“My new two-legs brother is extremely strange, sister,” White Feet bespoke her as she dismounted, the warhorse’s confusion with Lisah’s satisfaction clear in the thought. “Once he asked me if I and the rest of our city were a dream of his, meant to dissolve and disappear when he awoke. Or perhaps you and he were not truly wed, that you were another’s and would never be his. Does he know nothing of what is and is not?”

“I think perhaps he feels as I do,” Lisah answered the roan mare with a laugh and a pat before she began unsaddling her. “To marry because of duty and then find the marriage a greater delight than freedom ever was is not something we two-legs expect. I, too, sometimes wonder if I shall awaken to find him no more than a dream of my own devising, a dream never to be recaptured once the mists of sleep are gone. He seems far too good to be of flesh and blood, far better than what I deserve.”

“Should I be asked, I would say my sister is far better than what he deserves,” White Feet returned with a snort, waiting for the bridle to be removed from her before she tossed her head. “I find him adequate as far as two-legs go and his mindspeak is a good deal clearer than that of most others, but my sister remains the best two-legs of my acquaintance.”

The girl smiled even as she let the roan mare feel her love and gratitude, and then she stood watching as the warhorse began moving away to graze. They had been sisiers ever since the mare had been a gangly filly, and she valued the bond between them almost as much as what she’d found with Bryahn. She’d never imagined it would be possible to be closer to a human than to her beloved war destrier, but one human had shown her how wrong she had been.

“At least I think he’s human,” she murmured to herself with a grin hidden from those who moved around building the camp. Bryahn had spent so much time with cat brothers and sisters that at times his thoughts were more like those of a prairiecat than a man, a circumstance that made him more attractive for Lisah rather than less. She brushed at the road dust which had settled on her leathers, wondering what her life would have been like if she had managed to ride away from the marriage her father had arranged for her with Bryahn, who was now heir to his father, Thokeeks Hwill of Dunkahn. She was happier with Bryahn than she would have been without him, but what sort of happiness would she have found if she had managed to join her company?

Lisah sighed as she looked around at those who

were busily putting together the night camp, attempting to smooth over the one ripple in the stream of delight she had been bathing in. She had funded the raising of a new company, the Crimson Cat Company, so that she herself might join it and finally put to use the war skills she had spent so many years acquiring. All those men of their escort, Bryahn himself and his father as well, all of them knew the pleasure and glory of battle, a knowledge which seemed destined to evade her forever. The brief skirmish she had taken part in when Bryahn, his father, Bili of Morguhn, and their escort had been attacked leaving her father’s city had only whetted her appetite for battle, not satisfied it. It was a small unhappiness which was most often buried beneath the weight of pleasure and satisfaction, and yet buried was not the same as satisfied or seen to— “Women are truly marvelous,” a voice said from behind her, a now familiar voice filled with the also familiar lightness of teasing. “A man seeing those engaged in the setting up of camp would feel constrained to join in the efforts himself. Only a woman can stand about inspecting the doings of others and feel nothing of a need to make herself useful.” “Proving women are considerably more talented than men,” Lisah said with smug satisfaction as she turned to face Bryahn, her grin a full match to his. “We suffer seeing others laboring away without our help, but have the strength to bear the suffering without complaint. And how much has my noble husband contributed to the general effort he finds so irresistible?” “No disrespect from you, wife,” he growled as he

 put his arms around her, his mock anger making her augh. “Because of my direction our tent is nearly up, and once it is you may have the honor of helping me out of this plate. My father has agreed that first use of the stream should be yours, which means I get to go with you. Having a wife is turning out to be handier than I thought it would be.”

By then his grin had returned, and Lisah laughed again at the way he held her. Encased in heavy steel plate, Bryahn was free to do no more than run his hands over her, but once that plate was off—

“The honor certainly will be mine,” she said, reaching a finger up to run it around his ear. “I wonder, though, how long it will take me to complete the task. A woman who has so much of the talent allowing her to merely stand and watch others must surely be on the slow side. . . .”

“She had better not be,” Bryahn said with the growl returned when her voice trailed insinuatingly off, his gray eyes looking down at her in a very stern and direct way. “It’s become my habit to look forward to camping for the night, merely to be out of my armor, you understand, and a delay would be entirely unacceptable. If you wore your chain instead of having it rolled up on one of the pack mules, you would surely understand the point a bit more thoroughly.”

“Why, I believe you’re right,” the girl said with very thick surprised understanding, her widened blue eyes looking up at him in a suspicious way. “Wearing my mail would surely bring the point home, so the answer to the difficulty is clear. From now on my chain will be worn.”

“Lisah, you are a devious, plotting woman, and I refuse to allow that in my wife,” Bryahn said to her hearty satisfaction, regretting the need to disappoint her, but nevertheless speaking firmly and surely. “My father was right in his suggestion that you accustom yourself to your new place in life as quickly as possible, and for that reason your chain is packed rather than worn. By rights your sword should be with the chain, and perhaps from now on it would be best if it were. A wife and mother has no need of the trappings of war.”

“I may be a wife, but I’m not yet a mother,” the girl answered, the happiness gone from her face as she stepped back out of his loosened embrace. “This sword is mine, and anyone who wishes to take it is free to make the attempt. Perhaps then I’ll no longer be a wife either.”

Bryahn saw the hardness in the blue eyes looking up at him, and he sighed, realizing they were in the midst of their first serious argument. His Lisah was no more joking about her refusal to give up her sword than he

would have been, but the attitude was totally unreasonable! He was a man and an experienced fighter, while she was a girl who might already be with child. He could see she had failed to consider that, most likely had not even thought about it, the innocence of a girl raised among men keeping her from the consideration. Best he soothe her quickly, and later make her see the wisdom in his decision.

“Ah, but for now you remain a wife,” he said with an attempt at a grin and a sly wink, reaching for her again. “First we’ll see to this plate, and then we’ll see how private the area around the stream might be. I haven’t yet caught you in a stream . .

“I don’t care to be caught just now,” she returned stiffly, stepping back away from his reaching arms. “As for your plate, let your father help you with it. A man with so large an amount of good advice must surely have other talents as well, many more than a lowly female. No need to settle for inexperienced help when such expertise is available.”

With that she turned her back and marched away, leaving behind a man filled full with exasperation. Bryahn watched her go with a silent growl in his throat, shook his head, then turned toward the tent that had been erected for him. He would find other help to doff his armor, and then he would follow her and make another attempt to talk sense into that empty female head.