Page 30 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

I try to ignore it, focusing instead on my guardian. Every few seconds, his eyes flick to me, his hand going to his dagger, and my lips tip up in a smile.

It’s only grown more comical as the evening has passed, how seriously this man is taking his safety around me. He spent hours overturning rocks, searching between stones and in bushels of heather for hidden weapons. He’d even flipped over my pillow. My heart had lodged in my throat as he stared at the dirt, but by the blessing of Dìonadair, the goddess of protection, he hadn’t thought to dig.

Even with solid proof I cannot reach him, he’s on edge. It’s absurd, his fear of me.

Not to mention he’s covered in dàn, and I’m over a head shorter than him. Weak and exhausted, the only dàn on my body the one of immortality between my breasts. There’s no world in which I could overpower him enough to even leave a scratch.

He looks at me again, and I turn toward him, giving him a cheery wave. “You’re doing a great job over there,” I say, trying not to giggle as the fury on his face intensifies. He ignores me, driving the last stake for his tent into the ground, and I roll my eyes. If he doesn’t want to be here so fervently, why did he accept this position? Why not pass it along to someone else?

Though I must admit, if the Fates were going to send a Dìdeanair to guard me, at least they sent one who’s pleasant to look at.

He looks like a god as he expertly ties the tent to the stakes, his brunette hair perfectly windswept, and his muscles defined in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen. He’s undeniably handsome, so much so that not even his constant sour expression and gruff exterior are able to hide it. My stomach flutters, and I look away.

I bet he’s not actually handsome at all. Not really. I’ve been starved of company for so long, I’d likely find beauty in a horse’s arse. My eyes dart to the mare, and while I cannot see anything but her head peeking out between the trees, she is a stunning animal.

I whistle, and her ears perk up.

“Dinnae talk to her,” Brennen snaps at me, then gives the mare a stern look. “You ken better, Sable.”

The horse whinnies as if arguing, but turns and disappears into the forest, giving me a clear view of her backside.

Hmm... Not so beautiful.

I sigh and pick up a stick, drawing my half-finished dàn in the mud again. I stare at it for a long moment, but as always, I’m unable to complete it. With a groan, I stand. The light is beginning to fade, and while watching Brennen scramble to get his tent up before dark has entertained me for a bit, I’ve already grown tired of it.

I sense Brennen stiffen as I walk across the shore, searching for a flat pebble. I pick up a few contenders, pocketing them and moving upstream to nearly the end of my chain. Pulling out a stone, I turn toward the After, drawing my arm back. I hold my breath and let it fly.

It hits the surface of the water exactly where I hoped and begins to skip. “One, two, three, four,” I count, my voice growing louder with every hop across the surface. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one!” I shout as the rock disappears into the black mist. “A new record, Lolly!” I shout toward the sky, pulling out another rock.

I sense Brennen’s gaze on me at the use of my dragon's name. “Do you think I can beat it?” I ask, looking back at him. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t answer, working on gathering firewood now that his tent is set up.

I grit my teeth, exasperated. Is he going to either question and torment me or remain completely silent his entire time here, with nothing in between?

I pull my arm back again, but this time when I throw the stone, it lands too far in front of me. “Eighteen,” I sigh. “That's usually about what I get. There’s not really enough space before the drop to get many more, though if I aim just right⁠—”

“I dinnae care how many times you can skip a bloody rock,” his gruff voice stops me.

So he will answer me.

I place my hands on my hips, turning to where his hands hover over the mound of sticks. They ignite, smoke curling into the air as the flames grow taller.

I gasp. Not at the knowledge that he has a dàn of warmth, though I do tuck that piece of information away, but at the beauty of the flames, flickering blue at the base, the color morphing into yellows and oranges in the middle and top. It’s stunning, and a sight I haven’t seen in so very long. Not since…

I shiver, forcing away the memory of flames heating my skin.

I clear my throat. “Would you care to try?” I ask, holding out a pebble, but Brennen doesn’t even look at me, sitting down and resting his back against a log near the fire. He pulls out an apple, some dried meat, and what looks to be a block of wood.

My stomach rumbles, but I'm too far away for him to hear. Either that, or he’s ignoring it. I haven’t had an apple in years. Not since a half-eaten one came down the river in the apron pocket of a maid some time ago. It had been the sweetest thing I’d tasted in so long, and my mouth actually waters at the memory.

He takes a bite, then picks up the wood, twisting it around in his hands. The sun dips below the horizon, and I drop the rock, moving back to my bed to stare into the flames, growing more and more vibrant by the moment.

“What are you carving over there?” I call. His eyes flick to mine, but he remains silent as ever.

“Goddess below,” I grumble under my breath. If the Fates were going to send someone to watch me, they could've at least sent a decent conversationalist. Someone who might make my endless days a little more entertaining.

“I never got into wood carving myself,” I say, keeping my voice light. “I used to enjoy sewing, though. You know. Embroidering little flowers on blankets and handkerchiefs. That kind of thing.”

Brennen scrapes his blade across the wood, a sliver dropping to the ground. I peer at the hunk of wood more intently, but I cannot seem to make out what it is.