The Warrior's Princess Bride. Meriel Fuller

onwards into the cover of the trees.

      ‘Just stay here,’ he ordered. His broad palm slid along her back, down her arm, igniting a line of fire around her waist, her hips. Tavia captured his hand, feeling the rough scar of his palm against her own, staying him. The warmth, the vitality of his fingers sparked through her veins.

      ‘Let me fetch my crossbow,’ she urged, her eyes huge orbs of diamond in the gloom. ‘I might be of some use.’

      ‘There’s not above a few.’ He glanced at the pale oval of her face, gossamer white in the rays of moonlight filtering through the branches. ‘We’ll finish them quickly if they attack. Mayhap they’ll just pass by.’