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took Deian’s shoulder, aiming him toward care of his horse. “Not by a single woman, they don’t. They have armies, armies of men.”
    Seonaid took Deian’s other shoulder. “You must be thirstin’. Take your mount down and both of you get some water.” At Padraig’s strangled glare, she told him. “He’s my son, not yours. He does what I ask, not you.”
    “And if we run into danger, you both better listen to me!”
    “No,” Seonaid squared on him. “This is my adventure. You best be listening to me.” And she stormed off down to the water, leaving him to flounder in his own temper.

CHAPTER 5  ~  BOGGY PLACES
     
    Water seeped up through her pallet, but she’d not complain. Padraig suggested they go up another rise but she’d been up enough rises to refuse.
    “We’re fine here,” she’d snapped, and he hadn’t argued. Bully for him. Let him get wet through as well. Too late to change anything now.
    She shivered. Turned to see Deian sleeping soundly, warmed by the fire they’d made beneath an outcropping of rock that formed as near as a cave as they could find. Deian between stone and the fire. To the left of him and across from her, Padraig. They formed a triangle, with her at the lowest point. She’d insisted, certain that, should Deian wake in the night, he’d head downhill.
    Padraig took the first watch, her turn now. Just as well, she’d not sleep anyway.
    Rising from where she sat on her thoroughly damp bed, she crossed to the fire. The rocks Padraig lined it with were still warm. Hopefully, with some readjusting, she could get her own bedding dry. Despite being as quiet as possible, she turned to see Padraig watching her.
    Damn him for knowing what he was talking about. For befriending her son. She wanted her son to herself, for a change. Needed to build that bond.
    And she’d wanted Padraig’s friendship for herself, horrid, foolish woman that she was.
    Lord knows Deian needed more masculine influence than he’d had, being raised in a household of women. Except she wasn’t much of a woman, taking the role of the man, protector, seeing to the farm while her friends raised her son.
    “Are you moving it or beating it?” Padraig asked, nodding toward the bedding she fought to adjust around the remains of the fire.
    As far as sarcasm went, it was mild enough. No reason for her to react as she did, but on the cusp of a sleepless night, and busy as she was feeling sorry for herself, his words burned like a poker to a bruise. She sniffed against emotion, swallowed a hiccupping sob once, twice, before they broke through.
    Out of his bedding at the first sound of tears, Padraig pulled her into his arms. She tried to stop him, waved her hands at his approach, pushed ineffectively at his massive shoulders.
    She tried, so glad when he didn’t relent. When he held her against his warmth, cradled her head in his hand. All warm, solid man, holding her like a cherished child, rocking her, shushing her, swallowing her up in his embrace as he’d done after the attack, when she fought to control her tears.
    Not now, on this dark, wet night. She let them fly.
    How long had it been since anyone cared? She sobbed for the gentleness. Bereft of all the lost, lonely years. Sobbed harder for the chance to ease, to feel the tender stroke along her back, the soft kisses to the crown of her head, the curve of her cheek.
    Tears fell like rain, watered a blossom hidden deep within. Heat steamed, petals unfolded, revealing an unfamiliar, reckless want, fierce enough to wipe out fear or sorrow or loneliness.
    She wanted him.
    Her hunger voracious beyond his gentle touches.
    She cupped his face with her hands, lifted her lips, pressed them to his. He stilled, but she would not let him, took advantage of his wariness to press him back onto the ground as she tried, in all her naiveté, to ignite his passion.
    Her strength no match for his.
    With one roll, he had her flat on her back, raised himself over her.
    “Do