She swatted it away, kept kissing.
But the foul-smelling battering ram would not give up until it had butted them apart.They sank to their heels, bodies cooling as the sheep trudged through the gate and between them.
“That was…” Sybil had no words for it.“That…”
“Worked quite well.”He stood abruptly, attempting to brush the mud from his knees and giving up when it just spread to his palms.“Damn.”
Worked quite well.Yes.She’d been having a revelation, and he’d been… not having one.
She stood, not even bothering to try cleaning her skirts.Ruined.And the heat was seeping away now.Despite the warm summer air, she shivered.
Apollo cleared his throat.“You should return to the inn.”
And before she could answer, a very loud cough thundered through the air.Not Apollo.Not Sybil.
Mrs.Paisley.
“Bloody hell,” Apollo hissed, gaze flying ten or so yards off to where the blacksmith stood, her back turned to them.
“We forgot.”Sybil brushed past the sheep, rushing toward Mrs.Paisley.“I’ll take care of her then meet you back at the hotel.”
He didn’t respond, and she didn’t look back, and the rain began to fall harder, merciless and sharp.
She’d never felt so cold, and her teeth were chattering by the time she reached the blacksmith.“It’s safe to turn around now.”
“You sure?”The woman yelled a little to be heard over the rain.
“Absolutely.”Sybil managed a smile as the Mrs.Paisley turned around.“My apologies for that… rather too… intimate performance.”
Mrs.Paisley’s face was redder than a holly berry.“No, erm, it’s, ah… well, you’re rather a close family, aren’t you?”
“No!Oh God.We’re not family at all.It’s a long story.Can we go somewhere dry?”
“Yes!”Mrs.Paisley made for the road.
“What about the sheep?”
“Now they’re not trapped, they’ll go home.”
Sybil hesitated before following her back to town.She couldn’t find Apollo.He’d disappeared into the sheets of rain slicing down from the heavens.Her stomach was a vine-tangle of knots.Forget Apollo.Forget the kiss.She had more interesting things to do.
Interview a woman blacksmith.
She led Sybil to a forge in town with a covered doorway.They took off their mackintoshes and hung them on hooks outside, then Mrs.Paisley—wearing trousers and a rather pretty deep-blue shirt with flowers embroidered down the sleeves—led her into the forge’s close warmth.She patted her hair, which was braided and twisted into a crown around her head.
Sybil ran her hands up and down her arms as Mrs.Paisley used a bellows to fan the flames of the fire.The tools of her trade decorated the walls, and a large anvil sat squat and heavy next to the fire.
“Tea?”Mrs.Paisley asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Within minutes, they were sipping from steaming cups with a delicate flower pattern.
“These are pretty,” Sybil said.
“My mother’s.She had a full set once upon a time.But there’s only three cups left.S’why I brought them here.So, erm… you and your brother?—”
“Not my brother.”Sybil groaned.“Not related a bit, well except by marriage.His cousin to my brother.We’re traveling together and hoped to avoid a scandal.Please… if you do not mind… could you keep that little truth to yourself?”
