The Lion's Daughter by Loretta Chase

with the tip of her
finger. “Undë.”
    Eyebrows,
eyes, cheeks, ears, mouth — she
recited them one by one, as patiently persistent as any evangelist
intent on a sinner's salvation. So near, so invitingly near. He
wanted to touch her, to trail his finger along the silky gold of her
cheek.
    “ Gojë,” she said, pointing to her
mouth. “Come, it is not so hard.”
    No,
her mouth was soft and full and moist. Come, she'd said. “Kokë,
syrtë, undë,” he
said softly, perfectly. He leaned closer. He wanted that mouth, and
it was all in the world he wanted or knew at that moment.
    “ Gojë,” he whispered. His lips
brushed hers — the
lightest caress of a kiss, yet something crackled in him, like fear,
and he drew back, startled.
    Not
nearly so startled as she. Her green eyes opened wide in
astonishment. Then her face blazed scarlet. Her hand shot out and
whacked the side of his head so hard that his ears rang and his eyes
watered.
    “That
was not amusing.” She began rubbing her mouth vigorously.
    As
he gingerly massaged the side of his head, Varian decided he'd never
met with a more deflating — or
appropriate — response. He'd been slapped
before, on the rare occasion, though not nearly so hard. Never,
however, had one of his kisses been wiped away with such utter
revulsion.
    Still,
what did he expect? How had he dared to soil her innocent mouth with
his? Damn, and how could he not, being what he was, and finding her
so ... enchanting?
Which she was, astonishingly enough, despite her ragged, hideous boy's attire and that godawful
woolen helmet.
    At
the moment, however, Varian's most urgent problem was how to pacify
her. Admittedly, he'd experienced a moment of insanity, but he was
fully in control now. The men outside, on the other hand, were drunk.
    “You
didn't find Petro's behavior yesterday amusing, either, yet you
didn't give him a
concussion,” Varian pointed out in aggrieved tones.
    “ He did not insult my person,” she
said icily.
    “I
assure you, Esme, I meant no insult.” .
    “I
know. You meant only a joke. You pretended you could not say die
words —”
    “You
played a joke on me a short while ago,” he interrupted.
“Perhaps I wanted to get even.”
    This
gave her pause. It was very curious — and
convenient, certainly — how
easily she accepted revenge as an excuse. Varian only wished she
wouldn't weigh his case with precisely that sulky expression. He
wanted to kiss the pout away, or tickle her, or do something ... which would only offend her
dignity further and no doubt result in his immediate demise. Really,
you'd think he was twelve years old. Perhaps this was a case of
premature senility, the result of years of dissipation and —
    “Very
well,” she said. “I made you appear foolish, and so you
did the same to me. Still, I will warn you to keep such revenge to
words, efendi. Otherwise,
on the way to Tepelena, we may find ourselves in a blood feud. To
insult another's person is to strike a blow,” she explained,
“which likely will be returned. One time, one of us may be
tempted to strike a fatal one.”
    Lord
love the girl. She saw no difference between being kissed and having
her ears boxed. Vain, had she called him? He'd not be for long, in
her company.
    “I
quite agree,” he said. “I did overstep a bit with the
kiss. Fortunately, you took your revenge quickly, so I will not have
to lie awake all night, wondering what ghastly way you'll find to get
even.”
    “No,
and I shall not have to lie awake devising sufficient ghastliness.”
She paused, and turned her head slightly, listening.
    Outside,
there was only the faint sibilance of the drizzle.
    “The
others have gone to sleep,” she said. “We'd best do the
same.”
    As
he helped her arrange the blankets, Varian noticed with some surprise
that she placed hers next to his, just as though nothing had
happened. Clearly, she did not assume the “revenge kiss”
implied her virtue was in any danger. In that case, the