Sebastian

framed sketches. If he had to give up the cottage and never come back, it would hurt. He would miss it, and the home he'd made here, but the sketches were a part of him.
    "You have to take them with you," Lynnea said.
    Her words were a balm and yet scraped his heart raw. "Can't. We've already got all we can carry."
    "You can't leave them here, not knowing what might happen to them."
    "We can't carry them!"
    She got a look on her face that reminded him of bull demons at their most stubborn.
    "We're taking them."
    His heart was bleeding already, and that stubborn look combined with that prissy tone of voice made him want to scream.
    She huffed. "Don't you have a handcart?"
    "No, I don't have a handcart," he replied in a nasty imitation of her tone.
    "Then how do you haul wood for the fires or take care of chores?"
    "There's the—" He stopped. Thought. "There's a wheeled barrow in the shed out back." One wheel and long handles. They could load it up, and he could pull it behind him.
    "Fine," Lynnea said. "You get the barrow, and I'll find something to wrap the sketches in."
    She went into the kitchen, then came out with the lamp and marched into the bedroom.
    "Don't use the linens on the bed," Sebastian said.
    The look she gave him was sharp enough to strip off several layers of skin.
    "Daylight," he muttered as he stomped out to the shed. Women were definitely easier to deal with when sex was all you wanted to give and take.
    By the time he pulled the barrow out of the shed and returned to the cottage, she'd already taken the sketches off the wall and wrapped them in a sheet. The package looked bulky to him, but he wasn't about to say anything that would add to her snit, so he unpacked the food from the travel bag Nadia had given him and went into the bedroom to pack up whatever clothes he could fit into the bag.
    Returning to the kitchen with the bag, he discovered she'd packed the food into the carry basket along with his perk-pot, grinder, two mugs, and the bag of koffea beans.
    "The barrow's not that big," he grumbled.
    She just sniffed.
    The weight of the basket surprised a grunt out of him as he lifted it off the table, which made him grateful he wasn't going to have to carry the thing all the way to the Den.
    Not that he would tell her that.
    It took some shifting, but he got the travel bag, the carry basket, and Lynnea's pack into the barrow.
    Which left the sketches to balance precariously on top of the pile.
    Lynnea came to the kitchen door, her arms wrapped tightly around the bulky package.
    "Here," he said, reaching for the package, "I'll—"
    "No!" She twisted her body, blocking his attempt to take the sketches. "They could get damaged in the barrow. I'll carry them."
    "Don't be foolish," he snapped, reaching for the package again.
    "No! I'll. Carry. Them."
    "Suit yourself. But don't start whining when your arms are aching."
    Her lower lip quivered, and he thought she was going to give in. Then she stiffened up and gave him another of those skin-scraping looks.
    Why couldn't she be a rabbit again for a little while? "Could you at least get out of the way so I can extinguish the lamps?"
    He waited until she stood beside the barrow before he went into the kitchen. He snuffed out the lamps, then stood in the dark.
    "I'll come back," he whispered. "If we're both still standing when this fight is done, I'll come back."
    Then he walked out of the cottage, locked the door, lifted the barrow's handles, and began trudging down the dirt road toward the Den with Lynnea walking beside him.

    By the time she saw the lights of the Den, Lynnea's arms were aching. The framed sketches would have been awkward enough to carry over any distance, but the other things she'd wrapped in the sheet made the package bulky in a way that defied any attempt to shift her arms to another position.
    But she refused to let Sebastian see any hint of her discomfort. He'd argue to leave the bundle behind, maybe promising to come back for it after they got settled into his room at the bordello. Maybe he would have gone back for the bundle, and maybe it would have been there when he did go back, but she wasn't about to trust something so important to "maybe."
    Did he think she hadn't seen how much the thought of leaving the sketches had hurt him? They were more than pencil markings on paper. He would have been leaving a piece of his heart behind—and he might never have gotten it back.
    So she kept her chin up, ignored the looks Sebastian