Emyr's Smile by Amy Rae Durreson Page A

field.”
    “He’s been down at the
east end of the island all week earning the price of his pasture in
stud fees. Owen ap Owen Up-the-Hill is bringing him back this
afternoon. He’ll be worn out and irritable, poor Pumpkin.”
    “And late,” Heilyn
added, because he might only have been on Sirig a week, but that
was still long enough to know that the only reason Owen Up-the-Hill
was still in business was because he was the only carter on the
island.
    The stranger’s long
lips twitched, not enough to count as a smile, but enough to make
him look smug. “He isn’t late for me. I pay him in whiskey, and
take a tot off for every hour’s delay.”
    “Is that the secret,
then?” Heilyn asked, smiling to see if he could get one back. He
wanted to see a real smile on that solemn face.
    “Don’t share it, or I
may lose my advantage.” His words were serious enough, but
everything he said was tinged with a note of quiet irony, as if he
was laughing at the world. Why wouldn’t he smile, if that was the
case?
    “My lips are sealed,”
Heilyn promised, and made a heroic effort not to add, “I’d like to
seal them to yours.” A slightly more delicate approach was clearly
needed here.
    Sighing, he turned back
to his painting. There was at least two hours’ work still to do.
“When’s the carter due?”
    “In an hour.”
    “Let’s hope he’s not
too desperate for a drink, then,” Heilyn muttered, and picked up
his brush again. “I’ll have to paint fast.”
    “Do you mind if I keep
you company?”
    “Mind?” Heilyn
repeated, perhaps a little too ecstatically for a casual
acquaintance. “Not at all. That would be wonderful!”
    His beautiful stranger
gave him a quizzical look and said very carefully, “I have to wait
for the carter.”
    “Oh.”
    “I could wait in the
opposite corner of the field, but that feels a little awkward. I
promise I won’t offer any unwanted criticism, though.”
    “Much appreciated,”
Heilyn said, and cleared his throat. “I’m Heilyn, since we’re
keeping company now.”
    “Emyr.”
    “Emyr,” Heilyn repeated
slowly, imagining ink, a brush, and this man’s naked back, lit by
firelight. He’d paint the name across Emyr’s shoulders in round
script, putting curls on the tails and swells of the letters. Would
Emyr squirm beneath the caress of the brush? “Are you
ticklish?”
    “What?” Emyr asked.
“Not particularly, no. Why?”
    “No reason,” Heilyn
said hurriedly, and made himself concentrate on his painting again.
He hadn’t spent a week trying to capture those rainbows just to
lose it all to an errant fantasy. Finish the painting first, and
then flirt with the gorgeous man.
    Of course, after that,
he finished too soon, long before the bull showed up. In fact,
Heilyn had almost forgotten about the bull, caught between the
light and his awareness of Emyr’s presence at his shoulder,
watching every stroke intently. Triumphantly, he put his brush down
and said, “Done! Let’s get a drink.”
    “I have to wait for my
bull,” Emyr reminded him.
    “I’ll wait with you,”
Heilyn said at once.
    “No, go and get your
drink. You’ve earned it.”
    “I was wrong. I’m
really not quite finished.” He could add a little more mist up in
the corner there, and redo the white curls of the starflowers in
the the derwen grove so they stood out more clearly.
    “No, it’s beautiful,”
Emyr said, clearly under the false impression that he needed
reassurance. “Go and celebrate before Pumpkin gets here to ruin
your day.”
    “But…” Heilyn started,
trying to think of an excuse.
    “It was very
interesting to meet you,” Emyr said gravely. “I hope we meet again
before you leave Sirig.”
    Well, that was just
pointed enough. Daunted, Heilyn retreated with his canvas held out
before him. This, he promised himself, glancing back at where Emyr
stood gazing up at the afternoon light on the cliffs of Briallen
floating above them, was not the end. He’d paint