“I am indeed,” he said with a nod and a malicious spreading of his lips. Spending over a decade on ship as a pirate meant kill or be killed. Even a legitimate, above-board sailor didn’t tarry for tea and pleasantries before an attack.
“And I did call for you to stop,” he felt the need to add.
“Who are you?” she asked, pushing her hood all the way back to reveal a mess of silvery-blonde hair to go with those bright, bright blue eyes.
Was she a snow faerie? Had he fallen from the tree and died and not realised? “Who are you?”
“I asked first,” she pointed out with a glare for the obvious.
“And it’s my land,” he retaliated childishly. “You are trespassing; so I am well within my rights to shoot whomever I please.”
“I’m not sure the magistrate would agree with you.”
“I’m not sure I care.” But that was a bald-faced lie. He did care. He had to play the part of respectability for the short time he was back on English soil. It was not his wish to live or die there in the countryside. When he’d set sail from Boston, he’d had but one mission, one line written on the list before he could return home, but things grew more and more difficult by the day. It was a job he had to see through to its bittersweet end and then he would sail back to America and the life he had started to build. He was not impressed with the interruptions to his already tight schedule.
“Eliza Penfold,” the snow faerie offered after a short silence, and perhaps an internal argument. She inclined her head but did not offer her hand.
“You don’t say?” Well, well, well. She’d still been in the schoolroom last time he’d seen her from afar. She hadn’t seen him at all. That was the wash with bastards. The lofty toffs never tended to really see them.
“And you are?” she prompted.
“Darius.” He thought she paled slightly but she was already whiter than a sheet. Now that he could study her, he saw similarities. The years hadn’t changed her much, merely turned her into a woman, which was no surprise considering how many had passed.
“Darius who?”
“Just Darius.” He scratched fingers through his beard feeling awkward and unkempt as she scrutinised him with a look so old and superior, a look he hadn’t felt in an age. It had been years and years since he’d let the sting of illegitimacy touch him, since he’d let it hold him back and down, but standing there, before a real lady, the sting turned into a burn.
“Well that’s ridiculous,” she said. “Everyone has a family name, perhaps a title?”
“No title, no family so no family name, just Darius.”
A strand of her hair came loose as she shook her head in response and attempted to stand. “I can’t very well call you—Oh!”
He leaped forward but didn’t catch her in time as she fell face-first into the snow, her hands tangled in her coat and skirts. Taking her beneath the shoulders, he lifted her until she was on her feet, well one foot anyway. “I have to get you home, Eliza Penfold.”
“No!” She swatted at his hands and attempted to limp forward while wiping snow from her high brows and lashes. Without success. “’Tis a simple twist of my ankle. I shall make it on my own.”
“Now you are being ridiculous. I can’t just watch as you further injure yourself.”
She took another wobbly half step. “Then turn your back. I’m sure you have somewhere else you need to be.”
Darius chuckled. Just as ornery and proper as he remembered her. He bent at the waist and scooped her into his arms. She was impossibly light as he settled her against his chest and started to backtrack, following her footsteps in the snow.
“Put me down,” she commanded with a huff and a wriggle.
Darius tightened his hold but then regretted the action. She was so slight beneath her coat, he wondered if she wasn’t a faerie after all. If he held her any tighter, her bones might crack. “I’m going to take you home.”
Her struggles ceased for a moment as she drew a deep breath, her body swelling against his forearms. “Do you know where I live?” she asked.
“I do; however, I seem to be lacking in direction today.” Did she sigh with relief or merely let out her breath? He couldn’t be sure. Of anything. The subtle scent of violets teased his senses as she inhaled and exhaled. The forest was in the grips of deep winter so that wasn’t it. Was it her? It was a scent he hadn’t known in more than ten years, not since leaving England far behind. And for good reason. “I’ll follow your marks in the snow.”
This time it was Eliza who chuckled. “I’ve been walking around in circles for the last two hours. Do you think you could carry me that long?”
As easily as he could carry a feather, he guessed, but then the truth of her words sank in. “Are you lost also?” He groaned as he halted.
She stared up at him through lashes only a shade darker than the hair above, snow drops catching on her smooth forehead as the skin there creased with confusion. “Also?”
*
Eliza Penfold was being manhandled by a ruffian, all alone in the woods, but instead of fainting dead away, she began to laugh. She just couldn’t help it. This Darius character had a full beard, lending him the appearance of a backwoodsman, along with a nasty scar below his ear that disappeared beneath the yellowed edge of his collar. He was coatless, no scarf or gloves, and he was lost?
“It’s not that funny,” he told her, his accent foreign and deep although she couldn’t place it.
“Yes, it is,” she said with another chuckle, the sound strange to her ears. Had it been so long since something had genuinely amused her? “It seems you are more
