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“I can’t believe we’re out of there. I can’t believe I’m alive.” She looked back, but the dark forest behind them was quiet.

Owen threw an amused glance at her. “Ye’ve never ridden a horse, have ye?”

She bit her upper lip. “Nope. In the future, most people don’t.”

“Why didna ye say anything?”

“I didn’t want to slow us down.”

“Ye dinna lack courage, lass.”

Amber chuckled. His compliment spread through her veins like warm honey, but a voice deep inside her reminded her he was wrong. If she really had courage, she would have chosen to stay and face Major Jackson and the charges against her. She’d have looked for ways to prove her innocence and to put him behind bars for murder and drug smuggling. But the system had let her down, and she didn’t have any faith in it.

“I wish you were right,” she said. “Unfortunately, all I’ve been doing recently is running away. Nothing courageous about that.”

“Sometimes ’tis all ye can do.”

She gave a sound of acknowledgment. He was right, of course. Why was he suddenly so wise?

When they reached the village, it was quiet and dark. The shutters on the windows of the thatched-roof houses were closed. Horses’ hooves thumped softly against the dirt road. Cowsheds and chicken pens stood here and there. They passed by a blacksmith’s workshop, a shoemaker… Amber scanned the medieval village with a tightness in her gut, her senses heightened as she looked for signs of the soldiers pursuing them. Finally, they saw a two-story building with a pole and a branch with leaves attached at its end.

“’Tis the sign for a tavern,” Owen said.

They stopped by the inn, and Owen dismounted and tied the horses to a stand next to a trough. Both animals drank thirstily. Owen came to stand by her horse, his hair seeming silver in the moonlight. In his medieval tunic and with a sword at his hip, he looked like a prince from a fairy tale. Except his dark and intense gaze screamed rogue.

“Let me help ye come down, lass.” He stretched out his hands.

Carefully, with her legs shaking, Amber moved one leg over the horse’s back and slid down the saddle into the safe haven of his arms. It occurred to her how she went to him without hesitation. His scent enveloped her—the earthy, salty aroma of the horse, and his own manly musk.

His eyes were gray in the eerie light of the night, smoldering, captivating her in a trance. They promised a happily ever after wrapped in a damn good night, sinful and naughty and free.

His lips were right before her, just an inch away. He looked at her mouth like all the happiness of the world was on her lips.

“I heard the horses,” a voice said, and they both glanced in the direction of the inn. A man in his fifties stood there dressed in a long tunic, his bare legs glowing white. He had a barrel of a stomach, and a night cap on his balding head. “Do ye need a room?”

Owen gently let Amber go and stepped back from her. Cold air chilled where his arms and chest has been pressed against her, and she longed for that kind of proximity.

“Yes,” Owen said with an English accent. Right. They were still dressed as Englishmen, and this area was probably occupied by the English, so they needed to keep up the pretense for a while longer. “We need a room, dinner, and a bath. We rode hard on the king’s business and long for a good night’s sleep—whatever is left of the night.”

There’d been a money pouch on one of the guard’s belts, so they had something to pay with.

“Aye.” The innkeeper’s gaze lingered on Amber, and she lowered her head to hide her face. She was still wearing the helm, and her hair was hidden under it, but what if a lock or two got out?

“Come with me,” said the innkeeper.

They went through the hall on the ground floor, passing a bar, tables, and benches. The space smelled like old food and stale alcohol. On the first floor, several doors led to rooms. Theirs was small but homey and smelled like fresh linens, woodsmoke, and lavender. A large fireplace with fire dancing in it gave the room a warm, golden glow. A large bed stood at the far end, as well as a bath that looked more like a giant, wooden barrel. It appeared clean enough, and Amber’s muscles ached when she saw the bed.

“Ye two don’t mind sharing the bed? We dinna have another room free,” the innkeeper asked as Owen eyed the bed as though it were a lion he needed to hunt with his bare hands.

Owen cleared his throat. “That will do.”

“Hot water is coming. For dinner, I have stew and some bread, cheese, and apples. Ale, mayhap?”

Owen nodded, and the innkeeper left the room. Amber couldn’t wait a minute longer. She went straight to the bed and fell on it. After days of lying on the hard, cold bench, it felt like falling into a cloud.

She moaned as her aching muscles relaxed. The lacerations on her back stung a little in a pleasant, healing way, and she didn’t mind.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Is this stuffed with feathers? Whoever invented a mattress is a genius.”