Dreams Made Flesh

running away because of the rut.
    "Thank you for stopping by, High Lord." He gave her a wan smile. "It was my pleasure, Lady." She doubted that, but she smiled and stayed in the kitchen until she was sure he was gone. After making a cup of tea for herself, she sat at the table for a long time.
    It must have required a kind of steely courage for the High Lord to come to the eyrie, not knowing what he might find, what kind of damage he might have to try to repair. Remembering the stories she'd heard about Warlord Princes, she had to admit he and Lucivar both had a valid reason for asking if she needed a Healer. It hadn't occurred to her that Lucivar wouldn't know she didn't need one.
    Maybe Lucivar's bolting this morning hadn't been meant as a rejection. If he hadn't cared, at least a little, he wouldn't have been as concerned about what had happened during the rut, would he?
    She sighed. There was nothing she could do to settle things between them until he came back, so she might as well get some work done.
    After bundling up again, she opened the front door…and stared. There wasn't so much as a flake of snow on the entire flagstone courtyard except for Tassle's den.
    Taking the hint, Marian went back inside. She'd clean Lucivar's bed-
    room and make some soup. And she wouldn't allow herself to wonder if he was afraid to come home because of things he couldn't remember.
    Saetan waited throughout the day, knowing Lucivar would come to him before going to the eyrie. It had been easy enough to keep track of his son. It hadn't been easy to resist summoning Lucivar to the Keep to offer what reassurance he could. But a summons of any kind would be misunderstood, and Lucivar's fear had bordered on panic too many times during the day to dare give him any kind of push.
    Finally, as the afternoon waned, Lucivar walked into the room where Saetan waited. He looked exhausted, and his hands trembled a little as he poured himself a glass of brandy.
    "You saw her," Lucivar said, staring into the glass for a moment before he gulped the brandy and poured another glass.
    "I saw her," Saetan replied.
    "Did she need a Healer? I asked, but…"
    "No, she didn't need a Healer."
    Lucivar sagged with relief. "Is she… upset?"
    Saetan hesitated. He thought he'd taken an accurate measure of Marian's temperament when she'd stayed at the Hall during Winsol, but the woman who had flung snow on him and snapped at him in her kitchen didn't fit that measure. "She wasn't reacting as I would have expected." He frowned. "She'd struck me as a quiet-natured woman, but…"
    Lucivar shrugged. "She usually is, but she gets feisty when she's riled."
    Riled. Yes, that was a good way to describe the woman he'd seen that morning.
    Lucivar set the glass down so carefully, Saetan suspected it was taking every bit of self-control to keep from throwing the glass at the wall.
    "Is she going to leave?" Lucivar asked. "Should I stay away until she can—" He swallowed hard, unable to finish.
    That, Saetan realized, was the root of Lucivar's fear…that the woman he was in love with, the woman he'd been courting so carefully over the last few months, would want nothing from him except the chance to escape. Lucivar wouldn't believe him right now if he said escape was the last thing on Marian's mind.
    "May I offer you some advice?" Saetan asked. "Not as your father or as the Steward of the court, but as a man who talked to Marian this morning."
    Misery filling his gold eyes, Lucivar said, "What's your advice?" Saetan smiled dryly. "Get your ass home in time for dinner."
    He found her in the kitchen, arranging slices of bread and cheese on plates while something that smelled delicious simmered on the stove. How many times had he come home to find her like this, preparing the evening meal for them, her warm smile of welcome a feast to a heart that had been starving for love for so many centuries? Now he wasn't sure what he should say to her, what he should do.
    "Marian."
    She looked up, and the unhappiness in her eyes was a twisting knife in his gut.
    "I wasn't sure you would come back," she said, turning back to fuss with the bread and cheese.
    "I wasn't sure you wanted me to come back," he replied honestly.
    She started to speak, then shook her head and picked up the plates. "Have something to eat." The plates clattered on the counter. She hunched her shoulders, as if to ward off a blow. "You didn't have to run away. I wasn't expecting anything from you because of this.