Return of the Rogue by Donna Fletcher

was right.
    Honora snuck out, though she needn’t had since everyone’s attention was focused on the warriors, making sure they were prepared for battle. She hid in the shadows of the trees, the gray overcast sky making the shadows darker and concealment easier. She watched her husband mount his stallion. He was a true warrior in every way. His claymore was strapped to his back, a dirk tucked in a sheath at his waist, a battle-axe hanging from his saddle. His long, deep brown hair was thickly braided at the sides to keep it out of his face, a face stern and uncompromising; ready to battle to the death if necessary, and the thought chilled her.
    Her husband obviously feared nothing, while she seemed to fear everything. How would she ever be the wife he expected?
    The warriors were far down the road when she came out of hiding and hurried into the stable to retrieve her cloak to guard against the chill autumn air. A shadow descended over her just as she was about to turn and leave, and she hoped the sky hadn’t grown darker or the rain started.
    She turned and froze with a gasp.
    Her husband stood a short distance away, feet apart, hands braced on hips as he glared at her with a fire in his dark eyes.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Honora was too stunned to answer, though she voiced her thought aloud. “You rode off with your men.”
    He approached her with a caustic laugh. “You underestimate my skill, wife.”
    She shook her head as she slowly asked, “How?”
    He stopped in front of her, leaned his face down to rub his cheek against hers, and inhaled deeply. “Your scent is undeniable.”
    She would have melted against him if his lips hadn’t grazed hers before he whispered, “Disobey me again and you’ll be sorry.”
    Honora stumbled back, her arm instinctively shooting up to shield herself.
    Cavan grabbed it just above her elbow, though with surprising gentleness, tenderly ran his hand down to her reddened wrist and cupped it kindly in his hand. “What happened?”
    She stumbled over an explanation. Did she confide the truth to her husband? Would he believe her? Did she dare take the chance or would he defend her stepfather’s actions? With no answer to satisfy her doubts and fears, she lied. “A kitchen mishap.”
    He seemed satisfied, though hesitated in releasing her. “I remind you again to stay in the keep.”
    “Why?”
    His biting laugh had her wishing she had held her tongue. “You question me?”
    “No, my lord—”
    “Cavan!”
    She jumped at his sharpness. “Cavan, I’m sorry, no, I do not question you, but I enjoy walking the moor and had hoped—”
    “Not today,” he interrupted, and surprised her when he explained, “The barbarian tribe that strikes our friends to the south could have other bands roaming the land. I will not take the chance of you being captured. You will remain in the keep until my return.”
    “I understand.” And she did. It was his duty to look out for the clan.
    “And you will do as I ask?”
    He asked, not demanded, and his consideration surprised her. “Yes, Cavan, I will do as you ask.”
    “Good, then I will not worry over you.”
    He turned to leave, stopped and remained still for a moment before turning around and glaring at her as if he struggled with a thought.
    She stepped over to him and instinctively offered concern and comfort with a gentle hand to his chest. “Are you all right?”
    She thought she heard him growl deep down in his chest before he pressed his cheek to hers and whispered, “I like the scent of you.”
    Then he left abruptly, with such haste that he stirred the hay that littered the stable floor. As if through a hazy cloud she watched him disappear. It took her a few moments to regain her composure, though her flesh continued to tingle and shock wiped her smile away.
    She pressed hesitant fingers to her lips. Where had the smile come from? Her fingers drifted to her cheek and she closed her eyes to linger in the heat