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heart pounded at the prospect of finally making his acquaintance.
    Patting her hair, wiping the sleep out of her eyes, she brushed her wrinkled skirts smooth and somehow recovered her usual air of serenity before she stepped outside.
    She glanced around. No sign of him. She spotted Silvertwig tending the garden and lifted her hands in an inquiring gesture. Where is he?
    The fairy pointed toward the waterfall.
    Oh, that makes sense. Wrynne swept back inside and grabbed a couple of clean towels for him, along with her basket of homemade soap and lotions and such, then she went back out and started down the mossy woodland stairs.
    But she went motionless when she saw him standing under the cascade, his sleek, muscled body gleaming wet…
    A shiver ran through her, and she bit her lip as a wave of stupid, girlish infatuation ran through her. She steeled her resolve.
    He was her patient. She shouldn’t look at him like that.
    But he’s Thaydor Clarenbeld. He’s gorgeous. He’s famous. And important. A hero. And he’s, well…
    Stark naked.
    Then all rational thought danced away from her when she noticed the man’s unmistakable joy upon finding himself alive.
    Arms flung open wide, his face thrown back to the water, he welcomed the cascade tumbling over him, the rejuvenating spray of the water splitting over stones and misting him from all directions, falling in foaming circles around his lean waist.
    She knew exactly how that felt, having done the same thing many times herself. And his simple, wordless exultation filled her with emotions she could not explain.
    Wrynne’s flustered gaze softened, seeing him like that. Her initial awe at the sheer might and heart-stopping beauty of his honed warrior’s body turned to something deeper. She felt such a kinship to this man.
    After that, it was not difficult anymore to go down to him. If Thaydor wasn’t going to be embarrassed of the Creator’s fine handiwork in making him, neither would she. Besides, the pool was up to his waist, providing him with at least some modesty. She continued down the steps.
    Moving out of the main gushing current to the edge where the water flow was lighter, Thaydor turned and saw her coming. He stepped out of the pounding waterfall, hurriedly wiping water off his handsome face, then pushed back his blond hair with both hands.
    Wrynne gulped at the play of chiseled muscles rippling down his chest and abdomen with the careless motion.
    “Good morning!” he called.
    Would you please act normal? she begged herself, smiling, and trying to hide her breathless excitement at having the Golden Knight as her guest.
    “Sir Thaydor,” she answered graciously, speaking in a loud voice to be heard over the rushing waters. “How are you feeling?”
    “Wonderful, thanks to you!” He dove underwater; she watched him come swimming toward her with long, leisurely strokes as she walked over and knelt down on the sun-warmed stones around the edge of the pool.
    Surfacing, he flung water out of his eyes, and rested his elbows on the stone ledge beside her. “So, tell me, lady. To whom do I owe my thanks?”
    His blue eyes mesmerized her.
    “To Ilios, of course,” she remembered to reply after a second of vacant staring.
    “And?” he prompted. “What is your name, if it’s not too much to ask?”
    “Wrynne. Wrynne du Mere, o-of the Daughters of the Rose. But that part you already know.”
    “My lady, I owe you my life. I am in your debt forever.” He captured her fingers in his strong, damp hand and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles, his cobalt eyes blazing with utter sincerity.
    As he held her gaze, she could have fallen right into those earnest sapphire pools. Indeed, she was rather sure the very heavens stood still.
    She blinked herself out of her daze as a blush crept into her cheeks. “No debt. Don’t be silly. Y-you don’t owe me anything.”
    Withdrawing her hand from his gentle grasp, she strove to lighten the unnerving mood of his