Sometime after midnight, when everyone around him snored, he slipped out of his bedroll and crept through the still night up the hill through the olive grove. No one challenged him, for the sentries were all posted much further out, and his path took him far from the village’s taverns. He hesitated for an instant on the edge of the grove, but the cottage was silent. No dog barked, and no lights burned at the windows. Slowly he walked around the back of the house, past the kitchen, past the door leading out to the barn and outbuildings. There was her window, its shutters unmistakably ajar. He drew them all the way open and hoisted himself onto the windowsill. “Anna?” he whispered. The instant his feet touched the floor she was in his arms, pulling his head down to hers and covering his mouth with kisses. “I’d almost given up,” she whispered, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. “I thought you didn’t mean to come.” He caressed her back, the fine lawn of her nightdress catching on his callused fingertips.
