“Mount the bloody horse, love,” Alistair pleaded. “We need to at least try and appear mortal. We have to be careful here. If you go running through the woods, what do you think the local farmers will say about that?” Fenella groaned. “Fine, fine. You do make a good point.” Chuckling, Alistair held the reins for her. “You’ll survive, I promise.” “I’ve mounted worse things,” she teased mercilessly, sparing him a glance. He withered beneath that look from her. A moment later, she took pity on him. “And far better ones as well.” The sharp inhale was unmistakable. Her ears were attuned to him. She fought the urge to grin as she stuck a booted foot in the stirrup and rose. As she settled on the horse, she spied him already watching her. “See, darling,” she began, “you’re rather easy to play with.” Slipping into his own saddle, he sighed. “Whatever you say.”