Ironclaw didn’t like my association with magic either, not that I had seen him since the performance at Sage Ravine. It’s possible he didn’t come to my tent that night—I never checked. Draw and I had talked late into the night under a tree, his cloak wrapped around us. He told me more about the region we were coming to and his position as Queen’s Solicitor, and I shared the finer details of my job as an accountant. He’d been thrilled to learn about spreadsheets.
While some responded with caution to my abilities, others, like Omar, took my magic show as a good omen. This morning, Tilly the laundress, who had never shown a lick of respect my way, nearly knocked me off Peanut Butter in a rush to polish my boots.
“Perhaps you’ll survive after all, Mistress Witch,” she had said loudly, causing Draw to snicker. (Though I had no qualms when he whispered “Mistress Witch” to my neck at the lunch break.)
As Tilly battered my riding boots with a brush, I managed to secure a promise from her to wash my tunic and pants and hang them to dry overnight. Which meant I had to bring them to her soon.
“Another time,” I told Omar.
There had to be a way for me to help him, even if I wasn’t magical myself. Arthur C. Clarke’s “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic” kept coming back to me. How could I pass on the benefits of twenty-first century Earthling education disguised as magic?
As for Omar’s genuine abilities, hopefully they would naturally grow with him. Preferably when I was back home in Mayfair.
Draw appeared around the side of a tent, and I felt my smile light up. He had changed out of his usual dark robes into his tunic and wool pants. There was something about seeing him dressed less formal that I liked.
“My turn, Omar,” he said.
The way Omar glanced between the two of us, I could tell he sensed some kind of grownup thing but was not of the age to care.
Omar stood and lopped off. “Let’s do the fire trick in the morning,” he called behind him.
“Calm your mind before you sleep,” I shouted back.
Draw gave me a hand up. We took advantage of being shielded by tent walls to stare appreciatively at each other. He wasn’t quite as tall as Ironclaw—the top of my head came to his collarbone. His face was narrow like his body and, while I could see how others might think him severe, the drawnness about his face disappeared around me. His cheekbones were sharp, his skin lovely and unblemished. His hair was pulled back in a neat knot.
Draw brought his hand to my cheek and brushed his thumb on my lips. “It’s nice to see you.”
“I agree.” I smiled and tilted my chin up. It was a slow kiss. I pressed into him and introduced my tongue. His breath came hot against my face as he met me.
I tucked a hand under the back of his pants and felt hot, smooth skin.
He gasped and broke the kiss.
“Celestial cats, Dottie,” he cursed. “You’ll have me stripped of my clothes—” It was only a distraction. He brought both hands to my waist and slid them under my shirt.
I squealed.
Despite the fun, we mutually broke apart, conscious of how quickly the space could become public.
Draw grinned and unrolled a leather package he had set on the ground. “Sir Jerrald said to start with these.” He revealed two metal swords with blunt edges and no adornment. They were simple, but a step up from the wood practice swords.
I took the shorter of the two in my hand. “It’s heavy.”
Draw sighed. “It is, but I know what my woman wants and that’s the ability to cleave a man in half. What use is corresponding with foreign royal courts when I could have arms like a tree?”
“Indeed. It’s not always mind over body.”
He dropped his voice but was still making fun. “Maybe if I had picked one of these up sooner, I would have made the book covers.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sometimes you made the summary on the back of the book.” It was a relief to referenceLandsome Roadswith someone. It was a strange place to be, straddling fiction and what felt so much like the real world.
I lifted the blunt-edged sword and fell to the latest drill we had learned. Very quickly I went back to the first and easiest over-the-shoulder maneuver. My arms burned and I had to stop several times to stretch my arms and back.
The air cooled as the sun sank, but I was burning up. I drilled as long as I could until I had to drop my sword to my side. Draw did the same and looked at me. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He was breathing heavily. I was just the same. There was something about his wordless expression that made me crack up.
“Oh, come here”—he dropped the sword to the ground completely—“I had imagined other, more pleasant activities to put you out of breath and instead here we are waving chunks of metal over our heads.” He pulled me against him, and I carefully pointed my sword away from us.
“Dottie, let’s ride together tomorrow.”
