She was wandering around the twisty bend of a game trail, humming a little half-remembered song to herself, when she came upon a scene out of a tapestry: A deer. A doe, she knew, not just from its lack of antlers but also the shape of its face and the size of its flanks. Beautiful and large and slim and as elegant on its tiny toes as any made-up fairy-tale creature. Standing some distance away from it was the most breathtakingly handsome man Aurora Rose had ever seen. Not that she had seen that many, of course. In either of her childhoods. He was as magnificent as the deer: tall, well-muscled, sleek, and healthy. He tossed his head of thick, shining brown hair like an animal’s mane. His face looked like it had been carved by an ancient sculptor whose skill had never been surpassed: strong nose, strong chin, high cheekbones whose apples were still a little soft and pink with youth. Long eyelashes. Sparkling brown eyes. He was reaching out to the deer with one upturned hand. Suddenly, she noticed a shining steel sword on his hip, its grip in easy reach, its blade no doubt deadly sharp.
