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  “Come forward, Mistress Ardra. You shall make the choice,” Samoht directed with a tight smile.

  “That is hardly fair,” piped up one councilor. “I know he is scarred now, but still, what woman would not choose this warrior?”

  Every head nodded. Samoht’s smile widened. “Indeed,” he said, and Gwen knew that had been his intention. And perhaps it was all the punishment Samoht could contrive for Vad for proving the council’s dishonesty.

  Ardra would choose Vad. His scarred face would not matter to her. She would choose, and Vad would obey. Vad would obey because of the very honor he’d demonstrated. And she, Gwen, would still be a slave in this world. Without thought, her fingers traced the design on her belt. She could not live in this world without Vad. She could not live as a slave or have a child in slavery, either.

  A guard pulled her away from Vad and closer to the tent entrance. The scent of the guard’s leather garments made her stomach dance.

  Ardra, her gaze searching those assembled, found first Vad and then Gwen. She walked very slowly forward. Gwen smiled. Whatever Ardra decided, Gwen would not blame her. Samoht and the council were playing their own game, and she and Vad and Ardra were each just a game piece on the board of their politics.

  Samoht stood. “Mistress Ardra. You have heard all of the discussion about the fortress and its fate. The council has decided you must lifemate. The fortress will fall without proper guidance. I offer you two men, both more than worthy of your hand, both well able to hold the fortress. I give you Vad or Tol. You must choose one for a mate. Which is it to be?”

  One of the councilors licked his lips and hid a smile behind his hand. Samoht also had a cynical smirk on his face.

  Ardra sank into a curtsy before the men. “Most esteemed councilor, I thank you for the courtesy of a choice. The answer is simple. I choose Tol.”

  “What?” Samoht sat down hard. “You choose a man older than your misbegotten father to lifemate with when this man…this warrior could be your choice?”

  “Aye.” She walked around the table to stand at Tol’s side. Her voice quavered a bit, but her gaze was steady and so was her hand as she offered it to Tol. “I have had many talks with Tol. He understands the needs of the fortress and my people. I trust him to see to their care.”

  Vad bowed as he turned to go, but Tol called him back.

  “Take this as compensation for the loss of the fortress.” Tol handed him the small silver ring. Vad closed his fist about it and nodded. He strode to the tent entrance and took Gwen by the hand. He pulled her out into the Tolemac sun.

  “Come, we need privacy for what we will do.”

  Gwen hurried behind him, past the tents, to the river, into a grove of trees, and still he walked with long strides, almost pulling her along with an urgency that frightened her.

  Finally he stopped. They stood at the edge of a small clearing. Soft green grass spread like a carpet at their feet.

  He placed his hands at her waist. “I watched your hands. They touched this design over and over as the councilors discussed our fate. You painted it, did you not? Painted it so you could go home?”

  She nodded. “I was afraid of what you would be forced to do. What your honor might force you to do.”

  His bright blue eyes were grave. “We have both had our moments of distrust. But I tell you now you may always trust in me. I am free now. I can fight the council for an arm ring for you, or…”

  “Or?” she whispered.

  “Or we can go where no one has arm rings and begin our own illustrious line.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, going into his embrace, laying her head on his chest.

  “Aye. I am sure.”

  “Not everyone is honorable where I live, either.”

  “Then we will be two more to balance the scale. I wish to see where I was born, where my parents are buried. I want my child to live without slavery. I want to see you heal the rift in your family.”

  She leaned back. “I think we’d be just in time for Thanksgiving—that’s a festival sort of thing where everyone…gives thanks for all the gifts they have.”

  “I have one gift I must thank your father and mother for—you.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks. A huge lump filled her throat. “You’re just the man to cook the dinner, I think.”

  He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I would be honored. Do they like eels?”

  Gwen laughed through her tears and kissed him hard.

  Then he slipped the silver ring on her finger. “Wear this ring, be my ice woman, call me to you, and I will come.” He set her aside.

  Gwen felt her heart pounding in her chest. Vad stood at the edge of the clearing, his hand on his sword hilt—the sword that meant so much to him.

  The sky was clear. Not one cloud marred its lavender perfection. She stood on tiptoe and lifted her arms to the heavens. The ring on her finger grew cold. She turned, twisted her arms, sent a swirl of snow, a whirl of wind through the clearing. Snow covered the grass, filled the sky, obscured the sun. Obscured Vad.

  Would she ever see him again?

  She spun in the world of white, each turn of her body filling the air with more flakes, more cold. Each lift of her arms intensified the storm, whipped her dress in sharp snaps against her legs. All around her the world, every tree, each blade of grass, glistened, sparkled with snow, ice, and frost. Only her small space was green and warm.

  Her ears filled with the howl of the wind; her body shook with the power of the storm.

  Vad stepped out of the glittering snow. His blond hair flew about his shoulders. He was her warrior.

  Beautiful. Sensuous. Alluring.

  She put out her hand and beckoned him to her. He came forward and stepped into her circle of warmth, his hands on her waist, on the unending design she’d painted on the belt.

  “Take us home,” he said.

  About Ann Lawrence

  Award winning author Ann Lawrence writes both historical and paranormal romance with strong heroes and equally indomitable heroines. Her books reflect her love of English history and Arthurian legend. But whichever genre Ann chooses, she likes to include a puzzle for her readers to solve. Ann loves hearing from her readers.

  Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Ann Lawrence

  Lord of the Hunt

  Lord of the Keep

  Lord of the Mist

  Perfect Heroes 1: Virtual Heaven

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  Virtual Desire

  ISBN 9781419946363

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  Virtual Desire Copyright © 2000, 2013 Ann Lawrence

  Cover design by Dar Albert

  Cover photography by rolffimages, Aarrttuurr, Seamartini Graphics, Lynel/Fotolia.com

  Electronic book publication August 2013

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