In Which Leara Doesn't Need the Time

February 21, 1171

"All right, I give up." Leara squirmed her hands out from Lorn's grasp and pouted. "If we're going for a walk and not a ride, then why did you insist on going down to the stables?"

Lorn chuckled--a bit of an odd response, but he seemed to be in a bit of an odd mood. "Don't you remember?"

She raised an eyebrow; having gone down to the stables pretty much every day since she'd been old enough to ride, she couldn't have been expected to recall one specific detail of any given trip. "Remember what?"

Lorn ran his hand along her forearm and laughed again, more clearly this time. "Silly girl--we were here the first time I kissed you, remember?"

"Oh... right." Idiot! How had she not that of that sooner? Of course she wouldn't have forgotten something like that... but why was he bringing it up? "What is this about, Lorn?"

Suddenly pensive, he drew back his arm and sighed. "Well... a lot's been happening lately, you know? I mean, first my brother dies, and then your mother..."

He turned away, as if he'd said too much. Perhaps she wished she could say he had, but truth be told, Leara didn't even remember her mother. In spite of their father's protests, she and her siblings would attend the funeral service that evening, but more out of a sense of curiosity than anything else; as far as they'd known before the news had spread, their mother had been dead for years. She hated to admit it, but she didn't understand why anyone who knew that might have assumed her to be mourning. "Ah... yes, that."

"Yes--that."

Lorn held back his head for a minute, then returned his gaze to her level, his eyes sad and his mouth somber. "Anyway, I've been thinking... life is short, you know? Farilon was just a little kid, and your mother's death was so bizarre; really puts everything into perspective, if you think about it. I mean, it's not like either of us are liable to drop dead any minute, but... well, maybe we will anyway."

Did this have a point? Or was he just playing some sort of sick joke? "All right, now you're just being morbid."

"Am I?" A sheepish blush flashed across his fair face. "I'm sorry. Anyway, Leara... uh, well, I want to marry you."

Well, this she couldn't fight; amused, she stared into his unblinking eyes and smirked. "Well, that's convenient, seeing as you've been told you have to since we were babies."

"No, I mean... soon." Lorn reached across the gap between them and took her by the hands once more; he was almost a man now, hairy flesh and callouses and all, but his touch was as soft as it ever had been. "Really, I'd carry you off to the chapel and marry you right now if you said you wanted me to."

Leara raised an eyebrow; embarrassed, Lorn tried to brush off her skepticism with a laugh. "Err, not that I think that's the best idea I've ever had. Anyway, I was thinking... maybe my birthday? I'll be sixteen, and I know that's kind of young, but if we're going to get married anyway, then why wait?"

September? That was sooner than she might have expected--then again, she'd be sixteen in October, and while that was a fairly young age for a groom, women did often marry younger. It hadn't occurred to her until just now that she was really that old. "Your birthday?"

"Well, if you want to wait a little longer, that's all right too." He grimaced, his eyes flickering downward--had she offended him? She hadn't meant to. "I talked to your father, and he seems to like the idea of September, but I told him I'd let you have the last word. So, if you need time to think about it..."

"Shut up."

Startled, he did as he was told. Leara grinned, then lifted herself to her toes and kissed him, his lips as raw and uncertain as they'd been that first time--all those long years ago now. "I don't need time to think about it. Yes, I'll marry you in September."

The corners of Lorn's mouth twitched nervously upward, as if afraid to commit to an actual smile. "You will?"

Stupid boy; adamant, Leara nodded. "Like you said, why wait? Besides, I can't imagine living with you will be any worse than living with my father and stepmother."

A lesser boy might have seen that joke for an insult, but not Lorn--not her Lorn. His eyes wide, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, the fresh scent of his neck wafting about her head and his warm breath tickling her ear. "I'm so happy."

"I know," she mumbled as she pressed her lips to his jawline. Her father would be furious to know that she dared kiss him in such unorthodox places, but she didn't care. "I'm happy too."

NEXT CHAPTER: