Page 92 of Paladin's Faith

Oh, well done. Perhaps you can map out all of her skin blemishes next.

Marguerite laughed and put a hand over one breast to hold it out of the way so she could look down at her hip. “Here?” She traced one of the silver-red marks. “They are, yes.”

“Ah.” He had a strong urge to drop to his knees and press his lips against one, but that seemed extremely presumptuous, given the circumstances.

One corner of her mouth crooked up. “In answer to the question you are carefully not asking, no, I’ve never been pregnant. It just happens sometimes. Surprised you noticed. Most men never look any lower than the breasts.”

The word pregnant rang in Shane’s brain, but was drowned out by the phrase most men. He had a sudden desire to go and talk to these other men. Perhaps bounce their heads gently off the pavement a few times.

Stop that, you ass. She took you into her bed once, that’s all. You have no right to even expect it again, let alone feel jealousy.

“Ah,” he said again. The word pregnant was still trying to get his attention, and finally did, accompanied by sudden panic. “Err…last night, we… I didn’t…um… I tried not to…but that doesn’t always…”

She laughed and dropped her shirt down over the marks. “I did. Silphium powder. I never take any risks with that.”

No, of course she wouldn’t. Nor would she trust anyone else to take them for her. The thought woke both admiration and an odd, diffuse kind of sadness in him. Who does she have to depend on? Is there anyone?

Perhaps she mistook his silence for concern, because she smiled at him. “It’s very reliable. I am very much not cut out to be a mother.”

“I would think that you could be almost anything you wanted.”

Her laugh had a little roughness around the edges, but seemed genuine enough, if rueful. “Oh, I’ve tried. For a while there, I thought maybe I could just sell perfumes for a living. But something always drags me back.” She paused, staring at nothing in particular. “Anyway, this would be no life for a child. Besides, I have an absolute horror of pregnancy.”

Even Shane could recognize when it was time for the voice. “It can be very dangerous,” he said gently.

“The original Marguerite died of it. Both her and the child. I decided early on that I didn’t wish to tempt that fate.”

There was a note of finality that Shane had no desire to push. “I…err…I don’t have any children either. As far as I know.” He cleared his throat. “That is, no one ever came to the temple to say that I might have fathered their child.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes. After a battle, if you’ve helped people, some of them are grateful. Um. Very grateful.” He realized, unaccountably, that he was blushing, which was completely ridiculous, given what they’d done the night before.

Marguerite’s eyes danced and he knew she was about to say something hilariously cutting, when a familiar voice drifted up from the path to the shelter.

“If you’re going to close your eyes, at least take hold of my hand so you don’t walk off the damned cliff.”

“I have no desire to hold anything of yours,” another, equally familiar voice snapped back.

“I promise, I’m not going to enjoy it. I just don’t want to see you splattered all over the landscape on my watch.”

Wren’s reply was too low for Shane to make out. “No, but that overmuscled brother of yours would,” Davith said, clearly in answer, “and I’d rather not give him another excuse to punch me.”

Marguerite sighed. “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” she said, bending down to kiss Shane on the forehead.

What does that mean? That was fun, let’s do it again sometime when other people aren’t around? That was fun, now let us never speak of this again?

Davith’s head crested the trail, followed a moment later by Wren. Davith looked up, saw the shelter’s occupants, and let out a heartfelt groan. “Thank all the gods. You’re here. Now this abominable child will be someone else’s responsibility.”

“Child?” Wren put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I’ve been widowed for longer than I was wed!”

“My congratulations to your husband on his excellent timing.” Davith collapsed dramatically on the floor of the shelter. “I’m dying,” he said, his eyes closed. “Please burn my body so at least I’ll be warm.”

“Are you hurt?” Shane asked, ignoring the man and focusing on Wren, who looked indignant but otherwise intact.

“We’re fine,” said Wren. She exhaled gustily. “Spent the night in a shelter a bit like this one on the lower trail. Ours had thatch, though. I’m pretty sure we can be out of the mountains in a couple of hours, though.”

“Wren,” said Marguerite, “you are my new favorite person.” She brushed off her cloak. “I can’t wait.”