20 Maerryl #3
And she seemed happier without the lady and lord around.
Distinctly freer and more relaxed—it was gratifying to see her unwind a bit.
I found myself reveling in the ease of our time together, the comfort of another’s care and gentle intimacy.
I’d never really had this before, not even in a non-romantic way.
Not since I was a child, long ago, with my community in the hill lands.
When I was able to push aside the low-level stress—of worrying about Balfie, Zephyra, the heist, the money, all of that—my time with Dove felt unmistakably… wonderful.
She turned to me now, eyes sparkling, as we resettled onto our cushions. A simple picnic lunch was spread out across the blanket where we’d planted ourselves in the gardens for lunch. Conveniently hidden behind some still-heavily-blooming azalea bushes.
“We should visit the orchard tomorrow after class,” she said, grabbing a plump strawberry and feeding me. “You’ll love it. We’ll pick as many apples as we can carry, and then ask Choia to make her tarte tatin. It’s divine.”
“Ohh, well, if it’s divine, then we simply must have it. Shan’t we?” I said, returning the favor and offering her a perfect blackberry. She took it into her mouth carefully, letting her lips linger for a moment.
Then she giggled and shoved me lightly. “Always mocking me! This is how I talk, you uncouth scallywag!”
At that, I snort-laughed, which made her giggle harder. “If I’m a scallywag, you’re a nincompoop.”
“Miscreant. Rapscallion!” Dove waved a cheesy breadstick in the air like a baton and booped me on the nose. I tackled her, tickling my way gently up her sides where I knew she was most sensitive. With a little in the armpits for good measure.
She burst out laughing, attacking me back with feet tickles and calling me all of the different ridiculous names she could think of until finally—“Truce, truce!” she cried, wiping tears of mirth as we both caught our breaths, lying side by side on the blanket.
“Thank the goddess, because I was about to LOSE it,” I laughed. “Your tickle technique has significantly improved.”
“All that painting. I’m very dexterous.” She wiggled her hands at me menacingly, the impact a bit lessened by the berry stains tipping her fingers.
“Hmm, are you?” I said, turning a slow smile on her.
Dove caught her breath, a rosy tinge suffusing her cheeks and nose. “Quite.”
We didn’t touch, lying there on the ground, but I could just about feel the warmth of her side. The not touching—the anticipation of it—felt almost as good as the real thing. We were still connected.
When she did reach out, it was to brush loose hair away from my face, tucking it behind an ear before cupping my cheek. I let myself lean into her touch, the smooth comfort of her palm.
“How do you feel about tomorrow morning?” I asked. She’d been a bit anxious before our first priory visit after the “attack,” so I kept checking in. She did seem fine now, but I hated that this deception had caused her distress.
Dove hummed, thinking as she played with my hair. “A little worried. Those kids can be intimidating.”
I huffed a laugh. “You know what I mean,” I said, tugging one of the many tassels that hung from her pretty dress.
“I think it will be fine. I feel okay, really. And even if something does happen, I can sic my big, strong protector on them.” She shrugged.
“Well, sure, what are bodyguards for? It’s my duty,” I said drily as she nodded, mock-serious.
“Precisely. And if worse comes to worst, I can always get all stabby.”
“I don’t know if you’re ready for ‘all stabby,’ ma’am.
You’ve had three lessons.” I’d been showing her the basics of fighting with a dagger over the past few days, and it had not gone well.
Over the course of her lessons, she’d so far managed to trip over her own feet twice and drop the knife almost on my foot once.
Handle first, thankfully. Dove insisted on continuing, and I’d promised to keep at it with her, but it was slow going.
I had little experience teaching someone.
She was stubborn and, let’s be honest, not naturally skilled.
We were stumbling along the best we could.
Thankfully, I didn’t need to turn her into an expert swordswoman.
The guild seemed unlikely to send someone else after her; the other day’s attack was all for show, and, to them, it had served its purpose.
But Dove didn’t know that. So I just wanted her to feel safer, to gain a little confidence in her self-defense skills so she wouldn’t be afraid to visit the priory, do her lessons, maybe get out and about more.
Now that her parents were gone for a while, she had more freedom.
Dove could travel to the coast for a day on the shore, or visit friends, or explore more towns and villages around the Willowisp Woods. I wanted that for her.
“I shall stab whomever I wish to stab!” she cried. “Fear me, you knaves. Fear Dove the Slayer!”
Oh boy. Maybe I built her confidence up a little too much here.
I reached out, pulling her hand down to pet my hair again. “Okay, slayer, okay. Let’s tone it down. You’re making the squirrels quake in terror.”
She acquiesced, popping another berry in her mouth and lazily twirling a strand of my hair around her finger. I closed my eyes in contentment.
“Mae—what do these runes mean? On your neck here,” Dove said. She’d brushed back my hair, and I stilled as she placed a light fingertip to my runic tattoo.