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Cordelia lay on the couch before him.
Light rippled along her gown of sheerest silk, and her flesh seemed to glow through.
Beside her the table bore wine and food prepared for two.
“Hail Cimbrian,” Cordelia raised her hand and beckoned him. “Come,” she said.
Eodan swayed toward her, the blood roaring in his temples.
“Will you drink with me?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he answered thickly.
Their hands touched as she poured the wine into his goblet, and he felt his flesh leap with excitement.
“My husband was wrong to set a king to work in his fields,” she murmured. “Perhaps we two can reach a better understanding.”
She lifted her goblet. “To our tomorrows, may they be better than our yesterdays.”
They drank in turn.
Suddenly her arms went around him and her mouth was hot on his. “I meant this to be leisurely with much fine play,” she whispered. “But that would be wrong with you. I see it now.”