Warcry

no modesty.
    “Of course, shy city-dweller.” Rafe gave him a glance and smirked. “But there is only one you would chase into the pool, eh?”
    Heath ignored the jab.
    Prest lifted his head. Heath followed his look.
    There on the road, just coming over a small rise, was a woman walking between two mounted guards. A very pregnant woman, dressed in white, walking slowly.
    Even at this distance, Heath could see Lara’s smile light up her face when she spotted them. He smiled in return. She was one of the reasons that he had left his family, his position, and his land.
    They’d been friends since childhood, laughing and running about the castle’s gardens for as long as Heath could remember. Most people thought they were twins, since they’d both had brown curls and blue eyes.
    They’d never tired of the surprised look on people’s faces when they learned the truth.
    Heath was the son of Othur, Seneschal of the Castle of Water’s Fall, and Anna, the palace cook.
    Lara was Xylara, daughter of King Xyron, a Daughter of the Blood. And now, Queen of Xy, returning to give birth to the heir to the throne in the Castle of Water’s Fall.
    Lara raised a hand in greeting and looked back over her shoulder. Behind her rode Keir of the Cat and his warriors. Keir was the Warlord of the Plains, the feared Firelander who had invaded Xy, defeated its armies, and then claimed Xylara as his warprize. A man feared for his skill as warrior and warlord.
    Keir of the Cat, Warlord of the Plains, Overlord of Xy was scowling at his warprize.
    Xylara, Queen of Xy, Warprize of the Plains, was blithely ignoring him.
    “The Warlord looks none too pleased,” Rafe said, getting to his feet.
    Prest nodded and started to gather up his armor and weapons.
    Heath followed suit. “That’s not a surprise. Lara says that pregnant women need to walk once in a while. It’s not healthy for her to ride in Keir’s arms all day.”
    “Tell that to the Warlord,” Rafe said.
    “Only if his token is in my hand,” Heath said.
    “And you’re out of reach of his blades,” Rafe added.
    Heath grinned and loaded his horse. He felt sorry for the Warlord, truth be told. Lara was like a sister to Heath, or as those of the Plains said, she was “of the same tribe and tent.” But Heath knew full well that while Lara was kindhearted and gentle, there was a core of steel under that smile.
    Once he’d checked his packs and belted on his sword and dagger, Heath turned back to watch them approach. The Warlord was not traveling with an army this time. The Council of Elders had stripped him of his position, blaming Keir for the deaths at the hands of the plague. But those that remained loyal traveled with him still and refused to drop his title.
    There were only about thirty warriors in their group, and only one that Heath was concerned about. He scanned them all, trying not to be too obvious, looking for a certain golden-blond head. But there was no sign of her.
    “So, what do you think?” Rafe asked, hanging his waterskin from his saddle. “Will it be a short nap, or do you think he can convince her to stop for the day?”
    Heath glanced at the westering sun. “This place would make a good overnight camp. I’d guess overnight.”
    “Not up to us,” Prest rumbled.
    “True enough,” Rafe said.
    Prest nudged Heath’s arm. “There,” he said, nodding to the left.
    Three riders emerged from the woods carrying the spoils of their hunt. She was there, in the center, a fat buck behind her. Sitting tall and proud, her blond hair gleaming in the light.
    God of the Sun, she was beautiful. Even at this distance, he desired her.
    Her head turned as if she sensed him, and he felt the heat of her gaze. His body tightened with need and desire. But she turned her head away, urging her horse on, and the moment was gone. She and the others galloped toward the Warlord.
    “Fresh meat,” Rafe said with satisfaction. “That means an overnight camp, with any luck.”
    Heath just stood there as Rafe and Prest started to lead their horses forward. His attention was focused elsewhere.
    He knew the truth, even if he wouldn’t admit it to others. He knew full well that he had told all and sundry that he left Xy and journeyed to the Plains to aid Lara. And that was true, in part. But the real reason he had left?
    That lovely, blond, frustratingly stubborn woman warrior.
    Atira of the Bear.

CHAPTER 2
     
    ATIRA FELT HEATH’S GAZE LIKE A BLAZE OF FIRE over her skin.
    The