Alys turned to leave the ravine, but paused at the edge to look back at him. “And Piers?”
“Yes?”
“You have my complete permission to go through my bag.” She gave him a wide grin and then disappeared down the bank.
“Holy—!” Alys shrieked when she first dipped the wadded up perse in the river. Icy did not even come close to describing the temperature of the water. Her skirts were tied into a knot just below her knees, and she’d already brushed and re-tied her hair back from her face. Unlike Piers, she was unwilling to wash her hair in such cold weather without the assurance of a warm fire to dry it by, but she was pleased to note that the smell of it wasn’t completely unpleasant—rather woodsy, actually.
“Alys?” She heard Piers’s faint call. She looked up and saw him standing at the edge of the shelter, looking wide and wild.
She waved at him, signaling that all was well. Then she turned back to her task grimly, wincing as the frigid water ran over her knuckles when she wrung out the perse rag.
She scrubbed at her face and neck, her skin burning both from the vigorous washing and the cold water. Then she dipped into the bodice of her dress, huffing out her breaths in “ha-ha-ha” as her skin threatened to shiver from her flesh. The spots under her arms and breasts were the worst, by far, but the fresh scent of sandalwood from her soap did ease the discomfort a bit. After her legs and private areas were swiped clean, she rinsed the rag in theriver and laid it on a nearby rock while she loosened her skirts and then attacked them with her hairbrush.
Even the full-body chill that had seized her was not strong enough to shake the image of a freshly-clean Piers from her mind. She had been right at her earlier guess that a bit of washing up would do wonders for his person, but she could never have imagined the sight which would be revealed beneath all that dirt and old robes. The gooseflesh on her arms and legs were only partly due to her damp skin now.
Noble, strong of body …
And he had helped her down the ravine—actually extended his hand and touched her without her request. Alys could not help but think that perhaps he was beginning to soften toward her. She paused for a moment, her hairbrush held mid-stroke over her skirt, as a realization occurred to her. Alys had not known that Piers’s bag contained something as meaningful as the signet ring when he’d left it in her care, but Piers had.
A sudden breeze swept through the ravine over the river at her toes and Alys smelled smoke. She turned her head toward the bank and saw Piers crouched down near the opening of the overhang, a column of smoke fluttering sideways under his hands.
He was making her a fire!
A slow smile crept over her face and she felt a warmth in her chest beneath the field of prickly flesh. Perhaps the risk of a fire was a repayment for the food she had obtained them, or perhaps he was simply weary of bearing the cold, as well. Alys hoped those weren’t the only reasons, though.
She watched him pull his straggly, uneven locks of hair away from the growing flames, and an idea struck her. She gathered up the slippery soap and damp rag. Steppinggingerly in deference to her thin-soled, silk slippers on her wet and frozen feet—she hadn’t wanted to get her only pair of shoes suitable for walking wet—she made her way over the rocky river bank to the ravine wall, and began to climb carefully.
Piers only glanced at her as she came into the overhang—he was busy skewering the onion between a pair of apples and situating them over the flames. The sidemeat was already leaning over the fire at a sharp angle, so that its juices would run down the slab and into the little wooden bowl she recognized from Piers’s pack. Doubt came into her mind for a moment, and as much as she was looking forward to the meal and the warmth, she hoped they weren’t taking a foolish risk by having a fire.
“You think it’s alright, then?” she asked, as she was putting her things away, save her slippers which she had kicked off by the fire. She tried to watch him closely as she pulled the drawstring tight, having learned already that Piers’s emotions were fleeting across his face. She wanted to be sure to catch them if they showed.
He looked over at her, his eyes not quite reaching hers before he brought his attention back to the food once more. “What’s alright?”
“The fire.” She approached him and sank to her bottom, already feeling the delicious warmth radiating from the flames. The meat popped once, a prelude of the grand meal to come.
He shrugged. “‘S’fine.”
“I hope so, because I don’t believe I’ve ever felt anything so lovely,” she sighed and began brushing at the bottoms of her feet with her hands before slipping into her leather shoes. “If you told me we had to put it out, I’d likely throw you from this cliff.”
He snorted. “You couldn’t throw Layla from this cliff.”
“You underestimate me again, husband. I’m quite strong for my size.” She thought he would rise to the bait of her calling him by that title, but he just huffed and shook his head. He was proving quite difficult to draw into conversation unless he was angry.
“Did you do that?” she asked, pointing to the little carved bowl collecting the drippings.
He nodded, and then after a moment, said, “It was a way to pass the time while I was healing.” He glanced at her. “It’s not very good, I know.”
“I think it’s a lovely bowl,” Alys argued. “It’s round, and—” She searched her mind frantically for some other quality to praise. “Not very deep, which can be bothersome in a bowl. And it’s very … well, round. Nicely so.”
He made no comment.
Oh, well. Nothing else for her to do but go on and ask.
“I want to cut your hair,” she blurted.
His movements ceased abruptly and he froze for a moment. Then he turned his face slowly toward her. “What did you say?”
“Your hair.” Alys cleared her throat, wondering at his hostile stare. “I want to cut it.”
