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Eros
himself... made to be pleasured... and to pleasure in return.
    It stirred the imagination, hardened his
loins.
    Christ and be damned, as jaded as he’d
become, his body’s response to the woman surprised him—pleasantly,
as it had been much too long since something so simple as a glance
at beauty had roused his lust—a misfortune of his upbringing, no
doubt.
    Growing up as the whore’s son had definitely
had its downfalls. It was a label that had found him feeding his
high-minded peers a mouthful of his fist more oft than not. And
yet, he’d certainly relished some of the inherent benefits,
shameless libertine that he was.
    Like mother, like son, they’d claimed.
    And so he was.
    And he hadn’t had the right to take offense.
It was certainly true enough; he loved women, as his mother had
loved men. And there didn’t seem to be any point in denying the
obvious. At least he knew that much about himself. It was precisely
the reason he’d not pursued the life of a celibate, for while the
pursuit of knowledge and reason had been his mind’s greatest
desire, his body was innately weak to the pleasures of the
flesh.
    And yet it had been a long time since he’d
taken simple pleasure in any woman.
    That he lamented.
    Though not as much as he regretted the
course his life had taken—resorting to brute force for gain. It
befouled his personal philosophy despite that it had been the way
of his life since the moment of his birth. He’d gained naught,
accomplished naught, save through the might of his arm.
    That he’d clung to his erudite ideals so
long was a matter of stubborn pride. Though his conventions negated
his convictions, he still believed the mind was more powerful a
tool than the body—knowledge more effectual than mere brute
strength. His body might fail him, but his mind would see him
through. However, if the mind failed... well, then... what good was
a body of any sort?
    Though—God’s truth—a body
such as the one she possessed was certainly rewarding no matter what the state of
her mind.
    He took a deep breath, and cast a glance at
Baldwin to find that his friend and confidant was just as entranced
by the woman as he had been, and he frowned at the discovery. It
provoked him. Not immensely, but enough that he could not deny
it.
    “ God’s teeth!” Baldwin
whistled low. “She’s exquisite!”
    Lyon said nothing, merely watched the
woman’s approach with growing interest. It was only belatedly that
he realized she wasn’t precisely alone.
    “ Lyon,” Baldwin began, his
attention to detail scarcely more timely than Lyon’s own, “she has
a lamb with her. What do you suppose she’s doing with a
lamb?”
    Lyon’s frown deepened as he watched the
animal tangle its lead rope about the woman’s legs.
    “ And she’s coming from our
direction,” Baldwin felt compelled to point out again.
    Lyon reconsidered that particular fact as
woman and animal made their way toward them.
    “ What do you suppose it
means?”
    It was rather self-evident, Lyon
thought.
    Then again, much that was apparent was also
misleading, especially in these parts.
    The lamb lagged behind, and the woman slowed
to allow it to catch up. It meandered about to her other side,
tangling the lead rope further about her long, lean limbs.
    She didn’t seem to notice.
    “ And she’s talking to
herself,” Baldwin added. “Do you hear?”
    “ Nay.” Lyon cast a
narrow-eyed glance down at Baldwin’s back. He refrained from
pointing out that he could scarcely even think over Baldwin’s
prattle. How could he possibly hear the wench?
    “ Do you think she’s daft?”
Baldwin persisted.
    It was certainly a possibility, but Lyon
hoped not. He hoped she was as quick-witted as she was beautiful.
Anything less would dull his interest, and he didn’t particularly
wish it to be dulled.
    “ Baldwin,” Lyon
whispered.
    Baldwin peered up at him, murmuring in
return, “What, Lyon?”
    “ Shut up.”
    Baldwin smiled sheepishly and