At that point, in a last, desperate attempt to safeguard the few pitiful shreds of dignity I could muster, I abandoned the chase and began to retrace my steps, willing myself to runsmoothly back towards the valley and, within moments, it seemed, she was running easily by my side, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. Accepting the futility of any attempt to reason, or even communicate with her on my terms, I ran on without looking at her, but during the gentle journey back to the hut, I was conscious of the weariness and frustration and anger draining steadily from my body, so that I arrived at our journey's end rejuvenated and only pleasantly tired. She stopped by the edge of the lake and looked up at me, her eyes shining and her skin rosy and slick with perspiration. She turned aside and ran into the lake, struggling against the pull of the water at her knees until it was deep enough for her to throw herself full length and swim. I was mere moments behind her, and the water felt wonderful.
Later, when we had emerged shivering and run into the hut, she produced two blankets for us, then took my hands and pulled me to the wooden chair beside the fire, tugging and pushing at me until I sat down. Then she knelt, swathed in her blanket, and began poking and prodding at the fire, stirring up the flames until they blazed and adding dry, thick logs. That done, she lit a taper from the fire and used it to light three oil lamps, and all the while I was content to sit and shiver and watch her, drinking in her every movement, catching glimpses of the way the single, wet tunic she wore clung to the lines of her body beneath the blanket, and itching to take her around the waist and kiss her marvel of a mouth with its wide, full lips.
In the face of her now obvious delight in my presence, the only things that restrained me from laying hands on her were the warning of Daffyd and the memory of what had been done to her. Although her body was healed, those wounds were still too fresh in her mind. I contented myself with looking at her, wondering if the tumultuous feelings I was undergoing were merely unrequited lust, stirred and aggravated by the exercise she had put me through earlier, or the magic that I had heard men talk of as love. I had thought myself familiar with both, for I had lusted for years and had love for many people—mainly men, with Luceiia a notable exception. What I now felt in mind and body, however, bore little resemblance to my love for my great-aunt.
The heat from the fire soon dried us off, and as the dusk deepened outside, the combined light of the lamps and the fire grew stronger, casting dancing shadows on the walls of the hut. It was a simple, crude building in the light of day, but now, in this darkening evening, it took on a warmth and air of comfort that were soothing, almost magical.
As soon as the lamps were burning clearly, Cassandra laid aside the blanket that had covered her and went to move the pile of my outer clothes and armour from the table into a corner. It made an awkward burden, and I started to stand up to help her, but she saw the move and shook her head, frowning and waving her hand to make me stay where I was, so I relaxed again and continued watching her.
Once the table was clear, she went to a row of boxes on a shelf and produced bread, cheese, apples and wine, laying them out on the table before me. I felt saliva spurt under my tongue and realized I had eaten nothing since dawn. She herself ate little, but she watched me closely as I wolfed down my food, her eyes moving from my plate to my mouth with every bite I took. I offered to share my food with her, but she smiled and shook her head, content, apparently, to watch me eat. Eventually, I had had enough and pushed my plate away. She refilled my wine cup, then cleared away the remaining bread and cheese, returning it to the storage bins on the shelf. It was dark outside now. The firelight had faded again.
"Listen," I said, as a nightingale began to sing outside.
She paid no attention, either to my words or to the bird's song, and I was once again smitten with a stark reminder of all the beauty of the world that was lost to her. I had known that she was deaf, and had accepted it, but it had not struck me until that moment that she could never enjoy the song of a bird. I felt a great lump in my throat and my eyes blurred, and then she was standing before me, her eyes wide with alarm and concern at the sight of my tears. I shook my head violently and started to wipe them away with my wrist, but she stopped me and wiped my cheeks dry with her own soft fingertips. I could see the question in her face, Why are you weeping, Caius Merlyn?
I forced back the pain and tried to smile at her. It was not difficult. What I did find difficult, however, was to reconcile the difference I perceived between the boyish hoyden who had outrun and humiliated me that afternoon and the demure and gentle person who was now so evidently content to share her home and fire with me. She took me by the hand again and led me to the chair by the fire, and this time, when I was seated, she sat at my feet, holding the fingers of my right hand in her own and resting her cheek against the back of my hand as she stared into the fire. I could feel the softness of her face against my hand with every nerve end in my body, and I dared to move the tip of one finger minutely, entranced with the smoothness of her skin. Tiny though the movement was, she turned and smiled up at me, squeezing my hand and ending the freedom of that finger.
I have no idea how long we sat thus, silent and motionless, but eventually the heat of the fire made me drowsy and I startled both of us by awakening with a jerk as my neck muscles relaxed and allowed my head to drop forward. I blinked myself wide awake and with great reluctance rose to go, hating the. thought of leaving to ride back to Camulod alone.
She watched me intently as I rose, and crossed to the corner where my armour lay, and then she got up and came to me, holding out her hands to help me with my harness. I was in the act of strapping my armoured kirtle around my waist, and she took the buckle in one hand and the end of the strap in the other, frowning gently up at me. I grinned at her and sucked in my waist, and she pulled tight on both ends of the belt, but without making any effort to feed the end through the buckle. Instead, she shook her head, a questioning look on her face. I assumed that she was asking me if I had to go so soon, and I pantomimed tiredness and the need to sleep, pointing to the door and, by association, towards Camulod. In answer, she turned her head towards the pile of furs that was her bed, her hands still pulling the straps of my kirtle tight. But I knew that I could not sleep there. I wasn't that strong. I shook my head and smiled again, and she let go of the belted kirtle so that it fell at my feet. There was a determined look about her that surprised me. I watched her as she returned quickly to the fireplace and threw some fresh wood onto the embers. This done, she came back to where I stood, stooped to retrieve my belt and then straightened up to look directly at me. Deliberately, as though defying me to stop her, she threw the skirt of armoured straps back into the corner and took me firmly by both hands, drawing me, not altogether unwillingly, towards her bed, where she tugged at me until I sat down.