Not quite that low, he said. Not yet, anyway.
Picky, picky, she said tolerantly, and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were warm, but the scent of bitter ash and damp earth clung to himas it did to herand she shivered a little, drawing back.
He kept a hand lightly on her back, but leaned past her, running a finger along the edge of the shelf where the jug of maple syrup had been overturned. He ran the finger lightly along her lower lip, then his own, and bent again to kiss her, sweetness rising up between them.
I CANT REMEMBER how long its been since Ive seen ye naked.
She closed one eye and looked at him skeptically.
About three days. I guess it wasnt all that memorable. It had been a great relief to shed the clothes shed been wearing for the last three days and nights. Even naked and hastily washed, though, she still smelled dust in her hair and felt the grime of the journey between her toes.
Oh, well, aye. Thats not what I mean, thoughI mean, its been a long while since weve made love in the daylight. He lay on his side, facing her, and smiled as he passed a light hand over the deep curve of her waist and the swell of buttock. Yeve no idea how lovely ye look, stark naked, wi the sun behind you. All gold, like ye were dipped in it.
He closed one eye, as though the sight dazzled him. She moved, and the sun shone in his face, making the open eye glow like an emerald in the split second before he blinked.
Mmm. She put out a lazy hand and drew his head in close to kiss him.
She did know what he meant. It felt strangealmost wicked, in a pleasant sort of way. Most often, they made love at night, after Jem was asleep, whispering to each other in the hearth-lit shadows, finding each other among the rustling, secret layers of quilts and nightclothes. And while Jem normally slept as though hed been poleaxed, they were always half-conscious of the small, heavy-breathing mound beneath the quilt of his trundle bed nearby.
She was oddly just as conscious of Jem now, in his absence. It felt strange to be apart from him; not constantly aware of where he was, not feeling his body as a small, very mobile extension of her own. The freedom was exhilarating, but left her feeling uneasy, as though she had misplaced something valuable.
Theyd left the door open, the better to enjoy the flood of light and air on their skins. The sun was nearly down now, though, and while the air still glowed like honey, there was a shadow of chill in it.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the hide tacked over the window and blew across the room, slamming the door and leaving them abruptly in the dark.
Brianna gasped. Roger grunted in surprise and swung off the bed, going to open the door. He flung it wide, and she gulped in the freshet of air and sunshine, only then aware that she had held her breath when the door closed, feeling momentarily entombed.
Roger seemed to feel the same. He stood in the doorway, bracing himself against the frame, letting the wind stir the dark, curling hairs of his body. His hair was still bound in a tail; he hadnt bothered undoing it, and she had a sudden desire to come behind him, untie the leather thong and run her fingers through the soft, glossy black of it, the legacy of some ancient Spaniard, shipwrecked among the Celts.
She was up and doing it before she had consciously decided to, combing tiny yellow catkins and twigs from his locks with her fingers. He shivered, from her touch or that of the wind, but his body was warm.
You have a farmers tan, she said, lifting the hair off his neck and kissing him on the bone at the base of his nape.
Well, so. Am I not a farmer, then? His skin twitched under her lips, like a horses hide. His face, neck, and forearms had paled over the winter, but were still darker than the flesh of back and shouldersand a faint line still lingered round his waist, demarcating the soft buckskin color of his torso from the startling paleness of his backside.
She cupped his buttocks, enjoying the high, round solidity of them, and he breathed deeply, leaning back a little toward her, so her breasts pressed against his back and her chin rested on his shoulder, looking out.
It was still daylight, but barely. The last long shafts of the sinking sun burst through the chestnut trees, so the tender spring green of their leaves burned with cool fire, brilliant above the lengthening shadows. It was near evening, but it was spring; the birds were still at it, chattering and courting. A mockingbird sang from the forest nearby, in a medley of trills, liquid runs, and odd yowls, which she thought it must have learned from her mothers cat.
The air was growing nippy, and gooseflesh stippled her arms and thighsbut Rogers body against her own was very warm. She wrapped her arms around his waist, the fingers of one hand playing idly with the thicket of his short and curlies.
What are you looking at? she asked softly, for his eyes were fixed on the far side of the dooryard, where the trail emerged from the forest. The trailhead was dim, shadowed by a growth of dark pinesbut empty.