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It simply made him tired.
The way Senna looked at him, though, made him feel wide awake. Alive. Engaged. Met and seen.
She did, indeed, fit so well into every hidden corner of his heart. Even the ones he hadn’t known were there.
She moved against him then, her rounded bottom cool as it slid across the top of his thighs. She swung a leg over his, straddling him.
His hand tightened around her hips. “I thought ye were sore.”
“I am. But more, I am this.” She shifted her hips and with him not guiding at all, she maneuvered just right for the tip of him to slip into her waiting heat.
“I am this as well,” he murmured. She smiled and kissed his forehead. He kissed her chin. She kissed his nose. He nuzzled her neck.
For a few moments they moved together, holding each other, slow. He cupped her breast, kissing, slow again and more slow. It was a loving slow, languid and attentive, one hand on her curving spine, one on her breast, then tangled in her hair, his gaze intent on her face, her eyes half-closed, all in him and open to him, and it was beyond good.
Then she leaned down to kiss him and opened her eyes fully. Her face washed white.
That’s when he heard them.
Soldiers. Marching. An army.
Her legs tensed, but otherwise they were motionless. A rider shouted to another. Someone was coming into the clearing.
“Scouts,” Finian whispered into her hair, which was shivering, because her body was trembling. Minute vibrations of terror. He knotted handfuls of her hair in his fist and pulled her close to his face. Their lips brushed.
“Silence.”
The riders trotted into the clearing. The only sound was their horses’ hooves on the loamy ground. It sounded like hammer blows on old, rotting wood. An occasional clink of metal on metal, and the ever-present groan of leather. Saddles, pouch ties, armor, everything creaked like old doors.
“Nope, ’tis better down in the valley,” one said. “There’s water close, and a few village houses we can commandeer.”
His companions reined around. “This ridge has a better vantage point.”
The three of them lined their horses up and stared at the lands below. Almost right under the tree. They were off to the side enough so that Finian could see them. So that they could see Finian, should they glance up.
For the first time, he felt regretful that Senna’s hair was so dazzling.
Muscles frozen, lungs barely expanding, they sat and waited. Finian’s thigh muscles began to ache as he held them, knees half bent, Senna sitting astride him. He could feel her inner thighs, trembling ever so slightly against his. Her knees were pressed onto the wood, holding her in a half-risen position. Their faces were close together, lips almost touching, Finian’s hand still fisted in her hair.
“My knife,” she whispered against his lips, “is just by your right hand.”
Their eyes, inches apart, met. He nodded slightly.
For another few minutes, all was motionless. Even the soldiers. Then their horses shifted, pawing, pulling their necks to get at the grass under their hooves, but otherwise moonlight was the loudest thing about.
“C’mon,” muttered one suddenly. “The river is better, sheltered.”
The others agreed, and they attempted to convince the sole holdout, the one with the chestnut
mount who seemed skeptical and must be their leader.
“I dunno. ’Tis a rare view, up here,” he said reluctantly.
“Whadda we need a view for?” one of the others scoffed. “Think you’re gonna spot bleeding O’Melaghlin on the horizon?”
They busted up at that.
“And his whore.”
