They made love slowly, until Bronwyn clawed at Stephen, demanding more of him. She arched up to meet him, and he exploded in one massive thrust. She clasped him to her, not letting him go, wanting all of him.
They fell asleep that way, joined together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
It was Bronwyn who woke first. Stephen held her so close to him that she could scarcely breathe. She watched him for a moment. There was a curl along his ear. She noticed how much he’d changed over the last few months. Gone was the pale English skin and the short, neat English hair. Yes, she thought, hardly anyone would recognize him as an Englishman now. She moved so she could kiss the curl of hair. She remembered that once she’d been afraid to make advances of such a nature toward him. This morning it seemed right that she’d kiss him awake.
He smiled before he opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
“I’m afraid to look,” he said dreamily. “Has someone changed my Bronwyn for a woodsprite?”
She bit his earlobe.
“Ow!” His eyes flew open, then
he chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll trade you for a sprite of any kind,” he said as he moved toward her.
“Oh no you don’t!” She pushed him away. “I want to see our baby.”
“Our baby? I’d rather stay here and make one of our own.”
She rolled away from him. “I’m not sure I want to go through what Kirsty did yesterday. Come on, I’ll race you up the hill.”
Stephen hurriedly dressed, and it wasn’t until Bronwyn was already on the top of the ridge that her laughter caused him to turn. She held his boots aloft. He yelled to Rab to fetch his boots, and the tussle between dog and mistress gave him time to get up the hill. He wrestled the boots away from Bronwyn, then ran in his short wool hose to the wagon. He was sitting there calmly when she returned. “Good morning,” he called as if he’d not seen her for days. “Did you sleep well?”
She laughed at him and went inside the wagon to see to Kirsty.
During the rest of the day there was little time for laughter or play. The men went hunting, and Bronwyn was left to care for Kirsty and the camp. She was appalled at the small amount of food the couple had. There were two small bags of oatmeal and little else. She didn’t want to insult Kirsty by asking for more supplies, but she hoped there were more somewhere.
The men returned at sundown with only two small rabbits in their hands, hardly enough for one meal.
“Stephen,” Bronwyn said as she drew him aside, “we can’t keep taking from them. They have little enough as it is.”
He leaned back against a tree. “I know, but at the same time I hate to leave them alone. Donald hardly knows which end of a bow to use. And the game in this area is wary of all hunters. I hate to leave them and I hate to stay.”
“I wish we could help them some way. Here, drink this.” She held out a mug.
“What is it?”
“Kirsty had me make it. It’s made from some lichens with a little ale. She says it cures everything. All day she worried about you and Donald working in the cold.”
Stephen sipped the hot liquid. “And did you worry about us?”
She smiled. “Maybe about Donald, but I knew you could take care of the both of you.”
He started to answer, but the drink drew his attention. “This is really good. I think it’s making my head stop hurting.”
She frowned. “I didn’t know your head was hurting.”
“It hasn’t stopped since your brother’s arrow creased it.” He dismissed the subject. “I just had an idea. Were these lichens hard to find?”
“Not at all,” she said, curious.
Stephen’s eyes began to glow. “Today Donald told me about a town near here. He wants to take his son to be baptized. If you and I could make up a tub of this stuff, maybe we could sell it.”
“What a clever idea!” she agreed, already making plans.
They spent the evening hunting lichens. Donald took what money there was and used one of the wagon horses to go into town and buy more ale.