“Of a raven, if I recall.”
“He’s great company on the road and possessed of a good heart, I’m sure of it.”
“Exceptional eyes … good heart … and the soul of a rascal.”
Their eyes held for the beat of silence that ticked past, then it became too much, and they broke into laughter at the same instant.
“Well,” said Artemis, swiping a tear from her eye, “no one is perfect.”
This laughter—thislightness—it felt good. Like a cooling spring on a hot day, refreshing and …
Relieving.
Relief was what he felt above all.
Incrementally relieved of a burden that had prevented him from experiencing a feeling that came anywhere close to good.
And this laughter, it feltgood.
“You’re still like that,” he said without thinking.
A question entered her smiling eyes. “Like what?”
“You only see the good in people.”
“What’s the point in seeing the bad?” Her smile grew pensive. “I suppose in the past?—”
Theirpast, he heard, though she didn’t say.
“In the past,” she continued, “it has led me down some unforeseen bad paths.”
Bad paths.
She was speaking of him.
Some air yet needed to be cleared between them.
Now was as good a time as any.
“When I returned to England,” he began. “I’d expected to find you married.”
They were the words he needed to speak—the beginning of them, anyway—but when voiced aloud like this, they struck him like a blow to the solar plexus.
Artemis … married …
To someone else.
She flashed him an incredulous glance. “To your brother, correct?” Her disdain for the very notion was evident in every syllable.
Bran shook his head. “I knew you didn’t marry him, but …” How to phrase this delicately?
“But you’d thought to find me wed to some other wastrel lord?”
That was certainly a delicate way of putting it.
Wisely, he remained silent.
But his mind worked.
