High Chieftain of the Druzai people, Merrick MacLachlainn has come away from his magical world, Coruain, to find a powerful and miraculous stone that can be used as a weapon against his people's mortal enemy. He arrives in 19th Century England and gets caught up in the defense of a lone woman on a solitary road. He is shot and injured, and when he awakens, he finds himself in a gypsy caravan with a woman who claims to be his wife. And she might very well be right, for he has no memory of who he is or what he's about. TEMPTATION OF THE WARRIOR There was only the one bed and a small table, a few boxes, a cloudy mirror and several grimy pictures on the walls. Two small windows were covered by multicolored blankets that had been tacked down on all sides. The caravan was dry, reasonably warm, and safe. At least, she did not think the gypsies would attempt to accost her, as long as they needed her to teach them. An added protection was their belief that this man was her husband. In truth, he appeared the kind of man who would have women falling at his feet in adoration. His black lashes were long and thick, his eyes a dark, warm blue, and his strong jaw slightly cleft. He’d fought for her like a bold and capable warrior of old, a chivalrous knight come to her rescue from Camelot itself. Even as ill as “Matthew” was, Jenny had never seen a comelier male. She did not doubt that he had a real wife somewhere, waiting, worried over his delayed return. And as soon as he could move without becoming ill, she was going to get out of there. She knew better than to think she could rely on him for help. As usual, she was on her own. “We’ll stay until you’re able to travel.” Jenny moved away from the bed and took a seat on one of the boxes. “I don’t want to run up against another band of highwaymen—” “What happened to us?” he asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled. “A group of men attacked … us … on the road. Don’t you remember?” “I canna remember anything. My brain feels hazy …” He touched his forehead pensively. “I doona think I know even my own name.” Jenny frowned. “Truly? You don’t know your name?” Closing his eyes again, he clenched his jaw, clearly struggling to remember, to understand what had happened to him. Then he looked sheepishly at her. “No. ’Tis no use. I canna … Nor do I know yours.” She took a deep breath and considered what to say. It might be another day or two before he was well enough for her to leave him, and Tekari Kaulo was clearly much too interested in her. This could not come out well, no matter what she said. She could only hope the gypsies followed a code of honor with regard to another man’s wife and would leave her alone until she made her exit. “M-Matthew,” she blurted. “You’re Matthew Keating. And I’m Jane. Well, I’m Jenny to my … my closest …” She cleared her throat as he repeated her name quietly to himself, then reached across the narrow space and took her hand in his. His eyes bored through her as though he would devour her, given the chance. “How long have we been married?” His hand was warm and firm, and nearly twice the size of her own. She closed her eyes and savored his touch, surprised by the unusual sense of security – and the heat – she’d never felt with Frederick Ellis. This man had risked his life to help her and Jenny had no doubt he’d saved her from a terrible fate. She would have preferred to be honest with him, but this was anything but a normal, natural situation. She needed this husband only for a day or two, and by then his confusion would surely have resolved. Once she told him the truth, they would split up and  she would leave for Carlisle on her own, at a much faster pace than the gypsy travelers would go. It was only a matter of getting back to the road and waiting again for the mail coach. She would start out much earlier net time so she wouldn’t miss it. “Not long,” she said in reply to his question. “Er … only a few … days.” “Ah. So that accounts for your bonny blushes,” he said. “Come here, lass.” Jenny’s breath caught in her throat and she wavered. She’d never shared such intimate quarters with a man before, not even with Mr. Ellis, who had been a most proper suitor until he’d discarded her for Clara Tremayne. Matthew gave her hand a gentle tug. “Jenny.” She came to her senses and realized she could not do it. She had to tell him of her deception. “I need to—” “Lie down beside me,” he said, his voice troubled. He drew her into the intensity of his gaze. He was hurt and confused, and she was making it worse. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “I need to think.” “Later, sweetheart. I want to hold you.” Such an endearment was completely foreign to her, but utterly compelling. Jenny found herself moving to the bed and easing onto the mattress next to him, allowing him to pull her into the circle of his arms. He drew her close, aligning their bodies tightly together. They lay face to face, his eyes searching hers, as though he might find the answers to all his questions there. “I canna believe I am always this weak, Jenny.” He lightly touched his lips to hers, sending wondrous prickles of awareness through her. “Can you trust that I’ll take care of you?” She could not speak, not when his strong hand was stroking the length of her back and his lips nipping tiny kisses along her jaw. She let out a shuddering breath and slid her arms around him, savoring his heat and the sense of being enveloped and sheltered by his powerful body. She put Bresland and all its unpleasantness from her mind and allowed herself these few moments of abandon. “No, you are not always so weak.” She knew it because he’d come valiantly to her rescue, a brave knight without armor. And now he paid the price for his courage. Jenny had always slept alone, shivering on a narrow pallet in one of Bresland’s dormitories, then in the cold, stark bedroom assigned her when she’d become a teacher. She had never felt heat like this, not even on the warmest summer night. It was a heat that made her heart flutter and her mouth go dry. It made her yearn for something she’d never had any hope of attaining. Matthew shifted, moving his leg between hers, sliding his strong thigh between hers, just above her knees. Jenny swallowed and allowed him to press against her, presumably as intimately as a husband would do with his wife. “Jenny.” He whispered so quietly that she hardly heard him before he kissed her, cupping the back of her head with his hand. He opened his mouth over hers and she responded in kind, swallowing back her shock when his tongue swept into her mouth. His leg moved higher and hot sensations gathered at the juncture of her thighs. She broke the kiss. “Matthew!” He spoke as he touched her face with his fingertips, gently sliding his fingers over her scraped cheekbone, whispering so quietly she was barely able to hear his strange words with her one good ear. “A mo tàrmachadh, iocshlaint an ciùrr anns an aghaidh,” Jenny could not understand his strange language, but she felt an odd, shivering chill at his touch that should have repulsed her, but was strangely alluring. Her cheek felt odd, the skin cold and tight, and then the sensation stopped as suddenly as it had begun. “You … I-I …” She did not know if she could make herself do what was right, not while her heart pounded and her body demanded that she pursue the heady sensations he aroused in her. “You are so beautiful.” He gazed at her as though she were the most alluring female he’d ever seen. It gave her a quiet thrill, even though she knew it could not possibly be true. Reverend Usher had told her often enough that she was a vile, sinful creature who offended even the most generous of God’s angels. Mr. Ellis had believed it, too. She’d given him her heart and all her affections, yet he’d jilted her with the cruelest of words. Words that were very likely true. Jenny stopped Matthew’s hand by taking it and stilling it in hers. “We m-must not … You are injured. We need to take care.” Gingerly, he rolled onto his back. “Aye. My head is splitting.” And Jenny’s was reeling. If this was what husbands and wives did when they lay together … she took a deep breath and looked over at Matthew, at the thick eyelashes that lay in dark crescents over his cheeks at the fullness of the lips that had kissed her senseless. She felt an unfamiliar liquid heat pooling between her thighs. She had to contain herself, for none of this was real. In the morning he would surely remember who he was, and what had happened to them. Jenny hoped he would understand her reasons for claiming him as her husband, but more than that, she hoped he would feel well enough so that she could leave the gypsy encampment. She had to find Harriet and get on with the safe, unfettered life she was meant to lead.