Darcy Branwyn

England, 1192:

(This is from the same fictional world as Enduringly Yours.)

Alana was used to the shifting of a horse beneath her, but this was something else entirely. Both skilled riders, they naturally moved together with the rhythm of the horse. Her fingers closed around the woven wool of his tunic, her gaze wandering to his open collar and the golden hairs peeking through. He really should lace that. How was a girl to resist temptation? She really wanted to touch him, to curl the hairs around her fingers, or to press her cheek against his chest. She wanted… Alana turned her face away from his. She wanted to feel the power of that firm muscled body, to know its strength. She wanted to know him.