But that passed, too. Slowly, the pain and weariness ebbed. Jarl's strength flowed back. Once more, he was acutely conscious of the filth, the smells, the slithering vermin. Somewhere afar, the vocorn pipes still were wailing.
Sais twisted against him, her ripe body smooth as rippling velvet. When he rested his palm on her hip, she gripped it fiercely in the darkness. Her hand was hot; he could feel the movement of her quickened breathing.
The muscles in Jarl's belly drew tight. All at once—even here, even now—he could think of nothing save this woman. His fingers trembled as he smoothed her dark hair; touched her eyes, her lips.
She moved closer, till the curve of her cheek lay against his shoulder. The pressure of her body was a silent pledge, an invitation.
Sais.... She was all passion, all woman.
And all his.
Or was she?
The question came without his bidding. In spite of it. Yet once it had come, it would not go away.
He shifted. But it did no good. The spell of her was upon him, melded of her woman's flesh and fragrance.
She pressed closer.