Fire Hawk by Justine Dare Justine Davis

retreated without a word.
    And every night since then, she’d been too tired to do anything but roll up in the heavy blanket he’d used himself and fall into exhausted, happily dreamless sleep, heedless of the hard ground beneath her. Twice she’d fallen asleep in the middle of his lesson on tracking, but to her surprise he didn’t berate her, merely started anew when she awoke.
    She’d never expected this. Her body had never betrayed her in any significant way, and she’d never thought herself weak, but Kane was making her feel that way. He drove her mercilessly, ordering her to do things she never would have thought part of their deal. He made her run endlessly through the trees, down his precious mountain, then, when she was winded, turn around and run back. Uphill.
    He made her do exercises lifting heavy logs and rocks that she saw no point to until he handed her a bow and told her to pull back the bowstring. She managed a bare inch of movement. Silently, Kane took it from her, fitted an arrow to the nocking point, and drew it back, all in one smooth movement. Drew it back so far, and with such ease, Jenna’s eyes widened in amazement. He sent the arrow flying, fast and straight, and so far that it disappeared far into the trees before, seconds later, she finally heard the thwack as it struck a distant tree.
    She went back to the rocks and logs without complaint.
    And that was only the beginning. No sooner had she begun to feel not quite so exhausted while running, he loaded a pack with some of the rocks and made her carry them. And still he made her lift them repeatedly when they returned. And not once, other than when he’d used the bow to quiet her questions, had she been within arm’s length of any kind of weapon.
    And not once had he called upon her to fulfill the carnal side of their bargain. While she was too weary to linger upon it as she lay alone in her blanket by the night fire—after being lectured sternly by Kane never to stare into the flames, for it ruined your night vision—it never ceased to nag at her while she was awake. The only thing powerful enough to supplant it was the knowledge that every day she spent here was another day away from the people who were depending on her. Still, she was ever conscious of Kane’s eyes following her every move, and helplessly wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if this would be the night he would summon her.
    And being poignantly thankful that there was no one left of her family who might feel bound to defend the honor she was handing over to Kane the Warrior. If he ever took it, that is.
    She knew men found her attractive enough; many in the clan had approached her mother asking to pay court to her. Thankfully her mother had always said such things were her daughter’s choice, and Jenna had made that choice easily; she had no interest in such things. It was not that she did not like the boys of her acquaintance. Some of them were her dear friends; it was only that she would much rather walk for hours through her beloved forest, go fishing in the stream, and in the evenings listen to the storyteller weave his magical spell with story and song.
    As a girl, after overhearing an older boy suggesting her fiery hair must indicate equally fiery passions, she’d once asked her mother why she never felt the way her friends seemed to, why she’d never looked at a man with longing as Cara and the others did. Her mother had smiled and said something about the greatest of passions requiring the greatest of sparks, which made no sense to Jenna. Her mother had laughed then, and told her to stop worrying; she was fine as she was, and the women of her family were often late to bloom.
    And some, Jenna had decided when she reached her twentieth summer, never bloomed at all. Kane had made a poor bargain indeed, if he expected her passion to match her appearance; she just did not have it in her. As fascinating as she found him, as much as she found herself watching him