Strings Attached Ch. 16-20

Nathaniel promised to see her at the campfire after supper, bowing to her formally and weaving his way towards the command tent. He'd insisted she take the day off – and truthfully, someone else would have been assigned to ride her usual route already – so she had some time. She felt edgy, torn between wishing the evening would come sooner, and hoping it would never come. Her doubts had returned as soon as Nathaniel had disappeared from sight.

Muttering to herself irritably, still feeling tired and cold, she liberated a bucket each of hot and cold water from the firepit where they were kept, and then trudged to her tent – reminded of Nathaniel again by the Amaranthine Bear on the fabric of the tent and her blankets – and washed. When done, wrapping herself in warm, dry bedclothes, she fell into her bedroll and was asleep before she remembered hitting the pillow.

Her dreams were of a far naughtier variety than the night before; she woke, groaning in frustration, right before she would have attained satisfaction in the dream. It didn't make for a pleasant mood, and she flopped gracelessly onto her back, working to calm her breath and her racing heart.

"My Lady?" she heard through the wall of the tent; Nathaniel was clearly outside, but she wondered if he'd overheard her wordless complaints.

She sat up abruptly, ran her hands through her hair and looked around. She was covered; her hair was probably stuck to the side of her head since she'd fallen asleep with it wet, but otherwise she was presentable. She grabbed her brush and took a quick couple of swipes through her hair before responding.

"Come in, Nathaniel."

He appeared at the tent flap almost too quickly, and she suppressed a giggle. He looked tired, dark shadows under his eyes and his complexion pale. But he was smiling at her – a self-conscious, lopsided smile but a smile none-the-less – and her earlier misgivings were immediately forgotten. She patted the end of her bedroll, and he sat down carefully, reaching out to graze the back of her hand with a single fingertip.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You haven't slept – probably worked all afternoon, yes? – and you're worried about me?" She turned her hand, planning to catch hold of his, but he pulled away too quickly. "Nathaniel?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"What is wrong? Please, talk to me." This time she reached across, taking his hand firmly in her own. "Tell me."

He nodded, putting one finger to his lips in a shushing motion – and said the opposite with his words. "It's nothing. Just my head – it's still aching." He gestured to her to lean in, clearly intending to whisper.

Seeing his hesitation as a potential rejection of what they'd shared, and the future she wanted to explore with him, instead she shifted, lifting up onto her knees and crawling over to him until she straddled his lap. He stiffened for a brief, surprised moment, but didn't push her away or object; he tilted his face up to look into her eyes, and accepted a brief kiss, his hands falling naturally to her waist. She turned her head slightly so his lips would be next to her ear.

"Someone searched my tent while I was gone," he whispered. "I noticed it when I went to change. It's a good thing I'm paranoid." She huffed a breath of laughter that ruffled his hair. "And there are rumours that soon I will 'no longer be a burden' to the people of Amaranthine. That elf – the Antivan?" She nodded her understanding; Zevran made an excellent spy when he wanted to. "He got wind of it. Thinks I'm going to be assassinated tonight."

She frowned. "Well, you can't go back to your tent then, obviously," she whispered, turning so her lips brushed his ear. "Or, let me guess – you're planning to use yourself as bait."

He sighed. "I must," he insisted quietly. "I need to know—"

She interrupted him impatiently. "Who sent them. Of course." Her eyes narrowed. "Well, if we are going to do this, then we'd best make some plans then, no?"