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Their footsteps against the ground and the movement of the trees and bushes as they walked offered the only sound for some time, until Ollie’s voice changed the cadence. “Would you tell me about that?”
“What? Being poor?”
“Yes.”
She stopped abruptly and turned. Ollie stopped just before bumping into her. “Because my experience is a story for your amusement?”
He shook his head and sighed. “No.”
She turned and started again to the camp, confused by the emotions she couldn’t reconcile. When they got back to camp, she stoked the embers of the fire, needing the distraction to burn up the dream kiss still scorching her neck, confused about why when the dream should have made her feel afraid, when what she really felt was unquenched desire.
10
Lachlan was one of the fish hanging from the line he held as he watched Tarley hustling around the camp. She bent to restart the fire, and he realized he spent a lot of time watching her. His eyes were always straying to find her no matter what he was doing. Just earlier, he’d watched her sleeping longer than he should have, those same fish hanging from his hand.
He’d turned to show her, wanting to cajole her into being irritated with him some more. Her ire offered him amusement, though he couldn’t exactly identify why that was so. Had he ever in his life tried so hard to get and maintain someone’s attention? Had he ever needed to? He couldn’t recall an instance. But there was something about getting a reaction from Tarley that brought him such enjoyment.
The moment he’d turned, however, ready with a jibe about his obvious fishing abilities, she’d been curled up on the rock, her hands under her cheek, asleep. She hadn’t been drooling like he’d told her. The vision she’d made had caught his breath in his lungs. Though they’d been sharing sleeping quarters—cuddling, which he’d always been averse to, until now—he’d never seen her asleep. It was the first time he’d seen her vulnerable, the rigidity in her countenance, which he hadn’t realized was there, gone.
Tarley was beautiful. He’d recognized it, of course, but this way—unguarded—whoa.
Her brown hair was threaded with strands that looked like the late summer wheat fields of Jast’s outer provinces at sunset. Her features had been soft, her eyes closed and her lashes fanned out over the ridge of her cheek speckled with a smattering of freckles. Her lips had been relaxed, soft, and a shade of pink that reminded him of a confection the chef made for special dinners at the palace, sugared and plump. Lachlan had resisted a fleeting impulse to lean over and touch his tongue to them, curious if they would taste as luscious as they looked.
He’d shaken his head, needing to dismiss thoughts he couldn’t afford if he intended to sleep curled around her, and had taken a deep breath to release them. He was in Sevens for a purpose, and it wasn’t to spend time rhapsodizing about a peasant girl.
“Tarley?” he’d asked.
She’d moaned in her sleep.
His body had responded, his groin tightening. He’d closed his eyes, cleared his throat, made an adjustment in his pants, and reminded himself he was a grown-ass man.
“Tarley,” he’d repeated and reached to gently shake her awake—only her eyes had flown open, and she’d sat up with a start. The haze of sleep still lingered in her gray gaze, but she’d blinked, righting herself.
Now, they were back at the campsite, and Lachlan was watching her hurry around. It was a wonder she wasn’t always sleeping as often as she was moving. The efficiency with which she did things tired him out. No wasted movements. Everything with a purpose. He wasn’t sure she ever just stopped to exist. Well, perhaps him doing the fishing and her falling asleep on the rock was the first time. He found the things he’d initially found strange about her mattered less and less, and in fact, he liked it. He liked her.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Tarley asked. She hadn’t looked at him and added more wood to the fire as if she were trying to make a giant bonfire. It glowed bright as the sun set, casting the place in long, blue shadows.
He started toward her, irritated by her tone. “Do you need all that wood?”
Her gaze found him, and her eyebrows arched. “You’re welcome to do it.”
“I don’t need to anymore. You’ve done it, excessively, just as you do everything.”
“You’re welcome to do more, your highness.”
Lachlan tripped and righted himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stared at him, then looked away. “Nothing.” Stomping toward him, she snagged the fish from his hand, then stormed across to the wooden plank.
“What are you doing?” Lachlan advanced on her.
“Everything. Excessively,” she said with a caustic bite, slapped the fish on the board, and unhooked the first one. “Why didn’t you clean them?”
Lachlan rounded the board and nudged her out of the way with his body. “I can do it.”
“Obviously you can’t,” she snapped. “It’s supposed to be done away from camp.” She glared at him. “So bears don’t come looking.”
“I didn’t–” Lachlan felt stupid. He knew that. He’d learned it in one of his many survival sessions when he’d served in the royal army. And yet he’d forgotten, more interested in pushing Tarley’s patience.
