She gaped at him, but he only shrugged.
“It has been done before. I’m guessing your uncle wouldn’t be above it. I’ve found that men who suspect terrible things of others generally entertain those same thoughts themselves in the dead of night.”
She wished she could fly, though at the moment leaving the safety of his spell sounded like the worst idea she’d had in years.
“I think you’re wrong,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
He nodded slightly. “As you say.”
“Agree with me, damn you!”
He only stopped and looked at her, his face full of pity. No fear, though, and that surprised her.
“You’re not afraid.”
“I am never afraid for myself,” he said slowly.
“And for me?”
“I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I refuse to give you an answer for that.”
She went into his arms. If her knees gave way, well, he was a gentleman after all and knew when to keep his mouth shut.
He also carried her with a fair amount of gallantry the entire three steps it took to reach one of the chairs in front of his fire. She thought sharing chairs with him might be becoming something of a bad habit, though she couldn’t remember when it had started—well, she supposed that wasn’t true. She had a vague and unpleasant memory of almost fainting in his arms after she’d shot bolts into two mages hovering over him, preparing to slay him. She thought they might have briefly shared a stool while those mages had simply vanished into thin air.
There were several things, she decided, that she might not want to think about again.
“I can move,” she said.
“Why?”
“So your legs don’t lose all feeling?”
“I’ll wiggle my toes occasionally.”
“Good of you.”
He sighed. “Altruism, I’m beginning to find, gets me into all sorts of trouble.”
She gave in and made herself comfortable, then leaned her head against the winged side of the chair back where she could watch him. His expression was grave, but there was no fear lurking in his eyes. Then again, he was accustomed to people wanting him dead.
“Would you prefer to have the lamps brighter?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “You’re very beautiful by firelight.”
“I was just going to say the same thing about you.” He put his arms more securely around her and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry about this morning—and no comments about all this apologizing being the ruination of my code of conduct, if you please. I’m keenly aware of how far down the path toward syrupy sweetness I’ve strayed.”
“If it eases your conscience any, I’ve been harder on horses that I loved,” she offered. “And I apologize for being rude to you.”
“Aren’t we just the picture of polite, almost connubial bliss.”
“More treacle from you, my lord?”
He smiled that small smile she imagined got him more things he wanted than awful spells ever had, but he apparently found no need for any for comment. He simply combed his fingers through her hair with one hand and kept his other arm around her. It was, she had to admit, surprisingly comforting.
She only wished it were enough.
“What will I do?” she asked, finally.
“You can make fire—”
“Call fire, you mean.”
He nodded. “An important distinction. You can call fire and contain things. Very useful skills, those.”
“Do you have other short spells?”
He smiled gravely. “A few.”
“How many?”
“I’m too weary to count them all, but I’ll make you a list in the morning.”
“We could go collect more of your soul,” she said, knowing it was a last-ditch effort to keep herself from having to use what she’d asked for. “Then you would have what you needed, aye?”
He looked at her seriously. “I’m not sure we have the time, if you want my thoughts on it.”
“Then what will we do?” she asked miserably.
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “We have a spell of death that requires nothing from either of us.” He shrugged. “It might be worth making a handful of others for use in a pinch.”
“Won’t that cost you bits of your soul?”
“There isn’t all that much left to take. I’ll make a few, sleep like the dead for a day or two, then we’ll be off and doing.”
“And what am I to do while you’re doing that?” she asked, pushing aside her unease over the thought of being alone inside with that mage lurking in the forest outside.
“Refrain from burning the house down?”
“What about a spell of werelight?” she asked. “Could I do that?”
He smiled. “I imagine you could.”
“Let’s go, then.” She pushed off his lap only to have him catch her and pull her back. “What?”
“You don’t need to go outside to practice that,” he said. “I think we should stay right here by the fire where it’s warm.”
She imagined he was less concerned about staying warm than he was staying out of sight, but she suspected she didn’t need to acknowledge that.
“I can only manage five words,” she warned.
“Fadaire will do it for you in three.”
“Oh?” she asked in surprise. “What will King Sìle think?”
“He’ll never know.”
“I’m beginning to suspect that might not be as true as you would like.”
“I’ll take responsibility for you. But let’s try it later. I think I might need a nap soon.” He paused, then looked at her seriously. “About this morning—”
She shook her head. “I know what you’re capable of.”
“Nay, about pushing you so hard.” He sighed. “Listen to me apologizing as easily as if I’ve done nothing else for the whole of my life.” He reached out and touched her cheek. “Please don’t tell anyone. And, you know, forgive me.”
“You were trying to keep me safe, I imagine.”