Dark, Devastating & Delicious!: The Marriage Medallion / Between Duty and Desire / Driven to Distraction

“I can make it on my own, I think.”

He shrugged and fell in behind her.

Inside, she turned for the sink. He followed. Her irritation level rose. Okay, she’d been seriously sick. But she was well enough now to walk to the sink unattended.

But then he said, “Here,” and manned the pump. She rinsed her hands and couldn’t resist splashing a little icy water on her face, sipping up a mouthful or two. When she was done, he handed her a towel. She wiped her face. He bent and picked up the fur that had dropped to the rough wooden floor while she reveled in the feel of the water against her cheeks. He gestured toward her sleeping bench. “Back to bed.”

It sounded like a great idea. She clomped over, left the heavy clogs where she’d found them and stretched out. He settled the fur over her. “Sleep now.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Your aunt’s always saying that.”

“It’s good advice. You’ve been very ill.”

“Is she still at the neighbor’s?”

He nodded. “It doesn’t look good. A heart attack, we think. The man is young, too. Barely forty.”

“Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”

“The man’s a true Mystic. No hospitals for him.”

“But if he dies—”

His eyes gleamed down at her through the shadows. “It’s a choice, to make a life here. With few conveniences. No phones, poor access to emergency care. Most who live here embrace the realities of this place.”

They were both whispering. It was nice—companionable. A quiet little chat in the midnight darkness. “Why?”

“They find peace here. And real meaning to their lives.”

She smiled, thinking again of what Asta had told her. A simple life, one that made for strong character and a clear mind. “I was surprised tonight, when I woke up and you were sleeping right over there.”

“I live here, in my aunt’s house, when I’m staying at the village.”

She let a second or two elapse before she asked, “And where does my brother live?”

He didn’t answer right away. She had a lovely, rising feeling. He would tell her the truth. And then she would keep after him until he agreed to take her to wherever Valbrand was staying.

But then he said softly, “Your brother lies forever sleeping—at the bottom of the sea.”

She bit her lower lip to stop its sudden trembling. “That was cruel.”

“The truth is often cruel.”

She looked him dead in the eyes. “But it’s not the truth. It’s a lie. I saw him. You know I did. You were right beside him, standing almost where you’re standing now. You said, ‘She sees you. She knows you.”’

“In your dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream.”

He was already turning away. “Good night, Brit.”

Good night, Brit. Damn him, he so easily called her by her first name. Everyone else fell all over themselves Your-Highnessing her to death. But Eric Greyfell had presumed to address her with familiarity from the first.

And come to think of it, why did it bug her so much that he did? As a rule, since she’d come to Gullandria, she was constantly asking people to please just call her Brit.

She heard faint rustlings over by his furs. He would be taking off his trousers, slipping into bed….

“Eric?”

“Yes?” He sounded wary.

And well he should. “You do have some way, don’t you, of contacting my father—and yours?”

“There is radio contact, yes. It can be undependable, but eventually we get through.”

“Is that how you got hold of my father to tell him what had happened to me?”

“That’s right.”

“So why didn’t he send a helicopter to take me out of here and get me to a hospital?”

He was silent for several seconds. The remains of a log popped in the grate, the sound jarring in the quiet room.

Getting impatient, she prompted, “Eric?”

“Is that what you would have wanted, to be airlifted out of here, had you been able to make the decision for yourself?”

She considered for a moment, then admitted, “No.”

“Then it was done as you would have wished.”

“But who decided that I would stay here, at your aunt’s village, instead of going to a hospital? My brother?”

Did he chuckle then, very low? She thought he might have. “That would have been difficult for him, as he is dead.”

She scowled at the ceiling. “This radio—where is it?”

“Here, in the village.”

“So. You brought me here, and then you contacted my father…”

“Yes.”

“And my father decided that I would stay?”

“Your father. And mine. Your father knows you—better than you might think.”

“And your father?”