Dreams Made Flesh

she owes me for trying to kick my balls into my throat.*
    *I see. Then you must be pleased that she learned the lessons you insisted on teaching her.*
    *She still punches like a girl.* He rubbed his sore jaw. *For the most part.*
    He felt a hint of amusement from her, which was exactly what he'd hoped for. Her rage had turned aside, but it wouldn't take much to bring it back -with lethal results. As much as he loved her, he breathed a sigh of relief when she walked out of The Tavern and caught the Winds to go back to the Keep.
    Which left him with his muddy, bruised hearth witch and the sobbing bitch.
    "You two," he said, pointing to the two Warlords who had assisted Roxie into the tavern. "Escort Lady Roxie home and inform her father that I'll see him tomorrow."
    "I want her punished!" Roxie wailed as the two men hauled her to her feet. "She attacked me! I want her punished!"
    And I want you dead, Lucivar thought. But we can't always have what we want.
    He waited until Roxie was gone before turning to Marian. "As for you…"
    She shrank back in the chair, her courage gone.
    Shaking his head, he hauled her out of the chair. "Come on, witch-ling. Let's get you home while you can still move. You're not going to believe how sore you'll be by tomorrow."
    "Don't you worry about setting a meal on the table, Marian," Merry called. "I'll pack a basket and bring up a few dishes in a little while."
    "Basket," Marian gasped. "My carry basket. All my shopping."
    Taking the easy way out of this discussion, Lucivar dumped her over his shoulder, walked out of The Tavern, and caught a Wind that would take them home.
    "I'm sorry," Marian said, trying not to wince as Lucivar ripped her clothes off. They were past repairing anyway, and since she was the reason he was limping and had a rather impressive bruise blooming on his jaw, she figured she shouldn't argue with him about the clothes.
    "You're not half as sorry as you're going to be," Lucivar growled as he knelt to strip off her boots. He led her to the steps at one corner of the heated pool…steps he'd never mentioned the first time he dumped her in there…and kept one hand on her arm to steady her as she descended. Then he stripped off his own clothes and joined her.
    "All right," he said. "Let's have a look at you." He called in a washcloth, dipped it in the water, and washed the mud off her face.
    Gentle, thorough, grim. She watched his face as he tended each
    bruise, saw the flash of temper in his eyes when he came to a cut. Then he growled as he carefully checked her hands.
    "Didn't remember to put a shield around your hands before you threw the first punch, did you?" He probed her knuckles and fingers."Of course, if you'd thought to put a shield around yourself in the first place, she couldn't have landed a blow at all."
    She raised her chin. "You didn't shield, either, when you waded into the fight."
    His eyes met hers. "I wasn't expecting my lover to try to kick my balls down the street."
    My lover. The words warmed her more than anything else could. He'd never said he loved her, and she hadn't wanted to spoil the easy way they were now living together by telling him she loved him. But she thought it, felt it, more with each day…and hoped that someday he would feel the same.
    Then what she'd done finally sank in. She closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders.
    "Marian?" Lucivar's voice was sharp, alarmed.
    "I'm sorry."
    "About what?"
    "I caused a public scene. I'm sorry I embarrassed you by doing that."
    His finger rapped her chin hard enough to startle her into opening her eyes. How could he look grim and amused at the same time?
    "Sweetheart," he said, "it's going to take more than a public brawl to embarrass me. Especially since I've initiated my fair share of public scenes."
    "I've never done anything like that before."
    "Why did you this time?"
    Anger spurted through her as she remembered the look on Roxie's face, the things the woman said. "She wanted to hurt you. She wanted to take away everything that matters to you. I couldn't let her do that."
    She couldn't read the look in his eyes. Soft. Hot. Something more, but she wasn't sure what it was.
    "Do I mean that much to you?" he asked quietly.
    I love you. "Yes, you mean that much to me."
    He smiled, then brushed his lips over hers. "Do I mean enough to you that you're going to let me fuss over you without snarling at me today?"
    "I—" She frowned and studied his lazy, arrogant smile. "Do I have a