"They would," Aramis agrees, but he cannot stop the longing in his voice when he murmurs, "Horses. You are a fine mount, but I have missed riding a horse, Porthos."

Aramis settles back against the sheets. "A small country inn, with meals made for us like they would have been at home, horses and broad swathes of land, forest trees to kiss against." His smile turns sly. "Perhaps more. How have we not yet made love where the stars could see?"