No I was not.
I didn’t have any lemons to make lemonade but I was going to damn well do what I could with no lemons and no nothing.
So, when I saw the dried grass was filled with dead insects (ick), yes, you guessed it, I trudged right back through the cave (knowing big guy and his sweet horse watched me) back and forth, back and forth, yanking fresh, long blades of grass that grew close to the mouth of the cave and piling them up outside the antechamber we slept in. Then I inspected the entirety of the cave and its cave chambers, found a long stick and enough pieces of twig to build my own freaking broom, which I did, braiding the bristles at the top with a blade of grass and attaching it to the stick with more blades (this, by the way, was tedious and took a long time but, by God, I did it) and now I was sweeping out the old, dry, dead insect-ridden grass (as well as whatever else my admittedly not very great broom could pick up) even though my feet were killing me.
“Cora,” he repeated when I didn’t answer.
“Right here,” I replied.
“Stop.”
“No, I’m almost done.”
“I said, stop.”
“No,” I kept sweeping the big pile toward the pelt curtain, “just a bit –” The broom was suddenly yanked clean out of my hands and my head snapped up to see Noctorno had it. “What are you –? Oof!”
Clatter went the broom as up I went on his shoulder again.
“Put me down!” I beat at his back with my fists.
He did, dropping me on the hides I’d bunched up in the corner to get them away from my sweeping. I barely got my body under control when his strong fingers closed around my ankle and he yanked it up.
“Hey!” I yelled as he bent low and to the side to inspect the bottom of my foot.
“Bloody... damned… hell!” he roared and I jerked my ankle from his hold partly because I didn’t want my ankle in his hold and partly in a reaction to his scary roar.
“What –?” I started but stopped when he planted his hands at his hips and scowled at me so ferociously my breath caught.
Okay, now he wasn’t just pissed, he was pissed.
“You’ve scraped the soles of your feet straight to hell,” he gritted at me.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Your feet are scraped to hell,” he semi-repeated.
“Noctorno, I’m fine.”
“What, by the gods, were you bloody thinking?” he demanded to know.
“I was cleaning.”
“Yes, love, you were cleaning a cave which,” he leaned into me, “by all that is natural, is dirty.”
“But we’re living here!” I sat up to lean into him. “So, being humans and with opposable thumbs and the ability to cogitate, means we can better our surroundings so I’m doing that.”
“And injuring yourself in the ridiculous process,” he shot back.
I felt my eyes narrow. “It isn’t ridiculous. There are dead bugs in the grass under the bed we sleep in! That is pure ick!” I shouted.
“If you weren’t so bloody stubborn, you need clean rushes, you’d bloody well kiss me and I’d give you some bloody shoes!” he shouted back.
“I don’t want to bloody kiss you!” I yelled.
“Then you should have sat on your arse and kept your feet healthy and clean!” he returned on his own yell.
“I did that yesterday and I can’t do it again. It’s boring and my mother told me only stupid people get bored and I’m… not… stupid,” I fired back.
He leaned back and his brows knitted. “Your mother told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother didn’t tell you that,” he declared bizarrely decisively.
“Yes, Tor, she did.”
“She did not.”
“Yes! She did!”
“Bloody hell, woman, she’s sweet as syrup and wouldn’t harm a fly but Dara Goode isn’t smart enough to think something like that much less enunciate it.”
I scrambled to my feet, planted my hands at my own hips and snapped, “Are you calling my mother stupid?”
“Gods, Cora, she’s beloved but she’s not bright. It’s not nice but it’s well-known. Even you told me she’s dull as a post,” he retorted.
“I never said such a…”
Oh shit.
I never said such a thing because the Dara Goode in my world, my mother, was not dull as a post. Nowhere near it.
But the other Cora probably said that about her mother.
Blast!
“God!” I exclaimed, looking at the ceiling. “I hate the Cora of this world! She’s an utter… oof!”
There I was again on his shoulder.
“Tor!” I shrieked, beating at his back and kicking out my legs. “Let me down.”
“Quiet,” he commanded, squatting to pick up one of the sacks.
“I said… let… me…”
Crack!
Another slap on the ass.
Serious ouch.
God, I hated it when he did that.
“You’re having a bloody bath and you’re putting on some bloody clean clothes and some damned, bloody shoes,” he declared.
Oh.
Well then.
Okay.
He dumped me on Salem, swung up behind me, dug his heels in, barked, “Hee-yah!” and Salem burst out of the mouth of the cave.
I was on my belly but I carefully twisted and pulled myself to sitting even though my butt cheek still smarted from where he hit me and in this position he clearly felt the need to circle me with an arm and I knew this because he did exactly that.
I faced forward, ducked and swayed with him as the branches passed us and I couldn’t stop the smile spreading on my face or the word from hitting my brain.
And that word was, goodie.
Okay, let me tell you this…
The clothes in this world rocked!
We were back in the cave, I’d bathed in the river (it was still cold but he had soap, the soap smelled like lavender and I’d cleaned myself with it from head-to-toe) and I had on clothes and slippers.
And what clothes.
They were straight from a renaissance festival but they kicked ass.
A silky, pale pink, flowy top with gathers around the neckline and full flowing sleeves that gathered at the wrists. Also full, flowing skirts, these of a dusky purple with petticoats, these a lovely mint green and the bottoms were dripping with a same-color, glorious lace. To cinch in the flowy top, I was wearing a skintight vest, royal blue that hugged me at the midriff and shoved up my breasts over its top, somehow providing support at the same time looking way, freaking cool. With the low-cut neckline of the shirt and the tight fit of the vest, I was displaying serious cleavage but from what I could tell, it… looked… awesome. There was also a braided belt in all the colors I was wearing that I tied to hang low on my waist.
And last, but not least, the underwear was d-i-v-i-n-e, divine. Silky, ivory shorts with delicate lace at the bottoms and matching camisole with lace at the bottom and bodice. These fit perfectly, clinging to the right places, tight to the right places looking crazy fabulous but comfortable as all get out.
And the capper was the shoes. Sweet little flat, no-heeled (but thick suede-soled) slippers made of purple satin. They were simple and comfortable at the same time they were fab…you… las.
I didn’t know how I’d feel wearing something like this day in and day out. There was a lot of a fabric, the skirts were danged heavy and I didn’t think it would be that great if it was hot or I had to do manual labor or something like that.