“It is…too beautiful.”
He looked at it, his brow knotted in confusion. “Too beautiful? For you?”
He sounded utterly baffled by this, and she could not stop herself: she leaned forward and in yet another alley, kissed her outlaw, very softly.
“Thank-you,” she said softly.
“Oh, aye, I can steal you anything you want lass,” he said grimly. “Was awful good at that, upon a time.”
Well then.
His gaze fell to the dagger, which she’d slid into her belt. “I’ll take that now,” he said, sounding even more severe.
“Of course,” she whispered, and handed it over.
He had taken a hood for himself, and a new tunic. There was nothing he could do about his beard without water, but she tied his hair back, smoothed the hem of the tunic he’d nabbed over his many weapons, and piled her cloak and their purchases in his arms so he looked like a servant toting packages rather than a deadly guard. Then they were on the move again.
Finally, they were past the shops and bustling crowds, and there were no more soldiers to be seen. They’d entered a neighborhood of wide streets and rich townhomes, brick-walled and slate-roofed, and finally, Tadhg finally slowed their pace.
“Now, Maggie,” he said, stopping to fold back the loose sweeps of hood that had shrouded her face and narrowed her vision. Bright winter sunlight hit her face, making her blink. She let the sun warm her face a moment, then opened her eyes, and smiled.
The harbor spread out below them, blue and sun-lit. Far in the distance, she could almost see the distant shoreline, of France, of Saleté de Mer. Her past was in those roiling black storm clouds that could still be seen even now, bringing down rain and snow over her old home.
But up here, high on this hill, the sky was winter-crisp blue and bright, and she could see for miles over the shining water where the tall ship masts bobbed and swayed, glinting as sunrays crashed into it, blinding golden wrinkles on the silk robes of some underwater god.
And Tadhg was by her side.
His voice broke into her reverie. “What are you smiling about?”
Still looking at the harbor, she said, “Have you studied the Greek gods?”
He gave a low laugh. “I cannot follow your mind. No, I have never studied Greek gods.”
“I believe there is one of the sea.” She pointed at the water. “I think he must live here, in this beautiful place.”
Tadhg studied her profile in silence. Her cheekbones were rounded on a faint smile, her eyes half-closed, heavy-lidded, as if she could not take in all the beauty at once.
He felt the same way.
He turned and looked out at the sea with her, inhaling the fresh winter air, warmed by the sun. The cries of gulls were sharp and beautiful as they wheeled and dove. The sound snagged on an edge of Tadhg’s heart he’d sworn had been worn to flatness years ago. But something inside him tugged, a longing, deep and poignant, to see home again. To smell it. To hear his gulls, to see his sunsets.
“That god doesn’t live here,” he said quietly.
She rustled. “Are you certain? It is so beautiful.”
“Aye. He lives at my home. I will show you.”
She closed her eyes with a soft inbreath. “Yes, of course.” A second later, her eyes popped open. “Well, what are you standing there for? Take me home.”
He straightened reflexively at the tone of command, then shook his head and gestured to her hair. “I am trying, Maggie, but truth, your hair is a mess.” She gasped as he started pushing at errant strands of it. “I’m trying to fix it.”
She batted his hands away and began fussing, doing something complicated with her hair and the golden netting and soon, she had her long tresses encased in a fashionable netting of the knightly class. She draped the sky blue veil overtop. The silver embellishment down the sides caught the sunlight, and rimmed her clear-cut face, her dark eyebrows and bright eyes, like a spring twilight with the stars just coming out.
She tipped her face up with a worried frown. “Oui? I will do? I am no longer a simple peasant woman?”
“You shall fit in any lordly home, not a question asked.” She smiled as he went on. “Which is well, for that is where we are going.” He took her arm, and they began walking. “I will now begin to repay you for your reckless, intemperate, utterly unfounded faith in me.”
“It is not unfounded. In what manner, ‘repay’?”