What are the two of you whispering about?” Alaric demanded irritably. She glanced over to see the warrior watching her, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “If I wanted you to know, I’d have spoken louder,” she said calmly. He turned away muttering what she was sure were more blasphemies about annoying females. “You must make the priest weary with the length of your confessions,” she said. He raised one eyebrow. “Who says I confess anything?

I'm getting the impression that women, in any form, scare you." He shrugged. "They're the more violent species. And unpredictable. I'd rather take on a wild boar. You can't shoot women.

Never run out on me again. No matter what happens, you stay and fight. Yell at me, argue, throw something at me, whatever you want to do, but never walk away from me. Promise me that.

Fantasies were safe. It was a break from reality. A chance to act on desires for a short period of time.

There were worse things than death, as she'd discovered. Sometimes living took far more courage. Facing another day. Enduring. Those things took strength. Far more than dying.

I want babies too," he said huskily. "Daughters as beautiful as you are.

She laid her head against his collarbone, and he kissed her temple. To her shock, she felt a shudder roll through his body about the same time she registered wetness against her skin. Tears. His tears. She started to turn around, but he tightened his grip. “Stay,” he said in a choked voice. “Just let me hold you, baby. Just let me hold you.