Gazing up at him, she realized that she was more than willing to agree with him. Though the thought had perhaps lingered with her earlier that eve, she had just as quickly chased it away. But now, basking in his presence, she could think of nothing else. A paradise with Brogan as her husband and no war, no politics. She wondered if such a place existed. She had lived so long with the worst intrigue and power struggle imaginable that it was difficult to believe there was actually a world where peace prevailed. A place where she and Brogan could be happy.
The little girl suddenly turned to Avalyn, distracting her from her thoughts. The big blue eyes were warm with joy, food spread out all over her face. She said something with her mouth full but neither Avalyn nor Brogan could understand her.
“What did you say?” Avalyn asked with a smile on her lips.
The child swallowed a huge bite. “Is there sweets?”
As Avalyn chuckled softly, Brogan lifted an eyebrow. But it was without force. “What do you know of sweets?” he asked.
The little girl focused those enormous orbs on him. “I had some, once.”
“You did? What kind?”
Her expression washed with wonder and excitement. “Burnt sugar.”
“Burnt sugar?” Avalyn repeated. “Where on earth did you get that?”
The child turned back to her bread. “A man gived it to me when he hurt me.”
Avalyn’s smile faded, as did Brogan’s. “What man?” Avalyn asked with quiet puzzlement. “How did he hurt you?
The little girl truly had no idea of right or wrong, good or bad. She only knew what she knew, having grown up on the streetswithout anyone to guide or raise her. She shrugged to Avalyn’s question; she had more interest in the food than in answering.
“He hurt me and then he gave me burnt sugar.”
Brogan suspected what she meant, but he dare not explain it to Avalyn. A side glance showed him Avalyn sitting with her eyes closed, tightly, before opening them again. He suspected she knew what the child was alluding to as well, but did not want to voice it. Such a thing was common and not particularly shocking. But for it to be done to such a beautiful child, or any child for that matter, was a horror.
“You should eat something,” Brogan said, trying to distract Avalyn from her revulsion. He poured ale into one of the cups and put it before her. “Have some. It is usually quite good.”
Avalyn took the cup and downed the contents in three swallows. Brogan poured her some more and poured himself a measure as well. The little girl turned to look at Brogan, smiling with food falling out of her mouth, and sending him into snorts of humor. But the child had no idea why he was laughing and she went back to her meal. Avalyn downed another cup of ale, watching the little girl stuff herself.
“Poor little thing,” she murmured. “To live on the streets, starving, having no one to take care of her. What do you suppose will become of her?”
Brogan shook his head. “She will sell herself on the streets as most young girls do.”
Avalyn knew that. She didn’t know why she asked a rhetorical question. “She’s so young,” she stroked the dirty hair. “Do you suppose we could get her a bath and some clean clothes?”
“What for?” he asked. “She is going back on the street where she will only get dirty again.”
His attitude incensed her and she turned to glare at him. “Not if I decide to keep her.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Keepher?”
“Aye,” she said in a tone that dared him to defy her. “I cannot turn her back over to those evil children that would beat her or men that would… would hurt her.”
He kept his cool, trying to be detached about the situation. “Avalyn, it is not as if she is a stray puppy. You simply cannot take a child home like a pet.”
“Give me more credit than that. I do not intend to keep her as a pet. I intend to raise her as my child.”
“But what if she is already someone’s child? She said that she did not have a mother, but what of a father? What if he still lives?”
“No worthy father would allow his child to live as she so obviously lives.”
“Maybe not, but I do not believe you are thinking clearly about this.”
She turned away from him. He suspected she would have run away from him had the child not been seated on her lap. He squeezed her shoulders gently.
“I am not trying to be cruel,” he leaned close so his lips where against her temple again. “But you are letting your heart speak and not your head. You’re not thinking…”
