by Tanya Bird
An hour or so later, a priest arrived from the village. She had thought of everything. The body was placed inside the grave, and prayers were spoken aloud, though not by Leksi, whose throat seemed to have closed over again. Then it was time to fill the hole. That, he could do.
Picking up the shovel, he began pushing the mountain of dirt into the grave. Only once the white sheet was no longer visible did the air return to his lungs. Petra walked the priest to his horse while he and Charis continued working. They did not stop until the job was done.
Leksi leaned on his shovel, panting as he stared down at the mound of dirt. He would have liked to saddle his horse and ride to the closest tavern to drink himself into a stupor—with enough liquor, he could forget about the entire thing—but he could not leave Petra. And if he was honest, he did not want to. There was comfort in having her close by.
Charis took the shovel from his hand and walked off towards the house. Leksi remained at the grave, staring at the unnatural patch of dirt. Grass would cover it eventually.
The priest rode away and Petra returned, coming to stand next to him.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said, staring down at the grave.
He nodded. ‘Not much of a loss, really.’
‘He was still your father, even if he was not a very good one.’
Leksi was silent for a moment. ‘Ironic that he probably died in a fire started by the wood I cut during my last visit—if you can call it that. The only thing I ever did to help him killed him in the end.’
She looked at him. ‘His death is not your fault.’
Another nod. She was right, of course, but it did not stop the guilt.
‘If you need to leave for a while, clear your head, I understand. Do not stay here on my account.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not abandoning you too.’
She narrowed her eyes on him. ‘What do you mean?’ Silence. ‘You did not abandon him. He pushed you away.’
Another lump formed in his throat. He felt vulnerable and could not stand it. ‘I’ll stay. I suspect I can’t outrun this feeling anyway.’
She slipped her hand into his, and his fingers closed around it. Neither of them spoke for the longest time.
‘When they took my son, I thought I might die from the pain of it,’ she said.
He squeezed her hand. ‘But here you are.’
‘But here I am.’
More silence.
‘Thank you for today,’ he said. ‘For some reason I just couldn’t…’
‘He is your father, and his mistakes do not change that fact.’ She let go of his hand and stepped back from the grave. ‘You should go for another swim. I will cook dinner.’
‘Is you cooking supposed to make me feel better or worse?’
A smile formed and faded. ‘All right, Charis will cook dinner.’
He cleared his throat and glanced past her to the house. ‘Don’t wander off while I’m in the water.’
‘Would not dream of it, Sir Leksi.’
Chapter 12
A week after his father’s passing, the fog began to lift from Leksi’s mind, but the heaviness in his chest remained. He was surprised by the way he felt. He had always expected to feel a strange kind of relief at hearing of his father’s passing, but he had been wrong.
He thought about writing to Tyron to tell him the news, then decided against it. The prince would send someone to take his place, insist he have some time off to grieve and get his affairs in order, and he wanted to remain at the house.
Petra came looking for him when he was tending the horses. He stopped what he was doing to watch her approach. He did that a lot lately. She seemed to grow more beautiful with every passing day, now that there was colour in her cheeks and light in her eyes.
His gaze swept down her simple dress and bare arms, and for a moment, he forgot about the grave near the trees behind him. He placed the pail he was holding on the ground and turned to her.
‘You look rather pleased with yourself,’ he said.
Her eyes shone at him. ‘Charis and I found something I think you are going to love.’
‘You found something?’ He leaned against the fence post, fighting the strange urge to reach out and touch her pink cheek. ‘What is it?’
‘You have to come with me.’
Her hands were linked behind her back, like an excited child. It was infectious. With a grin, he snatched up the pail of water and poured it into the trough for the horses. ‘All right. Where are we going?’
‘This way,’ she said, turning and heading for the water.
‘Should I be worried?’ he asked, falling into step with her.
‘Almost there.’
They descended the slope, but instead of heading for the water, Petra turned right and wandered towards the rocks.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said, facing him. ‘And do not open them until I say so.’
He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He heard the sound of something being dragged along the sand, mixed with Petra’s heaving breaths as she struggled with the weight of whatever she was moving.
‘All right,’ she said, panting. ‘Open your eyes.’
He did as he was told and looked down to see a small boat sitting on the sand between them. ‘Where did you find that?’ he laughed.
She pointed to a large rock. ‘In there, hidden in the gap. Whoever put it there was smart enough to cover the opening with branches and seaweed.’ She looked up at him. ‘Charis showed me how to row. I thought I might take you out on the water.’
He watched her, so very amused. ‘You think you can row us?’
She nodded, looking sure of herself. ‘You always have to take me on your horse, so I thought I might return the favour by taking you on my boat.’
‘Your boat?’
She shrugged, a rare gesture. It was possible she was beginning to relax more in his presence. ‘I found it.’
He laughed through his nose. The truth was, he liked taking her on his horse. He could not really explain why, but he had quickly gotten used to her being behind him. ‘It’s not as easy as you might think. You have to make it over the waves without overturning the boat.’
She all but rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes. Charis told me to row straight towards them. The boat will only overturn if we are sideways.’
‘Sound easy, does it?’
She stared up at him, her expression defiant. ‘I am quite capable of using oars.’
He shook his head and bent to remove his boots, then dragged the boat towards the sea. ‘This should be entertaining.’ Once it was in the water, he looked at her while holding onto it. ‘Where shall I sit?’
She waved a knowing finger at him. ‘I see what you are doing. You are testing my knowledge. You will be seated on the stern thwart, because I need to sit on the centre thwart with my back to the bow in order to row, and you will be too heavy for the front end.’
He nodded, impressed.
‘Are you surprised by my boat knowledge?’
‘I’m never surprised by a mentor’s knowledge. I will most definitely be surprised if you can actually row the thing though.’
She tutted and gestured for him to get in.
‘You should climb in first,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold the boat steady.’
‘You weigh more, so you should probably get in first.’
That made no sense whatsoever, but since she seemed determined to prove herself, he did as she instructed while she struggled to keep hold of the boat as it rocked. When a small wave tried to drag the boat out to sea, she stumbled in the water but remained upright. Then a wave splashed up the side of the boat and sprayed the front of her. She gasped, eyes wide.
Smiling, he asked, ‘How’s it going so far?’
‘Fine, thank you.’ She wiped water from her face and pushed herself up on the side of the boat. It tilted, and she would have fallen in face first had Leksi not caught her and lifted her in.
‘Thank you,’ she said, n
ot looking at him. She settled herself on the seat and picked up the oars. As she tried to secure them in the rowlocks, the boat was thrashed about in the water, throwing them from side to side, the oars getting wedged in the sand each time. She cleared her throat and let go of one oar while she tried to reposition the other one. The abandoned oar slid towards the water, and Leksi caught it. Petra gave him a sheepish glance and took hold of it once more. She sat a little straighter, keeping a firm grip on each oar that time. Then she began to row, awkwardly, trying to turn the boat without success.
‘There was no book on this at Masville?’ he asked, tone light.
She glared at him. ‘I just need to get the bow—’ she puffed, ‘—to face the other way.’
‘A solid plan.’
She moved the oars in opposite directions and then stopped when she realised they were turning the wrong way. Before she had a chance to correct the error, a small wave pushed them towards the shore and the bottom of the boat became lodged in the sand.
‘Are we stuck?’ she asked, chewing her bottom lip as she peered over the side.
‘It would appear that way.’
She turned to look at him. ‘All right, I admit, this is not going to plan. I meant to cheer you up, let the ocean work its magic, not put you to work.’
Funny, but it never felt like work with her around. He noted the sincerity in her expression. ‘This rather comedic ordeal has definitely lifted my spirits.’
‘Not in the way I had hoped.’ She narrowed her eyes on him. ‘Are you… are you laughing at me?’
‘Not out loud.’
‘Oh, what a gentleman.’ She shoved the oars towards him. ‘All right, clever man. Show me how it is done.’
He glanced down at the oars. ‘I don’t want to tread on your toes.’
She pressed her lips together at the threat of a smile. ‘I believe you have made your point, Sir Leksi.’
He rolled his trousers up to his knees, then jumped into the water, placed the oars inside the boat and held onto the side. With a gentle push, the boat came unstuck, and he ran a few paces before leaping back into the boat and taking up the oars. ‘Hold on tight.’
She immediately gripped the seat. He watched her face change as they climbed the first wave and came crashing back down. A small squeal escaped her, and a smile broke out on her face. It was such a beautiful sight with the sun behind her and water spraying around them.
He continued to row, never looking away from her. Up and down went the boat, until finally they were behind the waves, drifting on calm water. After a few more minutes of rowing, Leksi pulled the oars in and rested his arms on his knees. He turned his head towards land, and she followed his gaze.
‘The house looks so small from out here,’ she said.
‘I prefer the term quaint.’
‘Quaint,’ she repeated. ‘I grew up in a house even more quaint, if you can imagine it.’
His eyes went to her. ‘Siblings?’
She nodded. ‘Three brothers.’
‘That must’ve been fun. What did your father do?’
She met his gaze. ‘What most people in the south of Corneo do—try to survive.’
‘He didn’t work? Surely your brothers did.’
She kneaded the fabric of her dress between her fingers. ‘They all worked when it was available.’
‘Farmers?’
Another nod. ‘Farmers need crops and animals. Not sure if you have heard, but neither seem to survive that far south.’ She gave a tight smile.
‘Is that what all those pesky wars are about? Good to know.’ They were quiet for a moment before he asked, ‘Can you imagine yourself living in such a house now?’
‘You mean after the luxury of Masville Castle?’
‘Yes.’
She squinted against the sun. ‘I would happily live in a hole in the ground if my son lived there also. The house does not matter to me, but rather who I share it with.’ She studied him. ‘Will you take over your father’s estate now that he has… passed?’
He shook his head. ‘Everyone in my family died in that house. I think it burned to the ground for a reason.’
‘I suppose you are too busy to keep an estate. You go where the prince sends you.’
‘I prefer to be busy, to have a purpose. I designed my life that way.’ He had never admitted that out loud before.
‘I get it,’ she replied, holding on to her knees. ‘You stay busy so you do not have to think about all the other things.’
He frowned. ‘What other things?’
‘The painful things, the serious parts of life, like the loss of your family.’
‘I just refuse to let those things dictate my happiness. I’ve seen what it does to people.’
She studied him for a moment. ‘I suspect if I were not here, your grief would take a different form.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You would bury it beneath wine and women, would you not?’
He shrugged. ‘Nice to know you hold such a high opinion of me.’
She held her hands up. ‘I am not judging you. Who knows what kind of person I would have become had I been given the choice.’
‘A low-life like me, perhaps?’
‘Those are your words.’
His eyes smiled at her. ‘How would you describe me, then?’
She pretended to think on the matter. ‘Casually inclined?’
‘That’s the politest version of womaniser I’ve ever heard. You mentors really are lyrical geniuses.’
She suppressed a smile and looked out at the water. ‘I only know this version of you, so it is very difficult to imagine the man others describe.’
He only wanted her to know this version of him. ‘Do you want me to teach you how to row the boat?’ he asked, changing the subject.
She frowned. ‘Is my theoretical knowledge not adequate?’
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘It really isn’t.’ He shuffled back on the seat, opening his legs wider and patting the seat in front of him. ‘Sit here.’
She looked down at the spot between his thighs. ‘Someone might get the wrong idea.’
He looked around. ‘Lucky for us there’s no one here to judge.’ He patted the seat again. ‘Come on.’
She hesitated, then moved and sat in front of him, her back brushing his chest. The scent of soap lingered on her despite the saltwater. Her loose hair shifted in the breeze, brushing his face.
‘All right,’ he said, placing his hands below hers on the oars. His chin hovered above her left shoulder, his lips close to her ear. ‘I’ll get you started, and then I’ll move out of your way.’
She glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘Your confidence is very reassuring.’
‘I have complete faith in you while we’re in calm waters.’
He saw the shape of her cheeks change. She was smiling, but he could not see it. He rowed slowly, allowing her to get the feel of it. After a minute, he let go of the oars, and she continued on her own.
‘There you go,’ he said. It was time for him to move. Much safer if he did, because having her that close did things to him. He moved awkwardly around her before finally landing on the seat opposite.
‘Very smooth,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ He bowed his head, then watched in silence for a moment. ‘How are the hands holding up? They’ll blister in no time.’
‘My hands are fine, though I suspect my arms are going to be sore tomorrow.’
The sun shone down on her, highlighting golden tones in her brown hair. She had tucked the loose pieces behind her ears, but it still blew around her face. In some ways, she had really let herself go. Wild hair, unpainted face and plain clothes, and yet he had never found a woman more attractive. His gaze travelled along her salt-crusted arms, watching her hands work and finding the motion strangely erotic. It really had been too long between women.
‘You are staring, Sir Leksi.’
He blinked and looked away, clearing his throat as he did
so. ‘Do you think you can get us back to shore?’
She stopped rowing and glanced in that direction. ‘With your help, perhaps.’ Making room for him, she shuffled forwards on the seat again.
He swallowed, wondering if perhaps it was not a good idea to sit behind her a second time.
‘It is all right. I trust you,’ she said.
He could not have said no to her even if he wanted to. There was light in her eyes, and he tried to read her expression, but she averted her gaze before he had a chance to assess her properly. Stepping carefully over the oar, he settled himself behind her, his hands covering hers. ‘You’re freezing.’
Petra said nothing, but he noticed she watched their hands as he turned the boat and began rowing them towards the shore.
Whatever space he was trying to put between their bodies did not last. As the sea grew rough, Petra leaned her head against his shoulder; her scent and the feel of her windswept hair against his neck were too much. He stopped rowing and pulled the oars in just as the first wave lifted them high into the air. She closed her eyes and clutched her stomach as the boat dropped once more, and his arms went around her, holding her in place.
‘I feel like I am falling,’ she said, bracing for the next drop.
Leksi’s cheek brushed the top of her head. He felt it too.
Chapter 13
‘You know, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’m supposed to be keeping you away from the village,’ Leksi said.
They were standing outside a tavern near the port in Veanor, voices and music drifting out onto the street. Leksi could see Petra was putting on a brave face before they entered, even though the entire thing had been her idea, another attempt at cheering him up.
She glanced at Charis, who was waiting with the horses, before speaking. ‘If anyone asks about me, just use a pretend name.’ The door swung open and she winced as drunken laughter spilled out before it shut again. ‘A few cups of wine and—’
‘Ale,’ the squire corrected.
She frowned before continuing. ‘Ale,’ she repeated, already sounding less sure of her plan, ‘a dance with a pretty woman or two, or whatever your usual number is, and then we will return to the house.’
