“Would it be rude to say I’m surprised to find I’m feeling the same way?”
He smiled. “Very, and ’tis a great whopping lie. I have a very vivid memory of the first time you laid eyes on my fine, strapping self. Admit it. You were lost in an instant.”
She released his hand and put her arms around his waist. “Terrible man.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek against her hair. He supposed if time had stopped at that moment, it would have been enough. He’d never thought to be so appallingly content, but there it was. Comfortable slippers, a glass of Gairn’s finest, and a good book—
“Ye gads,” he said faintly. “I’ve become domesticated.”
“Have you?”
“Well,” he said, “perhaps only now and again, when I need a rest from the general havoc-wreaking and spell-poaching I enjoy so much.” He sighed deeply. “Léirsinn, my love, we’ll either hope for that fiery end together, or I will indeed find a way to bargain something for a substantial amount of time together.”
“Can that be done?”
“If my gilded tongue won’t save the day, I’ll trade bits of my soul for the same.”
“And you would do that for me,” she said, sounding very surprised.
“I would.”
“You’re not offering any flowery sentiments,” she said slowly.
“You render me speechless more often than not—”
A knock sounded at the door, almost sending him pitching backward out the window. He caught the satchel Léirsinn tossed him, then looked for a handy place to hide. It wasn’t that he wasn’t accustomed to taking a little dive over the back of any sofa that presented itself for use in such an activity, but Inntrig was what it was. Léirsinn’s chamber contained nothing but a pair of very rustic chairs, a bed with no room underneath, and a wardrobe that a child wouldn’t fit in. The whole damned place wasn’t meant for anything but austere living.
There was only one solution and he settled for it with a light sigh. He tiptoed over to the doorway with Léirsinn, then flattened himself back against the wall out of sight and hoped for the best.
Léirsinn looked at him. “I love you.”
“Ye gads, woman,” he wheezed, “again, a little warning next time.”
She only smiled, then opened the door.
“Forgive the lateness of the hour,” a warm, honey-toned voice said smoothly. “I am Astar, grandson of the king. Welcome to Inntrig.”
Acair rolled his eyes. He could think of several things to call the man standing out in the passageway—bloviating windbagcame first to mind—but perhaps that could remain unsaid. He supposed he might also have kept up a running mental commentary about the man’s dress, his table manners, and his habit of driving every sensible miss from the room with his inability to count to four and caper about to the simplest dance pattern, but that was likely something better left for another time. He would have to settle for a bit of eavesdropping.
“Traveling alone is dangerous, but I understand you have a servant at least.”
Acair scowled. Aye, and onewiththe ability to memorize not only dance patterns but nasty spells.
He listened to Léirsinn deflect and demur and was torn between admiring her skill at the same and ruminating over why it was he disliked the king’s grandson so thoroughly. He had encountered Astar several times in various locales, but he’d been even less likely to socialize with that one than he had been with, say, Mansourah of Neroche.
As he’d said before: Cothromaiche as a whole was just so damnedordinary.
But their spells weren’t.
“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” Léirsinn said, “but thank you just the same.”
Acair dragged himself back to the present and wondered what he’d missed.
“Then allow me to have something sent up,” Astar said. “Surely you must be hungry.”
“The chambermaid brought refreshments,” Léirsinn protested. “It was very kind.”
“I insist. I’ll return in a quarter hour.”
