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by her belly. She devoured it while watching him move. On the floor beneath his bare feet, a worn rush mat gave the place a cared-for feeling. Her gaze followed his legs up to his strong thighs and the suede breeches that clung to his hips. His shirt, long and loose, did not hide the powerful muscles of his body. Where it hung open at his collar, she saw the bare skin of his chest. Deep inside, her body throbbed its response.
He carried over the steaming bowl. The aroma of melting honey followed, thick in the air. Setting it down on a table beside the bed, he noticed that she was still clutching the covers to her chin. He went away and returned with a shirt, which he indicated she could put on over her torn petticoats. She accepted it gratefully, and when she had slid it over her head, he sat down next to her, on the edge of the bed.
"You must eat more.” He lifted a slice of apple to her mouth.
She hesitated and then accepted it from his fingers, giving a quiet yelp when he touched her lips. Unbidden heat passed between them and then rose in her face. Under the covers, her thighs squeezed together, embarrassment gripping her in the most intimate way.
He smiled.
She munched and swallowed the apple, then reached for the warm honey brew and sipped at it to distract herself from his proximity. He was so handsome, so strong. But, beyond that, he affected her like a fire might and when they touched—oh. It was so uncanny; a powerful charge went from him to her, the like of which she had never felt before.
As she set the dish down, he selected three plump berries and offered them to her. His hands were large and made her ache for the touch of them. He rested the berries between her lips, one at a time, allowing her to eat one before he offered another.
As she swallowed, she met his gaze. She saw the undercurrent of lust in his eyes. She knew she should be complaining, and yet she was unable to deny him this strange ritual. The berries were heavily ripe, dissolving on her tongue, juicy and sweet. She supposed that out here, far from anywhere, there were still some to be had if one knew where to look.
He reached to wipe a smudge of juice from her lips, sending a tremor under her skin.
"Thank you.” Again, heat rose in her cheeks. Everything he did seemed to remind her she was a woman. If he were a man from the village and had roused such delicious and unsettling sensations in her, she might have reconsidered her vow not to handfast to a man. But he wasn't a villager, and whatever he was, he had not been a rescuer after all.
He smiled to himself. “You've been very patient, thank you."
"You must tell me what this is about now, you promised."
He nodded. “Have you ever heard talk of a place called The Strangeling forest?"
"Yes, but what has that to do with me?"
"Listen first,” he said, with a patient smile, “then you can ask as many questions as you like. What do you know of The Strangeling?"
"I hear tell it is a lonely, barren land, at the far side of Edren.” She'd also been told that her grandmother's grandmother had come from The Strangeling, long ago, but she didn't mention that.
"Do you know why it is said to be barren?"
She nodded. “I've heard travelers’ tales of the place. They say that ghosts live there and the land is cursed. I have never seen it, though, nor has any of my family, but when my Mother heard those tales she shook her head and told me it was not always that way, that once, long ago, it was a beautiful place."
"It was, yes. However, there is more to it than ghosts.” He folded his hands, his expression resigned. “It's a cursed land, a place of death."
The way he spoke, with such conviction, made her anxious, but she had to know.
"There was a bloody battle there, almost one hundred years ago. The men that fought each other were evil men, mercenaries. They were thieves and killers, one and all. When they fell, they vowed to return. The dark lords of the underworld feasted on their evil souls and granted them their wishes. They are to return on the anniversary of the battle. That anniversary falls on Samhain, the night that approaches in but three moons."
Despite her sensible nature, she felt chilled by his tale. “Yes, now that you speak of it, I do recall talk of the battle. But what is this to do with me?"
"I must ask you to bear with me a few moments longer, Maerose. It is a complicated tale, but one which we cannot ignore.” He looked very serious. “The warriors who died there will rise from the underworld and wreak havoc upon Edren.” He paused a moment. “The events have been foretold in the elder scrolls. We have been preparing for this for many years."
"Veldor mentioned these scrolls."
He looked unsettled by her remark. “Yes, we studied them together at Western Tor. Did he tell you much?"
"Nothing that made any sense to me,” she retorted.
He seemed pleased at that, smiling to himself. “The events foretold described a young maiden who hails from a nearby village, who has the power to undo the curse and bring new life to The Strangeling. She was said to be a woman born in May, who carries the spirit of summer in her every breath, in her every footstep.” His gaze rested heavily on her.
Sensing where his tale was leading, she shook her head and gave a dismissive laugh. “No, this has nothing to do with me."
"Maerose, you are she."
"No.” She shook her head emphatically, growing alarmed. “It cannot be true. It must be someone else that you speak of.” She moved to get out of the bed, pushing the covers down. He stood, but blocked her path. She got up, wavering unsteadily, and attempted to push past him.
