And your father?

She shrugged. I dont 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 cant 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 dont know what happened.

I dont condemn him. I believe him dead.

But what if he isnt? 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 isnt much.

Youd rather he be dead than alive? he asked curiously.

No, I prefer him to have loved my mother beyond reason.

That makes no sense, he said, shaking his head.

But it does.

Why?

Because love is what is important.

He shook his head again and hesitated attempting to understand her reasoning but finding it difficult. Being prudent is important.

Its nonsense.

Being practical is nonsense? he asked calmly.

When it comes to love it is. How can pa.s.sion exist if you are always practical? she asked as if she made perfect sense.

Love and pa.s.sion have a time and place.

Love and pa.s.sion know no bounds. They cannot be confined or manipulated or reasoned.

Anything can be reasoned, Artair said.

Not love.

Yes, love.

She smiled a bittersweet smile. Then, my dear Artair, you have never loved.

He felt a pang in his chest, near his heart. Had her remark disturbed him? Could there be a ring of truth to her belief?

Once again he found her hand at his chest, firm and warm and pulsating with lifeor was it pa.s.sion that he felt emanating from her?

You feel love here, deep inside. It churns and burns and rushes out, consuming all of you until you think you are going mad.

How do you know this? Have you loved someone? he asked anxiously.

She shook her head and sighed heavily. No, I havent loved, though I have seen it in the eyes of the young and old couples alike. I have watched how one suffers for the other, watched one pray for the other and watched them grasp hold one last time. Love consumes the heart and soul and never lets go.

Love is slow and steady and dependable, he corrected, confident in his opinion.

With a disappointed shake of her head, she stepped away from him. It is not.

It is, he reasoned. And it allows love to survive the difficult times.

How can you believe that?

How can you believe such fantasy? he asked.

She sighed. It is not fantasy to me.

Youre not being logical, he said.

She tapped his chest. Precisely.

He laughed. You make no sense and are proud of it?

I most certainly am.

He scratched his head. We are of different opinions. I reason with my mind, you reason with your heart.

A sudden frown surfaced on her face and while he thought she would argue with him she remained silent in thought until her expression turned troubled.

You think little of love, she said.

I think highly of love. I just approach love differently than you, with more sense and reason.

You think me a fool? she asked bluntly.

He was quick to correct her. I didnt say that.

But if, as you suggest, I dont speak with reason, then I must speak foolishly.

You twist my words.

She smiled. I clarify them.

He grinned. You are quick-witted.

Her smile broadened. I am knowledgeable.

Then perhaps it would do me good to think over your words, he said.

A wise choice, she said with a nod, and walked off.

He smiled, admiring her opinion on love even if it was unreasonable. Love required sensibility if it were to survive. He saw that with his father and mother. They did what was necessary. He wanted the same, a dependable union.

Artair followed after her. Are there more plants to gather?

You dont need to help me. Take the time to think about love.

I can do both. Besides, I enjoy helping you. Just tell me what to do.

Truly?

He smiled at her teasing glint. Within reason.

She sighed and shook her head, though the glint remained. Too bad.

For you or me?

For both of us. She turned and walked away swallowed by the dense foliage.

She taunted him and it worked, and made him follow her yet again. He disappeared after her and found her near a stream, harvesting another plant with her tender touch.

Pudding gra.s.s, she said without looking up at him.

He noticed the change in her before he hunched down beside her. She was focused intently on her ch.o.r.e and working as usual with a delicate touch.

It makes a good stuffing mixed with honey and has good healing properties when brewed, though caution must be taken with it.

Following her directions, he helped her pick the hairy leaves and after they finished they sat by the stream beside each other. There was so much he could say to her and yet he chose to say nothing. He simply enjoyed sitting beside her in silence.

What is it you are looking for here? she asked.

He glanced over at her and wondered himself. Was he remaining because of his brother or because of her? He couldnt answer, and that disturbed him. He turned and focused on her eyes, always so pa.s.sionately bright. Im not sure.

Then you should remain here until you are.

I was thinking the same myself.

Chapter 8.

Zia yawned and attempted to stretch the exhaustion out of her body. After a lovely supper with her grandmother and Artair, she had hoped for some quiet time alone with him. She had no idea why she was attracted to Artair. She liked that he was considerate and intelligent and also charming, but she believed he reasoned more than necessary.

How could anyone rationalize love? The idea still had her shaking her head.

Another yawn reminded her why her plans had changed. The barbarian developed a fever, and it had taken hours of constant care to make certain he didnt succ.u.mb to it. He was resting now, spent from his ordeal.

Zia wandered outside the cottage, the late summer night cool and the dark sky clear, every star sparkling as if it had just been polished. The waning moon seemed to blink awake from a peaceful slumber, and she heard the occasional sound of nocturnal animals that prowled the night.

She took a deep breath, drawing in the peace and beauty of the late night.

Tired?

Zia jumped, startled by the unexpected but familiar voice, then watched Artair emerge from the darkness. He was bare-chested, his dark green and black clan plaid wrapped smartly around him. His dark hair was tousled, which had Zia a.s.suming hed just rolled out of bed.

What are you doing here? she asked curiously.

I woke, saw your bed empty and grew concerned, he said, stepping closer.

Concerned for whom?

You know full well who. I could care less what happens to the barbarian.

He cares about me.

The thought yanked at her heart strings and filled her with joy.

Oh, dear, is that good or bad?

The barbarian does well, she said.

Its you I wish to know about.

I am fine.

But exhausted. He moved in closer and reached out to gently caress her cheek with the back of his hand. I can see it in your face.

A la.s.s cant be expected to look good all the time, she teased.

But you do. You always look beautiful.

Now you tell tales, Zia said, though she smiled.

You believe me trustworthy, remember. So therefore I do not lie. When I say you always look beautiful, I mean it. He cupped her chin. Your loveliness plays havoc with my senses.

Now you surely tease, for I am far from intoxicating.

He brushed his cheek faintly against hers. I am besotted by your scent alone.