached up to touch his face. He closed his eyes and stood still as her finger traced the scar on his jaw. "Iamfree," she replied. "Because of ye."
"Neala," he whispered. He opened his eyes and leaned closer, and his hand moved to her waist. "Is this real?"
"And ye're right," Neala went on. "Lost was the wrong word. I've spent me whole life lost—until I met ye, and everythin' changed." She saw that her hand was trembling, but she didn't bother trying to hide it now. Instead, she let go of him and moved her hand to her cloak. Her eyes did not leave his as she undid the tie and let it fall to the ground, leaving her in her dress before him.
Ansel swallowed. His fingers tightened on her waist, and something burned in his strange green eyes. "There's still time tae leave."
She did not break eye contact. "I'm nae lost anymore, Ansel. But I think ye are. Will ye let me find ye?"
He pulled her close with a yank that made her gasp. Ansel lowered his head to the crook of her neck. Neala gasped at the sensation as his lips and teeth and tongue explored the sensitive spot, and she tilted her head to the side, gripping his armsfor support. His kisses and nibbles trailed up her neck, and he caught her earlobe before whispering to her. "Ye may nae like what ye find," he breathed.
In response, Neala turned her head and caught his lips in hers once more. Something snapped between them, and with a sound that was half groan, half wild growl, Ansel grabbed Neala around the waist and lifted her, his tongue exploring her mouth, his hands cupping under her buttocks. She shivered at the touch and let her instincts take over, wrapping her legs around him and whimpering slightly as she felt his hardness press against her through an impossibly thin layer of clothing. Her arms tangled around his neck, her fingers getting lost in his hair, the kiss and the feeling of his body all that was left in the world.
Ansel did not even stumble as he carried her across the tent, and Neala was so engrossed in the taste of him that she did not even realize where they'd moved until she landed with a gasp on her back against the bed, cold from the end of the kiss. Her legs hung off the end. Breathing heavily, her breasts suddenly feeling too constricted by her bodice, she stared as Ansel stood before her, his face more intense than she'd seen it even in wartime.
"Do ye even ken the power ye have?" he asked. "Can I make ye feel even a fraction of the way ye bespell me?"
Suddenly, he knelt, disappearing from her view. Neala scrambled up on her elbows to see, and then a jolt flooded through her body. He removed her shoes and winter stockings, then his hands rested against her bare ankles. She stared at the top of his head, her body throbbing with need, confusion and anticipation thrumming through her with every beat of her heart.
"Ansel," she whispered.
