Dream of Me/Believe in Me

discover that the loose boy's clothing concealed a body of strong, flowing curves. Firmly putting that discovery from his mind as best he could, he carefully slid his hands beneath the tunic and, ignoring the odd tremblingthat inexplicably struck him, confirmed that her ribs were also intact.
    With a deep breath, the first in several moments, he drew back and regarded her cautiously. Her only injury seemed to be the blow to her head. She might recover from that completely … or she might never wake and simply slip away into eternal sleep. He had seen both happen with men similarly struck down. Only time would tell.
    Fortunately for Dragon's peace of mind, before he could do much more than begin to consider how he might get her to a place of greater comfort and safety, the girl moaned softly. Thinking perhaps he had imagined the sound, indeed had merely willed it into being, he leaned closer and closer still until the soft exhalation of her breath brushed his bearded cheek. His gaze focused on her intently, he watched as her eyes slowly fluttered open.
    H ER HEAD HURT. RYCCA WINCED BUT HER INSTINCT was to move, to get up, to get away even if she couldn't quite remember what she was fleeing from. She tried to rise only to be pressed gently back onto the sand.
    “Easy, sweetling. You had a bad fall. There are no bones broken but you need to take it slowly.”
    The voice was a deep rumble, soothing, seductive and … all too familiar.
Him.
He had done this to her, chased her down, driven her right off the edge of the cliff. He'd damn near killed her and now he thought her helpless, prey no doubt to whatever it was he had in mind.
    He had a nasty surprise awaiting him.
    But not, unfortunately, until her head stopped spinning. With a frustrated moan, Rycca subsided. Dragon took the sound to mean she was suffering and bent over her in concern.
    “Does something hurt besides your head? I checked and you seem to be all right but I could be wrong.”
    He had checked. What did that mean? She stared directly into his eyes, which looked like ancient gold suddenly revealed to sunlight. Worse, his voice rippled through her, setting off odd little shivers at the same time as it made her feel strangely content.
    His hand touched her brow very lightly. She scarcely noticed, so absorbed was she in his look of tender concern. Not that she was fooled by that for a moment. She knew warriors, had lived among them all her life. They were rough, crude men who took what they wanted with no thought but the satisfaction of their own urges. To have fallen from the heady heights of freedom into the very hands of such a man was worse even than falling from the cliff. That, at least, she had survived.
    Long experience had taught her the terrible folly of ever showing fear or doubt. Accordingly, she met the warrior's gaze squarely, ignored the strange fluttering of her heart, and snarled, “Get away from me.”
    Dragon sighed. He didn't blame her in the least for being angry with him; she had every right to feel that way. What he regretted was his inability to do as she wanted. “I'm sorry,” he said sincerely, “but I cannot. You've been hurt and you need help.”
    Truth.
    No, it couldn't be. Men didn't apologize, at least not to women. Nor did they extend themselves to help someone unless they expected something in return. The candor and compassion she felt in him had to be false. And that prompted a sudden thought: The tumble down the cliff might have done something to her strange, unwanted gift. Perhaps she no longer had any greater ability to tell truth from lie than did any other person. For that, she would fall down a dozen cliffs.
    Yet was there still the tantalizing possibility that the warrior meant exactly what he had said. She eyed him cautiously. “I need no help. Let me up and I will be on my way.”
    Patiently, he shook his head. “It is not safe for a woman to be traveling on her own.”
    “I was perfectly safe until you crossed my path.”
    “Well may you see it that way, but if I hadn't come along, someone else would have and you could be in great difficulty right now.”
    If she hadn't known it would hurt, she might have laughed. As it was, she had to content herself with a grimace. “Oh, you mean I could have been chased over a cliff?”
    The warrior reddened, not with anger, which she would have understood in response to her derision, but with what looked very much like regret.
    “I thought you were a boy in need of