‘Now you’ll tell me that I’m wasted here, or you’ll start telling me how perfect Maeve is, again.’
Tegan’s laughter became gasping, choking. Brede waited for it to pass, but it continued. She abandoned the hammer, and went to Tegan’s side, helping her to sit up. The choking continued. Brede supported Tegan, holding her, helpless to do more than wait for the spasms to pass. At last Tegan could breathe easily again. She leant against Brede, and wiped tears from her face, exhausted. She felt Brede’s breath against the side of her cheek, and made an effort to move away, discomfited by their closeness. She glanced up at Brede’s face, which was once more closed and distant.
‘How often do I say that, then?’ she asked, her voice a mere thread of rasping breath.
‘I’ve lost count.’
Tegan tried to focus on Brede: too close for comfort – kissing distance. Tegan was shocked at the thought, more so as Brede’s hands probed beneath her shirt, checking the dressing over her wound, brushing against her breast as she did so.
‘I think you’ll live,’ Brede said, careful to keep any emotion from her voice, ‘but if talking about Maeve has this effect, perhaps...’
‘...I miss her,’ Tegan replied, her voice stronger. ‘Talking about her helps.’
‘Are you hand-fast to Maeve then?’ Brede asked abruptly.
‘No.’
‘No? You surprise me. Had I such a paragon at my side and in my bed, I’d not leave her loose to find other partners.’
Tegan stirred restlessly within the circle of Brede’s arm.
‘Maeve wouldn’t agree. I was her first lover, but I don’t expect to be her only, nor her last. What am I saying? I know I’m not.’
‘Not so perfect after all,’ Brede said, loosening her support, moving away from Tegan. ‘So again, if your need hurts others, do you sate it?’
She went back to the anvil, thrust the cold metal back into the fire, and was not surprised when Tegan did not answer.
Brede spent more time than she should with the horse; she wanted the beast in good condition, just in case – but in case of what, she was not precisely sure. By the time the snow had fallen deep enough to cut the village off, the horse was strong once more, growing sleek in the stall. With no hope of travelling, Brede fell back into her old routines. She rose early and took a warmed cup of ale up onto the wooden palisade that surrounded the village to watch the sunrise, to watch the first flight of birds, to see which way the wind blew.
Sitting so, for the first time in more than a month, huddled into her warmest cloak, she felt a momentary contentment. As Adair shuffled up beside her, she glanced up and smiled.
‘Not seen you for a while,’ he said in quiet accusation.
Brede offered him the cooling ale as he settled beside her, feet braced against the rough wood.
‘I’ve been busy,’ she said, shrugging.
Adair took the beaker from her, and took a sip, turning to look out across the Marsh at the first red streak of day.
‘So, which way is the wind blowing?’ he asked her, as he had asked so many times before.
‘Today, north by west. But not for long.’
‘And how long before the wind is strong enough to carry you away?’
‘Not as long –’ Brede stopped, her usual ‘ as it will take to grow the wings to ride it, ’ silenced.
Adair frowned. This wasn’t part of their joking ritual. His eyes strayed away from the Marsh and he focused on the way the wind played with Brede’s hair, teasing it loose from her inadequate bindings.
‘Grown your wings, have you?’
‘Maybe.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps I should have gone back to Wing Clan as soon as I had recovered from the fever; it gets harder to leave the longer I stay.’
Adair stood abruptly, almost overbalancing.
‘You spend too much time with –’ he could find no words.
Brede froze, her hand half extended to steady him.
‘Faine’s guest?’ she asked, her heart suddenly pounding.
‘Her.’
‘I do only what I
Tegan’s laughter became gasping, choking. Brede waited for it to pass, but it continued. She abandoned the hammer, and went to Tegan’s side, helping her to sit up. The choking continued. Brede supported Tegan, holding her, helpless to do more than wait for the spasms to pass. At last Tegan could breathe easily again. She leant against Brede, and wiped tears from her face, exhausted. She felt Brede’s breath against the side of her cheek, and made an effort to move away, discomfited by their closeness. She glanced up at Brede’s face, which was once more closed and distant.
‘How often do I say that, then?’ she asked, her voice a mere thread of rasping breath.
‘I’ve lost count.’
Tegan tried to focus on Brede: too close for comfort – kissing distance. Tegan was shocked at the thought, more so as Brede’s hands probed beneath her shirt, checking the dressing over her wound, brushing against her breast as she did so.
‘I think you’ll live,’ Brede said, careful to keep any emotion from her voice, ‘but if talking about Maeve has this effect, perhaps...’
‘...I miss her,’ Tegan replied, her voice stronger. ‘Talking about her helps.’
‘Are you hand-fast to Maeve then?’ Brede asked abruptly.
‘No.’
‘No? You surprise me. Had I such a paragon at my side and in my bed, I’d not leave her loose to find other partners.’
Tegan stirred restlessly within the circle of Brede’s arm.
‘Maeve wouldn’t agree. I was her first lover, but I don’t expect to be her only, nor her last. What am I saying? I know I’m not.’
‘Not so perfect after all,’ Brede said, loosening her support, moving away from Tegan. ‘So again, if your need hurts others, do you sate it?’
She went back to the anvil, thrust the cold metal back into the fire, and was not surprised when Tegan did not answer.
Brede spent more time than she should with the horse; she wanted the beast in good condition, just in case – but in case of what, she was not precisely sure. By the time the snow had fallen deep enough to cut the village off, the horse was strong once more, growing sleek in the stall. With no hope of travelling, Brede fell back into her old routines. She rose early and took a warmed cup of ale up onto the wooden palisade that surrounded the village to watch the sunrise, to watch the first flight of birds, to see which way the wind blew.
Sitting so, for the first time in more than a month, huddled into her warmest cloak, she felt a momentary contentment. As Adair shuffled up beside her, she glanced up and smiled.
‘Not seen you for a while,’ he said in quiet accusation.
Brede offered him the cooling ale as he settled beside her, feet braced against the rough wood.
‘I’ve been busy,’ she said, shrugging.
Adair took the beaker from her, and took a sip, turning to look out across the Marsh at the first red streak of day.
‘So, which way is the wind blowing?’ he asked her, as he had asked so many times before.
‘Today, north by west. But not for long.’
‘And how long before the wind is strong enough to carry you away?’
‘Not as long –’ Brede stopped, her usual ‘ as it will take to grow the wings to ride it, ’ silenced.
Adair frowned. This wasn’t part of their joking ritual. His eyes strayed away from the Marsh and he focused on the way the wind played with Brede’s hair, teasing it loose from her inadequate bindings.
‘Grown your wings, have you?’
‘Maybe.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps I should have gone back to Wing Clan as soon as I had recovered from the fever; it gets harder to leave the longer I stay.’
Adair stood abruptly, almost overbalancing.
‘You spend too much time with –’ he could find no words.
Brede froze, her hand half extended to steady him.
‘Faine’s guest?’ she asked, her heart suddenly pounding.
‘Her.’
‘I do only what I
Similar Books
