She cleared her throat.“Not me.Him.”
The blacksmith rocked back and forth from toes to heels and back.“You gonna keep her safe, yeah?Keep her out of yer forge?”
“Not at all, my giant man.I intend to give her a hammer and let her loose upon the place.”
“Apo—” She cursed.“Hesperus.Please desist.”
The blacksmith circled his finger in the general direction of Sybil’s stomach.“Get too close to the fire, sweetheart, and your baby makin’ bits will”—he mimicked a small explosion with his hands—“poof.Burn right away.”
“Pardon me!”Thereher fists.Thereher poker-straight spine and bloody beautiful indignation.“My… mybaby making bitsare none of your concern!”
“I happen to agree,” Apollo said.
“You stay out of it.”Now she was rounding on him with a stubbornly set chin and narrowed eyes.
“I think I’ve done my job here.”Apollo made for the door.
“Get back here,” two voices called out at the same time.
The combatants agreed on something at least.
With a sigh he hoped reached the indifferent ears of whatever deity had so far looked after his fate, he returned to Sybil’s side and leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, “He could squash me between two fingers.”
“Coward.”
“Self-preservationist.Besides, you’ve just acted rather cowardly yourself.Glass houses and whatnot.”
“I’m not… I cannot… you do not understand.”
“Would tha two of ya stop chatterin’ away and get out!”the blacksmith bellowed.A bit of his spittle landed on Apollo’s sleeve.
Right.He could only take so much.“I do not believe we’ll come to any agreements, Sybil.We’re leaving now.”
She seemed about to argue, but he dragged her toward the door.“We’ll figure something else out.Don’t give up your plan, give up the route blocked by a beefwit blacksmith.”
She allowed him to escort her outside, where he lifted her up into her saddle then mounted himself.She didn’t flirt or bat her lashes.She didn’t attempt to prolong their contact.She only set her gaze at the end of the road with the firmest jaw he’d ever seen.Those shoulders—thrown back and squared—not just for keeping balance.She rode a horse like she’d been born in the saddle, but more impressive than that—she wore determination, purpose, like it was the air that kept her living.
And… hell…
He’d never seen anything so exquisite.
They rode all the way to Foggy Hill in silence, again, and when he helped her down, she took off on her own two feet, gaze fixed on something he couldn’t see.
He jogged after her, caught up in a few steps, and swept her up, set her atop a bench near the stable door.She gasped but didn’t fight him, perhaps because he knelt on one knee so quickly before her.
And stripped her of her stocking.Unwound the thin strip of linen wrapped around her foot, which he set on his thigh.He stroked his thumb down the sole of her foot.
Her healed foot.
A small, silver scar there, but no open wound.He’d needed to know, to be sure.
“Does it hurt?”His voice like a growl.
“N-not anymore.”
He pressed his thumb into the scar.
She hissed.
