She answered in a seductive whisper. “I will let you find that out on your own.”
He lowered his head and returned the whisper. “Do you warn me that you’re too much to handle?”
She pressed her hand more firmly against his chest. “It’s a possibility.”
“I can handle anything.”
“You don’t have much luck handling Nessie.”
She stepped away from him laughing, and he muttered beneath his breath as he followed her. There would be time for him to show her just how capable he was of handling anything.
“Would you like to gather plants with me?” she asked, reaching out to take his hand.
“Do I have a choice?” he asked laughingly as she tugged him along.
“Not really.”
He followed along willingly, eager to spend time with her, even if he had to collect plants to do it.
Artair wasn’t surprised when Zia snatched a basket from the side of a cottage. He was learning that the village Black shared just about everything. The villagers were a contented lot, though not without imperfections, but they dealt with things with relative ease and unity.
He realized why the village operated with almost no conflict. After speaking to several of the villagers he learned that many of them, if not all, found their way here after a great deal of suffering and none of them wished to jeopardize the safety and peace they found. And he certainly could respect that.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
Her question stopped him dead. Had he found what he was looking for?
“Your brother? Did you find out more about your brother?”
He hadn’t thought of his brother when she had asked her question. It had been Zia who entered his mind. He cleared his head as best as possible since thoughts of her continued to flit in his mind. “No, I didn’t.”
She nodded and dropped down by a patch of ground covering and with her fingers gently snipped off leaves. “Then you will be leaving soon.”
Artair hunched down beside her. “You wish to be rid of me?”
“You are welcome here as long as you wish to stay.” She continued snipping leaves.
“A few more days should do.”
“Only a few?”
She sounded disappointed, so he challenged. “Give me a reason to remain longer.”
She dropped the gathered leaves into the basket and stared at him for a moment before reaching out and slowly running her fingers down the side of his face. “Perhaps there is more here for you to discover.”
He liked her veiled invitation. And he more than liked her touch. It sent shivers through his insides that landed in his loins, and he had a hard time controlling his reaction, though managed to do so with great difficulty. He prided himself on his control, his sensibility, and while he found Zia appealing, he refused to lose sense of his senses.
“We shall see,” he said, and gently, though regretfully, eased her hand away, so her touch could not create more havoc.
She stood with a laugh, the basket looped on her arm. “That we will.”
He followed her deeper into the woods, confident that while she controlled the path they took, he controlled the journey.
He was impressed with her knowledge of the woodland plants, warning him of the dangers of some, the benefit of others, and the importance of knowing the difference.
“Your grandmother taught you?” he asked, gathering pinecones at her request.
She nodded. “And her grandmother before her and so forth and so forth.”
“What of your mother?”
“She died after giving birth to me,” Zia answered, scooping various shaped twigs off the ground.
“I’m sorry.”
She placed the few twigs in the basket. “I often wish I could have known her. My grandmother tells me that she was a special woman loved by a special man.”
“And your father?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. My grandmother told me that he left before I was born and never returned. I believe him dead, since she said that he loved my mother beyond reason. You can’t leave and not return when you love someone that much.”
“Perhaps there was a reason he could not return.”
“What possible reason could a man have for not returning to the woman he loved?” she asked, bewildered.
“Illness, detainment, imprisonment. It is wrong to condemn him when you don’t know what happened.”
“I don’t condemn him. I believe him dead.”
“But what if he isn’t?” Artair asked, thinking his sound reasoning might possibly give her hope.
“He better be dead!”
“What?” Artair asked, wondering over her surprising response.
“If I ever found out that my father was alive and never returned to the love of his life, I would hunt him down and tell him what I think of him, which isn’t much.”