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thrust hi s dagger under his makeshift pillow and standing only in chausses, he flopped onto the cot his men had put together for him. The cool night air seeped through invisible slits in the canvas walls, and he welcomed the reprieve. He felt on fire from the physical exertion of the day and the emotional turmoil he’d experienced with Elena. Outside, the sounds of jovial shouts and camaraderie filled the nighttime air. A tournament was a fun time. A time to celebrate prowess, and even those who lost today would still be celebrating, for they’d lived.
    Oh, how he would have loved to enjoy this night with Elena. Danced with her to the tunes of the minstrels and singers, fed her a hunk of meat from his own dirk, and then stolen a kiss from her as he bid her goodnight. He could still smell the faint essence of honeysuckle that surrounded her, imagined her floating in a tub of steaming water, the little white petals of the sweet flower floating amid oil and her smooth skin.
    Would that he could just whisk her away. He’d longed to return to England all his life, but suddenly he had an almost uncontrollable urge to flee to Ireland—with Elena in his arms. He’d never really felt like it was home until now. Perhaps he should steal her away in the night, secure a boat and paddle them to the Emerald Isle himself.
    Knowing her husband was such a mean and evil fool, surrounded by a vicious pack of dog-knights, was the only thing holding him back. The man would tear Heaven and Hell apart to find her, Michael had no doubt. He may show her disdain and appear to wish her gone from him, but Kent had pride, and pride could be a dangerous, deadly thing. No, staying on, becoming the leader of Kent’s pack of animals and whipping them into shape was the only way. But then again, even if he did turn the men decent, there was still Kent to contend with. He would still be Elena’s legal husband, and there was nothing Michael could do to help her behind closed matrimonial doors.
    He growled through his teeth in frustration. Just the thought of the vile man touching her creamy white skin sent him into a rage.
    A sound alongside his tent pulled Michael from his seething anger. He sat up, slipped the d agger from under his pillow and blew out the candle. Silently he stood and crept toward the opening of the tent. Fingers, visible from the moonlight streaming in, curled through the opening and grasped the edge of the flap, pulling it slightly open. Michael eyed the slim , long feminine digits. A moment later he was speechless. The flap fully opened, revealed a wide-eyed Elena. Then just as quickly, she stepped inside, the flap closed and they were encased in darkness.
    “Elena,” he gasped.
    “ Shh …” She placed a finger on his lips.
    He grasped her hand, then slid his grip up her arm and pulled her toward him. She slipped her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his bare chest. She stiffened a moment, perhaps realizing he was half naked, and then pressed her cheek against him again. He touched his lips to top of her head, and finding the fabric of her headdress a disturbing barrier, pulled it from her head and let his lips skim her silky hair.
    “I snuck in here. The guards don’t know I’ve left my tent, and my ladies are sworn to secrecy.” Her whispered words came fast. Her fingers stroked his back.
    “That was very dangerous, Elena. If anyone were to catch—” He couldn’t finish his words. Tension struck him deeply and he glanced about the empty tent as if Kent’s men would storm them at any moment.
    “No one will find me.” Soft, warm, hesitant lips brushed against his chest over his heart.
    Michael sucked in his breath. Prickled flesh rose along his arms and chest. He trailed his fingers along her jaw and lifted her chin toward his face. Although he could only make out the shadowy figure of her form, her eyes glinted in what little light surrounded them. He couldn’t take it any longer, he had to kiss her,