Page 42 of The Arrow and the Alder

“I’ll keep watch this time,” Seph said.

“I don’t mind.”

“I know, but I do.”

“If you weren’t here, I’d be doing it anyway.”

“But Iamhere. Please let me do something. You’ve already done so much for me.”

His gaze found hers, and then, without a word, he slid his pack over so that it rested between them like a physical barrier. He bent over and laid his head upon it, stretched his legs, and shut his eyes. Not even a minute passed before his breathing evened and his body relaxed with sleep.

Well, that was easy.

Seph finished her bread, studying him in what little light remained; she couldn’t help herself. His beard hid most of his face, but he had a nice nose. It was strong and decisive, if a little large––though his face was wide enough that it didn’t take over, and there was a bump in the middle, undoubtedly from a former break. It set his nose on a slant, though Seph thought it gave him character, like a bit of defiance, especially when compared to those straight and unyielding brows of his. She couldn’t see much of his mouth because it was buried within that bushy beard, and Seph wondered if his jaw was as strong as the rest of him, or if he would look handsome clean-shaven.

Had she really just contemplated how he’d look shaven?

Seph glanced away to the trees, forcing her traitorous thoughts to follow.

Alder’s first thought was that he’d actually slept. It’d been months since he’d felt so rested—maybe even years—and no nightmare had plagued him, which led him to his second thought.

He wasn’t sleeping alone.

Another body lay against his, curled into his side, and something tickled his nose.

Hair, he realized, opening his eyes.Whitehair.

Herhair.

He lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head, the other wrapped around Josephine, who’d tucked herself right into the opening. He practically cocooned her. The implications of this penetrated his sleepy haze just as Josephine’s eyes opened and settled on his.

Alder hadn’t noticed her tiny freckles before. A few dusted her nose, and were growing more prominent against the bright crimson now staining her cheeks.

Josephine sat up with a curse, looking wildly around them—at the forest now visible in the soft light of dawn—before burying her face in her hands.

For Alder’s part, he was just thankful he’d taken greater care drawing the glamour last night, otherwise they might not be waking up at all. He should be furious—at her, at himself—but fury evaded him.

“Saints…I am so sorry,” she said into her hands. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t realize…”

Alder didn’t say it was all right. It wasn’t. But this was his fault as much as it was Josephine’s—probably more so, because he understood the breadth of their present precariousness. Alder should have known better, but he’d let down his guard. Something he seemed to keep doing around her. He wanted to blame Rys for it. That the familiarity and trust he’d come to know with Rys was being—mistakenly—projected upon the sister, but Alder knew that wasn’t all of it.

He was stepping into dangerous territory, and it needed to stop. Now.

He shoved himself to his feet, picked up his satchel, and slung his bow over his shoulder. “We should get moving,” he said without turning.

“Marks, I’m sorry.”

He looked at her then, and immediately regretted it. She was far easier to deal with when she was angry, but this—the softness in her voice and vulnerability in her expression, with all of that life and color…

His thoughts slid back to the way she’d felt in his arms, her hard body and warmth pressed against his, and it made him feel…

It made himfeel.

Alder looked to the trees. “Are you ready?”

His words came out harsher than he’d intended, and he knew they stung her, but he let them hang regardless. Better to warn her away, to rile that fiery temper so that she wouldn’t grow any false notion that Alder would do more for her than he’d promised. He’d already promised too much.

“Yes…” she said quietly. He could almost taste her disappointment. “Just…maybe, give me a moment.”

---