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“It might be a stretch to call it a skill, but yes—needlework is relaxing for me.”
He grunted at that, eyeing the mug cupped in her hands. “Is that tea?”
“Port Anatole coffee,” she corrected. “Fortuitously packed in the satchel you retrieved for me, so it didn’t get slimed with dead hunter goo. Want some?”
“Please,” he answered with considerable relief. He’d been prepared to argue about it. Rising, she came around to his side of the fire and handed him the mug.
“You only have the one cup, so…” She thrust it into his hands and went back to her previous spot—well away from him.
“I didn’t think to buy two.” He sipped the strong brew gratefully. Hot, robust, and sweet, it helped clear the last of the cobwebs from his head.
“One would think you would have,” she commented, voice cool and expression narrow. When he raised a brow, she shrugged. “Since you were intent on recapturing me. I’d think you’d have come better prepared.” She tugged on the collar. “The hunters did.”
“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” he admitted.
“Not much of a plan, then.” She held out her hands to the cheerful blaze. “What, did you think you’d catch up to me and then charm me into going back with you?”
She said it so scathingly that he didn’t want to confirm he’d been thinking exactly that. “Why did you run?”
He’d caught her by surprise with that blunt question, though she covered it swiftly. “I’d think that would be obvious,” she said slowly, as if he might be brain addled. He might well be, considering how muzzy his head felt. When he simply waited her out, she shook her head in exasperation. “Because I don’t want to be married to you. I don’t want to be your familiar. I gave upeverythingto escape you, but could you let me go? No,” she spat, her poise cracking. “No, you justhadto come after me, and now you have me.” She tugged on the collar in demonstration.
“I didn’t put that collar on you.”
“You might as well have,” she hurled back at him.
“Veronica,” he began. She picked up a cloth-wrapped package and hurled it at him. He caught it reflexively.
“You should eat,” she said. “I already did.”
Had she really, or was she playing her game again? She rolled her eyes, clearly reading the thought. “Eat or don’t. I really don’t care, but I’m sure you’re hungry.”
He was famished—and his body needed the sustenance to heal—so he began devouring a sandwich, contemplating her. Swallowing, he said, “I think you do care.”
Her turn to raise a single eyebrow, though with cool disdain.
“Why are you still here?” he asked pointedly. When she sneered and opened her mouth, he jumped in. “You had the perfect opportunity to escape last night. You could have taken Vale and left me here to die. If you hate me so much, why did you clean my wounds, stitch them up, build a fire, and then sleep beside me all night?”
She glared at him, discomfited that he’d guessed correctly about the warm spot beside him. “It was cold, and you only broughtoneblanket.”
“And the rest? Building this fire had to take work.”
Dropping her gaze, she held a hand over the fire. An elemental like a lick of flame leaped out and danced on her palm. She pursed her full lips and blew—and it leapt back into the dancing fire. “I had it with me,” she explained, “so easy enough.”
“Cleaning my wounds and stitching me up couldn’t have been easy,” he persisted. “Thank you for that.”
She shrugged, still watching the fire. Saying nothing more.
“So, why didn’t you leave me—or at least rub dirt in my wounds?” He smiled at her, though she wasn’t looking at him, trying for that shared humor they’d found before.
“How do you know I didn’t?” she retorted. Flicking her gaze at him and away again, she sighed heavily, toying with a copper bracelet on her wrist, intricately designed so it looked almost like a living snake. “I don’t hate you.”
Well, that was something. “Is there someone else?” When her startled eyes met his, he clarified. “Someone you’re in love with, who you want to marry instead of me.”
She breathed a laugh, shaking her head in amazement. “You’re really something, Lord Phel. That’s an impressive level of hubris and arrogance that the only reason you can think up for me not to want you is that I want someone else more.”
“Do you?” he asked, refusing to let her ruffle him.
“None of your business,” she shot back.
