escaped. It was beyond comprehension that she was amused by the sudden and thorough dunking, but it had been most effective in dousing the fire inside her—for the moment, anyway—permitting a cooler and wetter head to prevail. Offering Nate her hand, she pulled him up and out of the swift-flowing stream. “Perhaps it was for the best.”
“An’ what d’ye mean by that?” Linen shirt dripping and leather breeches soaked several shades darker than they ought to be, Nate shook his head like a dog after a bath.
“I just meant that there are things to consider before anything else happens between us.” Trying to not stare at his mouth, Bertie could feel a flush nearly set her face on fire.
“Such as?” His hands were about her waist now, at once insistent and undemanding.
“Such as being responsible.”
He hesitated then asked, “Ye mean th’ chance o’ children?”
“Aye, children.” Mimicking his accent, Bertie couldn’t resist putting him in the spotlight. “Do tell, have you left one of those planted in someone’s belly before?” She jabbed him in the midsection and summoned a bit of King Lear. “‘She grew round-womb’d, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.’”
Nate held up his hand, the one marked to match her own. “If it’s a husband ye want, a husband ye have.”
Bertie’s left hand sought out his right so that their handfasting scars met furrow to furrow, and she laced her fingers through his. “I don’t want a husband, nor a baby.” She didn’t mention Serefina’s desire for a child-not-born, nor the flask among the medicines that would have served to keep her safe from the other sort of offspring.
“What about Ariel?” Nate asked softly. “D’ye want him?”
“We didn’t leave him behind; he chose not to come with us. I am determined not to spare him a thought.”
“Mayhap that’s what ye want t’ believe, but that’s not th’ story yer face tells.” He brought up his other hand, thumb tracing her jaw with a gentle motion intended to erase all thoughts of his rival from her head.
“What story is it telling, then?” Bertie didn’t like the idea that there were stories without words; words were unpredictable enough, but this new alternative was even more dangerous.
“Naught I would say aloud, fer fear ye’d shove me back in th’ water.” Though it looked like he wanted to do much, much more—apparently she wasn’t the only one with her story written upon her features—Nate let go of her face and stepped back. “Ye need t’ change yer clothes again.”
“Sudden dousings seem to be my specialty lately.” Bertie shivered from more than the cold. She retreated, as though the river’s clear currents were poison that would slough the skin from her bones, the lulling burble transformed into the tattling voices of Sedna’s minions. “Do you think the water will carry word of our whereabouts to the Sea Goddess?”
Nate blanched. “We need t’ get away from th’ river right now. I should ha’e thought o’ that.” Taking her by the hand, he towed her through the trees separating them from the campfire, muttering all the while. “We need t’ douse th’ fire an’ pack th’ gear, move th’ campsite well away from th’ water—what in th’ name o’ all th’ hells?”
Bertie had to step around him to see what had brought him to an abrupt halt. Waschbär and his ferret cohorts were conspicuously absent, and the unusual tranquility of the night was safeguarded by the fact that the four fairies’ mouths were gagged with rag-clots. Tied together and suspended precariously over the fire by a woman of Amazonian proportions, the fairies flailed their feet and squeaked incoherent warnings. Nate must have understood them better than she did.
“Ha’e my back!”
Nate drew his sword as he turned, trusting she would protect his blind side. Years of onstage sparring had honed Bertie’s fighting instincts, and
“An’ what d’ye mean by that?” Linen shirt dripping and leather breeches soaked several shades darker than they ought to be, Nate shook his head like a dog after a bath.
“I just meant that there are things to consider before anything else happens between us.” Trying to not stare at his mouth, Bertie could feel a flush nearly set her face on fire.
“Such as?” His hands were about her waist now, at once insistent and undemanding.
“Such as being responsible.”
He hesitated then asked, “Ye mean th’ chance o’ children?”
“Aye, children.” Mimicking his accent, Bertie couldn’t resist putting him in the spotlight. “Do tell, have you left one of those planted in someone’s belly before?” She jabbed him in the midsection and summoned a bit of King Lear. “‘She grew round-womb’d, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.’”
Nate held up his hand, the one marked to match her own. “If it’s a husband ye want, a husband ye have.”
Bertie’s left hand sought out his right so that their handfasting scars met furrow to furrow, and she laced her fingers through his. “I don’t want a husband, nor a baby.” She didn’t mention Serefina’s desire for a child-not-born, nor the flask among the medicines that would have served to keep her safe from the other sort of offspring.
“What about Ariel?” Nate asked softly. “D’ye want him?”
“We didn’t leave him behind; he chose not to come with us. I am determined not to spare him a thought.”
“Mayhap that’s what ye want t’ believe, but that’s not th’ story yer face tells.” He brought up his other hand, thumb tracing her jaw with a gentle motion intended to erase all thoughts of his rival from her head.
“What story is it telling, then?” Bertie didn’t like the idea that there were stories without words; words were unpredictable enough, but this new alternative was even more dangerous.
“Naught I would say aloud, fer fear ye’d shove me back in th’ water.” Though it looked like he wanted to do much, much more—apparently she wasn’t the only one with her story written upon her features—Nate let go of her face and stepped back. “Ye need t’ change yer clothes again.”
“Sudden dousings seem to be my specialty lately.” Bertie shivered from more than the cold. She retreated, as though the river’s clear currents were poison that would slough the skin from her bones, the lulling burble transformed into the tattling voices of Sedna’s minions. “Do you think the water will carry word of our whereabouts to the Sea Goddess?”
Nate blanched. “We need t’ get away from th’ river right now. I should ha’e thought o’ that.” Taking her by the hand, he towed her through the trees separating them from the campfire, muttering all the while. “We need t’ douse th’ fire an’ pack th’ gear, move th’ campsite well away from th’ water—what in th’ name o’ all th’ hells?”
Bertie had to step around him to see what had brought him to an abrupt halt. Waschbär and his ferret cohorts were conspicuously absent, and the unusual tranquility of the night was safeguarded by the fact that the four fairies’ mouths were gagged with rag-clots. Tied together and suspended precariously over the fire by a woman of Amazonian proportions, the fairies flailed their feet and squeaked incoherent warnings. Nate must have understood them better than she did.
“Ha’e my back!”
Nate drew his sword as he turned, trusting she would protect his blind side. Years of onstage sparring had honed Bertie’s fighting instincts, and
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