The alcove was dim and quiet when Alex woke.
Soft afternoon light filtered through the ironwood vines that screened the entrance, painting everything in muted golds and greens. The air smelled of warm stone, spring water, and the faint herbal sharpness of the cooling compresses Sally had insisted on. Someone had tucked extra furs behind his lower back and under his knees, and a loose, oversized tunic had been draped over him—soft enough not to rub against his tender, swollen chest.
He was surrounded.
