Lois Bujold - The Sharing Knife - Beguilement

“Yeah, while I can still see them.”

She smirked.

He added plaintively, “That dimple’s going to be the death of me, you know?”

“Never,” she said firmly, and led him back to their seats.

She slipped away soon after to her bedroom to change into her riding trousers and shoes and the sturdier shirt that went with them. She left the lilies in her hair, though. When she came back out to Nattie’s weaving room, Dag stood up from his neatly packed saddlebags.

“You say when, Spark.”

“Now,” she replied fervently, “while they’re still working through the desserts.

They’ll be less inclined to follow along.”

“Not being able to move? I begin to see your clever plan.” He grinned and went to get Whit and Fletch to help him with the horses.

She met them in the lane to the south of the house, where Dag was watching with keen attention as his new brothers-in-law tied on the assorted gear. “I don’t think they’ll try any tricks on you,” she whispered up to him.

“If they were Lakewalkers,” he murmured back, “there would be no end of tricks at this point. Patroller humor. Sometimes, people are allowed to live, after.”

Fawn made a wry face. Then added thoughtfully, “Do you miss it?”

“Not that part,” he said, shaking his head.

Despite the cooks’ best efforts, the relatives did drag themselves from the trestle tables to see them off. Clover, with a glance at the addition rising on this side of the house, bade Fawn the very best of luck. Mama hugged her and cried, Papa hugged her and looked grim, and Nattie just hugged her. Filly and Ginger flung rose petals at them, most of which missed; Copperhead seemed briefly inclined to spook at this, just to stay in practice evidently, but Dag gave him an evil eye, and he desisted and stood quietly.

“I hate to see you going out on the road with nothing,” Mama sniffled.

Fawn glanced at her bulging saddlebags and all the extra bundles, mostly stuffed with packed-up food, tied about patient Grace; Fawn had barely been able to fight off the pressing offer of a hamper to be tied atop. Dag, citing Copperhead’s tricksiness, had been more successful at resisting the last-minute provisions and gifts. After a brief struggle with her tongue, she said only,

“We’ll manage somehow, Mama.”

And then Papa boosted her aboard Grace, and Dag, wrapping his reins around his hook, got himself up on tall Copperhead in one smooth lunge despite his sling.

“Take care of her, patroller,” Papa said gruffly.

Dag nodded. “I intend to, sir.”

Nattie gripped Fawn’s knee, and whispered, “You take care o’ him, too, lovie.

The way that fellow sheds pieces, it may be the thornier task.”

Fawn bent down toward Nattie’s ear. “I intend to.”

And then they were off, to a rain of good-byes but no other sort; the afternoon was warm and fair, and only half-spent. They would be well away from West Blue by time to camp tonight. The farmstead fell behind as they wended down the lane, and was soon obscured by the trees.

“We did it,” Fawn said in relief. “We got away again. For a while I never thought I would.”

“I did say I wouldn’t abandon you,” Dag observed, his eyes a brighter gold in this light than the beads on the ends of her marriage cord.

Fawn turned back in her saddle for one last look up the hill. “You didn’t have to do it this way.”

“No. I didn’t.” The eyes crinkled. “Think about it, Spark.”

Attempting to exchange a kiss from the backs of two variously tall and differently paced horses resulted in a sort of promissory sideswipe, but it was fully satisfactory in intent. They turned their mounts onto the river road.

It was all a perfect opposite to her first flight from home. Then she had gone in secret, in the dark, alone, afraid, angry, afoot, all her meager possessions in a thin blanket rolled on her back. Even the direction was reversed: south, instead of north as now.

In only one aspect were the journeys the same. Each felt like a leap into the utterly unknown.