“Why?” he asked, as if the question pained him.
She leaned farther, slowly, as if trying not to frighten him away. “Because you are handsome. And courageous. And witty. And I think”—she licked her lips again, as the warmth of his face reached her—“I think I’m falling in love with you, husband.”
His head was still turned toward her, her mouth a finger’s width from his. She could smell the scent of him, his maleness perfumed with woodsmoke and autumn air.
“Alys,” he whispered. “Don’t.”
“Why?” She let the question sigh from her lips and then closed her eyes.
A rude gust of cold air was all that kissed her mouth. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Piers already walking away from the fire.
“Where are you going?” she called, sitting up quickly.
“To get more wood.” Then he disappeared into the dark as the sound of tumbling rocks announced his hasty descent down the ravine.
Layla scrambled up onto Alys’s shoulder and began topick through her hair. Alys dropped her chin onto her fist with a deep frown and let the monkey have her way.
“Dammit,” she said softly. Her eyes searched the dark beyond the fire.
But he had let her get closer, still. She was making progress, and that was encouraging. She knew he’d wanted to kiss her, she just hadn’t been quick enough. And they still had a handful of days until they reached London. Perhaps three more nights, if she was lucky. It wasn’t a lot of time, but it was all she had.
She let her mind settle on the problem, much like Layla continued to worry and pick through her tresses. By the time Piers returned, announcing his arrival by tossing a small bundle of dead wood near the fire, she had failed to work out a plan. It frustrated her, as she couldn’t help but feel that the answer she sought should be painfully obvious.
She smiled up at him, hoping that kindness would gain her some ground. “Welcome back.”
He stood there staring at her for several moments, his brows drawn down in his signature scowl, his long arms at his sides. The fire lit half of his face to golden, flickering brilliance, but even in that glow, Alys thought he looked paler than when he’d left.
“Don’t do that again, Alys.”
Her eyes went wide as she tried to feign innocence, difficult with a monkey huffing little breaths into her ear. “Do what?”
“You know what.” He crouched down by the fire and turned his attention to arranging the wood fuel. He was clearly in no mood at the moment for sport.
“Oh! You mean try to kiss you?”
He threw her a glare from the corner of his eye.
“Why is it so wrong for a woman to be forthright in herdesires?” Alys demanded. “The Foxe Ring decreed that we are man and wife, and if you are attracted to me, then I see no reason—”
“Alys, we arenotmarried.”
“That is debatable.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Since we are debating it even now, I would say that it is, in fact, debatable. You are unlike anyone I have ever met, Piers.”
He threw the last chunk of wood into the fire, causing an explosion of sparks. “You’ve never met anyone like me because you don’t spend your social time with the servants!”
“Actually, I do. Quite a lot, really. Drives Sybilla mad.”
He was very obviously unimpressed by her candor. “Here is why I will not kiss you, Alys, and why we will most certainly never—” He broke off and waved one hand between the two of them. “Your entire life, you have gotten everything you want. Me? I get nothing that I want. We are two different animals.”
“I don’t agree with that at all.”
“No?” he challenged. “Look at your gown—even though it looks as though it belongs on a kitchen maid, it is still better than what I now wear. And this is myonlysuit of clothes, save the ruined monk’s costume that was given me out of charity. You bade me cut up a dress for rags that would support me for five years!”
Alys simply shrugged.
