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his words slurring. “Do what you must.”

    Drowsy and disoriented, Meg awoke to a familiar darkness and unfamiliar surroundings. Caution froze her limbs like the earth in midwinter. It may as well have been winter for the chill permeating her body. The moist cool of an autumn night crawled through her clothes, which were still clammy from the river.
    Only a few feet away in the crude shelter, Will Scarlet lay still. His even breathing rasped. He moaned from beyond the veil of sleep, a sound like laughter compared to his agonized cry at the first touch of lye. But he had endured, even steadying his right hand to help aim the neutralizing vinegar.
    That he promptly collapsed into unconsciousness had not surprised her. That she was relieved at the end of his suffering had.
    But her concern was born of necessity, nothing more. She needed his eyes.
    She rubbed her hands together, working to banish the cold numbness, and crawled to his side. Gently, she skimmed shivering fingertips along the dressing. Sticky blood soaked the fabric, but none of it felt fresh. She would wait until he awakened before changing the bandage.
    If he awakens.
    Through the perpetual black, she found his forehead and slid her hand to the base of his skull. While he did not burn with the blistering vigor of a body gripped by fever, his skin pulsed with heat. He did not sweat or shiver—although, as the cold bored into her bones, she would not have begrudged him the latter.
    Despite having appeased her concern for his well-being, she lingered. Her hands still cupped the back of his neck, fingers woven down to his scalp. Had she been able to see, she would have been acquainted with his appearance for hours. But she knew only impressions formed by his words and mannerisms. Curiosity urged a brief exploration.
    She lightly mapped the contours of his face. Above sloping cheekbones, closely set eyes crowned by thin, arched brows created the impression of a wolfish look. Scant wrinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. Lines drawn from his straight nose wrapped around firm lips that kindled dark imaginings.
    He’s beautiful.
    If not for Will Scarlet, none of the day’s horrors would have happened. She would be at home, safe, as would Ada. She should hate him for reasons of prudence alone. But he had saved her life. Twice. And the more she discovered, the more she wanted to know. Hunger compelled her, the elemental yearning for human contact—a contact long denied her.
    She smoothed her hands along his strong jaw to the hollow at the base of his neck. Stubble scored the pads of her fingers. She shivered. Like an explorer, she found the muscled cap of his good shoulder, the firm resilience of his bare chest, and the flat, taut wall of his abdomen. The lightest dusting of curled hair tickled her sensitive skin.
    A restless ache pressed against her lungs, flowed between her thighs. The call of desire. Her body responded to its insistent push, urging her closer to the man lying defenseless before her. The feel of him—polished and hard like a gemstone, warm like a beckoning fire—tempted her with the thrill of knowing more.
    Long accustomed to drawing from her other senses, she found no satisfaction in mere touching. She inhaled the masculine power of him, her nose mere inches from his naked skin. The river had not completely cleansed the primal tang of blood, metal, and sweat, but she reveled in the heady scent. Fascination washed across her like a waterfall, drowning her in a bright, hot world of sensation.
    Bracing her hands on either side of his torso, she parted her lips, breathing against his bare flesh, hoping each draw of air would satisfy her strong and desperate impulses. She damned herself for the lonely, desolate creature she had become, but no measure of damnation, no press of fear, could dissuade her. Fear, in fact, mingled with the power to determine every move, urging her on. She wanted to search and push and be the bold one.
    That she