you?”
“A bit, but nothing too bad.” She massaged her aching shoulders one by one, rearranged her clothing. She slid him a covert look; he’d come back for her, saved her, so maybe he did care a little, however big a bastard he’d been earlier. “They’re looking for me.” Damn Sanderson; probably his idea of an adequate little payback.
“Aye, I heard.” He remained where he was, crouched over his fire making efforts, his eyes darting in her direction. “I’m sorry,” he said after a few minutes. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“It would feel more sincere if you said it while facing me.”
He turned. “I’m sorry,” he enunciated clearly. He sat down beside her, waiting.
“So am I, but I did apologise already before.”
He muttered a gruff agreement.
“My brother-in-law helped me,” he said without any form of preamble. She must have looked confused. “With the divorce.”
“What divorce?” She did her best wide-eyed look – not that it worked, given how his mouth twitched.
“Mine. And I disowned the child as well, in view of her telling me in front of witnesses he wasn’t mine.”
Alex scratched her head vigorously. The bloody midgets had eaten their way across her entire scalp.
“I didn’t know you could.”
“Could what?”
“Get a divorce. I thought you needed some kind of papal dispensation.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “The Pope? What would he have to do with us?” Alex hitched her shoulders. She had absolutely no idea.
“I thought you’d gone for good,” she said with a quick glance in his direction. She blushed at the intensity of his gaze. “It made me realise, twelve days too late, that here I’m totally alone. It scared me.” She sighed and looked away, fiddling with her blanket roll. He could say something, not just sit there staring at her. She cleared her throat and got to her feet, muttering something about a human break. His hand closed round her ankle and she looked down in surprise.
“You’re not alone,” he said, before gracefully standing up. “Not unless you want to be.” His eyes were very close. Somehow she got the impression she was answering a much bigger question than the one actually expressed, and she licked her lips before replying.
“I don’t.”
“Good,” he smiled, and his hand rested briefly on her head.
*
“So, do you get gifts for your birthday, then?” Matthew asked a couple of days later. Alex smiled at his transparency, but was touched by the fact that he’d actually remembered.
“Oh yes – and for Christmas. And of course wives expect gifts at anniversaries and such as well.”
“And it would be the one gift?”
She grinned up at him. “It tends to get a bit wild and crazy, at least for Christmas – mountains of gifts. Quite disgusting really, commercialism at its best.”
He clearly didn’t understand, and she tried to explain about Christmas shopping, and after Christmas sales, and all the commercials winding kids up weeks in advance with expectations.
“But why?” he said. “Why would anyone buy something before Christmas, if you can buy it at half-price after Christmas?”
“Because everyone expects gifts for Christmas, not New Year’s Eve.”
He made a small sound of astonishment at this incredibly stupid behaviour, and dug his fingers into the waistbandof his breeches, struggling to extract something.
“Here, happy birthday.”
Alex turned the small piece of wood round in her hands. It was exquisite, a miniature, faceless baby, spine curved shrimplike and small legs pulled up to meet equally small pudgy arms. It fit into the palm of her hand, and yet the detail was fantastic, down to small toes and fingers and wisps of hair on its skull. And he’d made it himself, for her.
“Look, it’s sucking its thumb!”
“Aye, and it’s a he, not an it. So that when you feel the need to touch Isaac you can at least run your fingers over this little one, and maybe he will feel
“A bit, but nothing too bad.” She massaged her aching shoulders one by one, rearranged her clothing. She slid him a covert look; he’d come back for her, saved her, so maybe he did care a little, however big a bastard he’d been earlier. “They’re looking for me.” Damn Sanderson; probably his idea of an adequate little payback.
“Aye, I heard.” He remained where he was, crouched over his fire making efforts, his eyes darting in her direction. “I’m sorry,” he said after a few minutes. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“It would feel more sincere if you said it while facing me.”
He turned. “I’m sorry,” he enunciated clearly. He sat down beside her, waiting.
“So am I, but I did apologise already before.”
He muttered a gruff agreement.
“My brother-in-law helped me,” he said without any form of preamble. She must have looked confused. “With the divorce.”
“What divorce?” She did her best wide-eyed look – not that it worked, given how his mouth twitched.
“Mine. And I disowned the child as well, in view of her telling me in front of witnesses he wasn’t mine.”
Alex scratched her head vigorously. The bloody midgets had eaten their way across her entire scalp.
“I didn’t know you could.”
“Could what?”
“Get a divorce. I thought you needed some kind of papal dispensation.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “The Pope? What would he have to do with us?” Alex hitched her shoulders. She had absolutely no idea.
“I thought you’d gone for good,” she said with a quick glance in his direction. She blushed at the intensity of his gaze. “It made me realise, twelve days too late, that here I’m totally alone. It scared me.” She sighed and looked away, fiddling with her blanket roll. He could say something, not just sit there staring at her. She cleared her throat and got to her feet, muttering something about a human break. His hand closed round her ankle and she looked down in surprise.
“You’re not alone,” he said, before gracefully standing up. “Not unless you want to be.” His eyes were very close. Somehow she got the impression she was answering a much bigger question than the one actually expressed, and she licked her lips before replying.
“I don’t.”
“Good,” he smiled, and his hand rested briefly on her head.
*
“So, do you get gifts for your birthday, then?” Matthew asked a couple of days later. Alex smiled at his transparency, but was touched by the fact that he’d actually remembered.
“Oh yes – and for Christmas. And of course wives expect gifts at anniversaries and such as well.”
“And it would be the one gift?”
She grinned up at him. “It tends to get a bit wild and crazy, at least for Christmas – mountains of gifts. Quite disgusting really, commercialism at its best.”
He clearly didn’t understand, and she tried to explain about Christmas shopping, and after Christmas sales, and all the commercials winding kids up weeks in advance with expectations.
“But why?” he said. “Why would anyone buy something before Christmas, if you can buy it at half-price after Christmas?”
“Because everyone expects gifts for Christmas, not New Year’s Eve.”
He made a small sound of astonishment at this incredibly stupid behaviour, and dug his fingers into the waistbandof his breeches, struggling to extract something.
“Here, happy birthday.”
Alex turned the small piece of wood round in her hands. It was exquisite, a miniature, faceless baby, spine curved shrimplike and small legs pulled up to meet equally small pudgy arms. It fit into the palm of her hand, and yet the detail was fantastic, down to small toes and fingers and wisps of hair on its skull. And he’d made it himself, for her.
“Look, it’s sucking its thumb!”
“Aye, and it’s a he, not an it. So that when you feel the need to touch Isaac you can at least run your fingers over this little one, and maybe he will feel
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