In Which Laveria's Worlds Collide

February 23, 1158

"So," Willott whispered between kisses, "what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Laveria gave a pleasured moan as their lips met repeatedly. "Mmm... just a moment..."

"Making me work for it, are you?"

"Are you willing to?"

Before he could reply, however, the bell on the door frame downstairs tolled merrily--she had a customer.

"Damn," swore Willott under his breath. "Now I have to wait even longer to find out what your secret is!"

Nudging him teasingly, she laughed. "Are you so sure the secret is better than the sex?"

"Well, no, but now I have to wait for the sex too."

Laveria shook her head; men would be men.

"Oh, it's probably just the blacksmith, here for more of that paste for the burn on his arm," she assured him. "I still have plenty left, so I shouldn't be very long."

He nodded. "And what should I do while you're gone?" Good Lord--he was a good man, but sometimes she wondered whether or not he was capable of thinking for himself, or at least ever willing to.

Laveria smirked. "Just make yourself comfortable--and by 'comfortable', obviously I mean 'naked'," she added with a wink; he grinned excitedly.

Whoever it was--a man, probably tall and lithe, she could tell from the footsteps beneath her--had begun to pace around the shop; he was growing rather impatient.

"Well, I shan't keep the customer waiting much longer," Laveria insisted. "You stay here and be good, and you'll get both sex and a secret for your troubles."

Willott gave a sigh of contentment. "Now that is a combination no man can refuse."

"Don't think I don't know it."

With one last, quick kiss, she slipped off the bed and crossed the room to the staircase, trying to make her descent appear as casual as possible--she already knew what the villagers thought of her, and she cared little, but she was not about to ruin Willott's reputation as an honorable man.

Or at least, not any sooner than necessary.

Regardless, the young blacksmith was a friend of Willott's; if anyone had to tell him that they were sleeping together, it would be Willott himself.

But the visitor was not the blacksmith.

Why was he here? How had he found her? Did he honestly believe himself welcome?

She tried not to look at him, not to meet those blue eyes sending her sidelong glances. She neither moved nor thought--she barely even dared to breath. The room had not fallen silent--it had become silence, faded into the very embodiment of nothingness itself.

Then, he spoke.

"Severin didn't tell you I was here, did he?" She did not respond; yet, she had answered with utmost clarity. Satisfied, he grunted. "No matter; I'm not even sure he told himself I was here."

"Mmm," Laveria hummed; it wasn't a word, but it was all she could manage.

Nodding, he slowly pivoted and began to step towards her. His very presence was intoxicating, far stronger than any drink or incense she had ever known. She realized now why she could not breathe--Lonriad left no room for air.

"You don't seem happy to see me," he mused gruffly. "Has it really been so long?"

Had he been anyone else, she would have told him not to flatter himself by assuming she still loved him, demanded that he leave that precise second, but she was so stifled she was not even herself; he might as well have had his hands around her neck.

All she could do was remain silent. Perhaps it was for the best--there was nothing she could say that would change anything.

Suddenly, he reached out and gently nudged her chin with his hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. She was too shocked to recoil--and she was not even sure that she wanted to. "So beautiful," he whispered. "Forty-four and still Aphrodite herself looks down on you from Olympus with envy."

He had long ago lost the privilege to touch her, but now, it was no longer his privilege--it was his right.

His touch lingered as his blue eyes continued to captivate her own brown. "I've missed you, you know."

Like a beggar lusting after a sack of gold coins, she continued staring. She wished he would blink, giving her an opportunity to turn away.

But when he did close his eyes, it was only to take her in his hands and kiss her, bold as he ever had--bolder.

"Why didn't you come back to me after your husband died?" he demanded in his own soft, seductive way. "I know you never loved him. And why would you have? He was horrible to you, or so Severin said; I daresay he hated that bastard more than he hates me now.

"And you hated him more than you hate me now. He made you miss me, didn't he? By no means am I a perfect man, but Lord knows in all my years I've never struck a woman, or forced her to do what she was not willing to; why didn't you come back to me?"

He must not have wanted an answer, for he never gave her a chance to speak.

Finally, her senses returned to her. As the kiss passed its climax, she broke away, firmly pushing him back. She looked him straight in the eye and, with all the boldness she had lacked before, and gave her command. "Go."

"Laveria..."

"Just--go!"

Nodding, he hastily brushed past her and made his way through the door, the bell signaling his exit. "Goodbye, Laveria," he muttered back to her; this time, it was her own choice to not reply.

She didn't know how long she stood there. It could have been a minute, but then again, it could have easily been all afternoon. For all she knew, she might have died right then and there--she would not have noticed.

"You all right?"

She quickly glanced to the side to see Willott, clunking down the stairs in his heavy boots; despite herself, she couldn't resist a joke. "I thought I told you to take your clothes off."

Willott chuckled appreciatively. "Maybe I did--you've been down here a while. Who was it?"

"Just the blacksmith," Laveria lied. Then, she added somewhat truthfully, "He wouldn't shut up."

He sighed. "He never does. Anyway, I should probably get back to my shop now; I probably have a few customers of my own to tend to."

"But I have to tell you something!" remembered Laveria suddenly--with Lonriad's visit, she'd forgotten entirely.

"I'll come back later," he promised.

Indignant, Laveria bit her lip. "But it's important!"

And all he did was laugh--men! "Then why didn't you tell me before we started fooling around? Really, Laveria, I'll be back this evening, and you can tell me--"

"Willott, I'm going to have a baby."

There. She'd blurted it out. Panicking slightly, she braced herself; what had her husband done when she'd told him she was pregnant, again? Hadn't he beaten her into a miscarriage? And Lonriad? He had simply gaped, hadn't he?

But Willott merely smiled. "A baby? Really?"

She was caught off-guard by his happiness; all she could do was nod.

"When?"

Laveria counted mentally. "November, I suppose."

By the way he embraced her, she could mistake the humble butcher for a king. Tenderly he held her, affectionately--he loved her. He loved her, and he loved their baby, she was sure of it. Finally, after all these years of searching, she had found what she'd always wanted.

A home.

And yet, somehow, she could not take her eyes off the door.

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