“Legs are me favorite,” Geordie announced, adjusting the sack so that it was safe in his lap and not likely to tumble off.
“Mine too,” Dwyn admitted after swallowing what was in her mouth. “Dark meat is always moist.”
“Aye,” he agreed, and then fell silent as they ate their chicken. He was done with his leg first, but waited until she finished and then held out his hand.
Dwyn hesitated, but when his fingers wiggled in a “give it here” motion she gave him the stripped chicken bone and watched him toss both her bone and his toward the wall. She saw them sail through the branches unhindered, but wasn’t sure they’d made it over the wall until a wet splash reached her ears. They’d landed in the moat beyond the wall.
“Ah. Cheese and bread.”
Dwyn glanced back toward him, but it had grown darker while they ate and he was just a dark shadow in front of her.
“Put yer hand out,” he instructed, apparently understanding the problem.
Dwyn reached out, felt his hand bump hers, and then he placed a hunk of bread and a smaller hunk of cheese in her palm. She pulled them toward herself, murmuring, “Thank ye.”
“Me pleasure,” Geordie assured her, and she heard a rustle as he dug in the bag again.
“So, tell me, do ye often hang about in trees?” Geordie asked lightly as he resituated the bag in his lap.
She smiled faintly at the teasing question, but pointed out, “You were here first.”
“This time,” he agreed.
Dwyn shrugged, but then realizing he might not have seen that in the darkening night, she said, “Aye. I like trees. They do no’ pinch me cheeks to try to force color into them, and make me wear dresses better suited to a lightskirt.”
Geordie laughed at that, a very nice, deep rumble of sound that made her grin and shiver all at once. When his laughter faded, he said, “Una seems . . .”
“Pushy?” she suggested, and then added, “Bossy? Bold?”
“Aye,” he chuckled. “She certainly had no problem making Catriona and Sasha move along the bench to make room for her and Aileen to sit beside ye.”
“Aye,” Dwyn agreed, and explained, “Una is very protective of me, which is strange, because I took over mothering her when her own mother died. I was always the one protecting her then. But now, the roles seem to have reversed and she natters after me like she is the mother.”
“Ye said her own mother?” he queried. “Do ye no’ have the same mother?”
Dwyn shook her head, and then said, “Nay. Me mother died when I was six.”
“How did she die?” Geordie asked, his voice sounding solemn.
“Trying to birth me little brother or sister,” she said sadly. “After me she lost several babes ere they were full ready to be born, but this one survived to the birthing. Unfortunately, the healer said it was turned wrong inside her. Mother labored for three days trying to push the babe into the world and just could no’ do it. She died with it still in her.”
“I’m sorry,” Geordie said softly.
“So am I,” Dwyn admitted solemnly. “She was a good mother and I missed her terribly. But about a year later Father married Una and Aileen’s mother, Lady Rhona. She was kind to me. Una was born nine months after that, and Aileen followed two years later. Unfortunately, Lady Rhona died a couple days after Aileen was born. An infection, the healer said.”
“From the birth,” Geordie said without a hint of doubt, and then clucked his tongue impatiently. “So many women die while trying to bring new life into the world. ’Tis how most men lose their wives.”
“And most women lose their men to battle,” Dwyn pointed out quietly.
“But me brother Rory says many o’ the women die unnecessarily. That it’s ignorance and a lack o’ cleanliness that cause the death.”
“And ye do no’ think death in battle could be avoided?” she asked dryly. “If you men were no’ so eager to rush off to battle, we’d lose a lot less men.”
“Aye,” Geordie allowed. “But a good man canno’ stand idly by and allow evil to grow and spread across the land.”
They both fell silent for a moment and concentrated on eating, but once the cheese and bread were gone, she heard the rustle as he dug in the bag again, and then he asked, “How old are yer sisters?”
“Una is sixteen, and Aileen fourteen,” she answered. “And both o’ them act twice that.”
Geordie chuckled and then said, “So ye’ve seen twenty-four years?”
Dwyn stilled with surprise, and then realized that he’d worked it out from what she’d told him. Clearing her throat, she said, “I will be in a month.”
“Ah. Put yer hand out,” he ordered, and when she did he found it and placed a round, cool peach into it, and then asked, “How long ago did yer betrothed die?”
“Seven years ago,” she answered, and then raised the peach to take a bite. A soft “mmm” of pleasure slid from her throat as her mouth filled with the sweet juice and peach meat.
“Good?”
Dwyn opened eyes she’d closed in pleasure, and peered at his dark shape. His voice had sounded husky, and she wondered why, but said, “Aye. Very. Peaches are the loveliest fruit . . . Except for the mess they make,” she added as she felt a trail of liquid slide down her hand. “I do no’ suppose they put a scrap o’ linen in the bag or something?”
“I’m afraid no’,” Geordie said on a chuckle. “Ye’ll just have to lick away the juices.”
“That’s no’ very ladylike,” she said primly.
“Lass, ye’re up a tree,” he pointed out with amusement. “Is that very ladylike?”
“’Tis if ye do no’ get caught,” Dwyn assured him.
Geordie burst out in laughter at that, and she smiled at the sound as she ate her peach. When the laughter faded, he commented, “Ye’re an interesting woman, Dwyn Innes.”
“Aye,” she agreed easily. “Una is always telling me I’m a strange one.”
“I said interesting, no’ strange,” he protested.
“Is it no’ the same thing?” Dwyn asked innocently, and he chuckled again. They stopped talking then to concentrate on their peaches, and the night was filled with chomping and slurping sounds as they did their best to eat the fruits without getting completely covered with the sticky juice. At least, that’s what Dwyn was trying to do, but her peach was so ripe and bursting with the sweet liquid, she feared she’d made a terrible mess. Certainly her hand was wet and sticky when she was done.
“Here,” Geordie said suddenly when she’d finished. “Give me yer pit and I’ll put the sack in yer hand in its place. Ye can use the sack to mop up the mess.”
“How do ye ken I made a mess?” she asked archly. “Mayhap I managed to not make a mess.”
“Aye, mayhap,” he allowed. “But ye did make a mess, did ye no’?” he asked, and she could hear the grin in his voice.
“Aye,” Dwyn admitted on a sigh, and held out the peach pit. “I think I even got some juice in me hair.”