"I know he wants you, which no other man does," Severn snapped.
It was true, all so painfully true, she thought. Only one man desired her, and he was her family's sworn enemy. She pushed past Severn, jerking from him when he tried to hold her, and left the tent. As soon as she was outside she started running, and she didn't stop until she reached the stream.
She sat down on the bank, put her head on her arms, and began to cry. Why couldn't life be simple for her as it seemed to be for everyone else? Of course, other people seemed to be sure whether they were male or female.
She didn't know how long she sat there crying as quietly as possible, but the moon rose, and still she stayed there.
At one point, when she wiped her nose on her sleeve, she jumped to see the Howard man next to her. "Have you no work to do?" she snapped.
He stretched out on the bank beside her. "Nay, I have none. I am of the worthless Howards, do you not remember?"
Zared looked at him. Severn said the man desired her, she thought.
"I remember how your brother took Rogan's first wife, Jeanne, and later he took Liana."
"You could have been no more than a babe," he said. "How could you remember Jeanne? She is the best there is about Oliver."
Zared looked at the moonlight on the water. "Liana speaks highly of her." Her voice lowered. "Does she love your brother Oliver very much?" Zared had never told anyone before, but the story of Rogan's first wife fascinated her. Her oldest brothers had chosen Rogan as the one to take a wife because they needed the dowry a wife would bring. Rogan had married a young woman named Jeanne, but mere months after the marriage Oliver Howard had taken her prisoner.
The Peregrine men had fought long and hard for the return of Rogan's wife—so hard that two of their brothers had been killed. It was after their deaths that the Peregrines found out that the captive Jeanne had fallen in love with Oliver Howard and was carrying his child.
A child herself then, Zared only remembered the quiet rage of her three remaining brothers. Her parents and her brother William had died the year before, and Zared remembered being afraid that one by one her brothers would leave her.
"I believe that Jeanne loved him once," Tearle said, bringing her back to the present. "But I am not so sure now. My brother is bitter at having no sons to pass his wealth to."
"Rogan has a son," she said, smiling in memory of the baby with red-gold curls.
He didn't say anything for a moment, then, very softly, he said, "Why do you cry? Why do you weep in your sleep and now, here, alone, as well?"
Zared was on her feet instantly and starting back to the camp. But he came to his feet quickly and caught her by the shoulders. "Release me or I will make you regret your hold of me."
"Oh?" he said, smiling at her. "Will you draw a knife on me again? Will you call for your beloved Colbrand?"
"He is not my—" she began, then she wrenched away from him and took a step forward before he caught her again.
"So this is why you cry? Did he ignore you? Did you again make a fool of yourself before him? Did he again fail to recognize you as female?"
She tried to twist away from him, but he wouldn't release his grip, and after a moment she stopped struggling. "What do you want of me?" she hissed at him. "Why do you not go and leave me to myself? Are there no other women to interest you? We are enemies! Do you not understand that? Since you cannot conquer us in battle, do you mean to conquer us with your pretense of friendship?"
Her eyes were blazing, and he was so close to her. "Nay, I do not want friendship," he said in a husky whisper before drawing her into his arms.
At first she struggled against his lips touching hers. She pushed against him, tried to turn her head away, but his hand held the back of her head, and she could not move away. Realizing that it was no use fighting him, she allowed her body to go limp, thinking that as soon as he lightened his grip she would escape him.
But when she stopped struggling the oddest thing happened. He loosened the hold on her head, and his lips on hers softened, and the feeling was… was something Zared had never felt before.
She just stood there, her eyes wide open, as he kissed her, and she could feel her body growing warmer by the second. He used his hand to turn her head sideways. Zared felt her body being pulled against his, and it was as though she melted into him, her head going against his thick, hard shoulder.
His lips opened over hers, tempting her into opening them. She closed her eyes and leaned ag
ainst him as his body covered hers, and she felt as though she were drowning. He moved his lips off of hers to kiss her cheeks, her temple, her neck, moving down to her throat.
Zared leaned against him, her body a mass of sensations. Her life had been entirely without affection. To be touched so gently, to be held, to be kissed was almost more than she could bear.
Tearle leaned back from her and looked at her in his arms. She was leaning on him fully. If he released her she would no doubt fall to the ground. No woman had ever put herself into his care so completely. He touched her hair, smoothed it back from her temple. When she loved a man, she was going to love him with all her being—and he meant to be that man.
"My name is Tearle," he whispered as he kissed her forehead, and the old name, meaning one who is without tears, sounded like a caress.
"Tearle," she whispered against his neck.