Page 72 of Tusk Love

“Will he be all right, do you think?” she asked, peering at a distant point over his shoulder—no doubt at Wensleydale, whom they’d left furiously treading water.

Oskar didn’t care, but Guinevere had asked him an earnest question, and so he answered earnestly. Only for her. Only ever for her. “A rescue ship’s bound to come for him soon. And he’s got plenty of debris to cling to.”

“You may have a point.” Her gaze shifted, and now her eyes reflected the dead arcanist’s ship burning upon the ocean, splintering apart bit by bit.

“I’m sorry your former betrothed turned out to be a prick,” he said.

“Nowwho’s apologizing for things that aren’t their fault?” There was a playful warmth to her tone that he didn’t deserve. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. How proud he was that she’d learned how to control her magic in the cargo hold. How struck by grief he was because of everything he’d said to her in the stables. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to live with himself for that.

“I suppose you want me to take you back to your folks,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, but only so I can grab my things.”

He was mystified. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Anywhere I want, I guess.”

He rowed them in silence for several long minutes, still absorbing this information. But Guinevere was never one to let silence be.

“I was always going to run away,” she said. She leaned against the hull, idly trailing her fingers in the water. “Even before that bit of bother with Accanfal. Even if you weren’t going to let me go with you. What I told you about wanting the open road—that still holds true. You were right, I’m fairly useless, but I can learn—”

“Stop,” he croaked. The oars stilled in his hands as the inside of his chest fractured anew. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I thought you were planning to throw your life away because of me. At the time, Wensleydale seemed like a decent sort who would give you everything I couldn’t. You’re so damn stubborn that I knew I had to be deliberately cruel.” The words caught in his throat. “But it killed me to say those things, Gwen. You asked why I didn’t leave immediately after dropping you off, and I told you some bullshit about checking the estate’s security. The truth is that I wanted one more night around you. I would have done anything for even just one moresecond.I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry I am.”

She ducked her head, hiding her expression from view as his words sank in.

Then she flicked water at his face.

He blinked at her through a stinging haze of ocean, salt on his lips.

“You’re going to have to work very hard to earn my forgiveness,Oskar,” Guinevere said peevishly. She was glaring daggers at him in the moonlight, and it was the most magnificent sight he’d ever been privileged to witness. “You really hurt my feelings, you know.”

He bit back a shout of relieved laughter. The dinghy rocked as he threw himself into a kneeling position in front of her, burying his face in her midsection, his fingers digging into her embroidered skirts.

“You will be nicer to people we meet on the road,” Guinevere instructed.

Oskar kissed her stomach. “Yes.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I will make flower crowns when I’m bored, and you shall wear them without complaint.”

“Yes.” He leaned into her touch, his eyes closed with pleasure, what felt suspiciously like tears of relief trickling from the corners. But he was fine with that. Tears, laughter, joy, sorrow—there would be all of that and more with Guinevere in the years to come.

“When we visit your mother’s clan in Boroftkrah,” she said, “you and I will embark on several expeditions through the wilderness. Perhaps even see the elven ruins.”

“Well, I don’t know exactly how safe it will be—” Oskar started to protest, but she cleared her throat, and he immediately changed his tune. “Yes.”

“All right, then,” she said primly.

He grinned up at her. At this woman who had so daintily thrown a wrench into all his plans and made a home of his heart. “I love you,” he said.

Some of her bravado wore off, silver moonbeams and the residual glow from the now distant inferno playing on the blush that gilded the apples of her cheeks. “Oh, Oskar.” Her eyes filled with starlight. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Forty-Three

Guinevere

It was near dawn by the time Oskar and Guinevere returned to the estate—on foot, because Oskar had left the Wensleydale horse he’d borrowed at the docks. There was a lot of carrying on as Illiard and Betha tried to stop them from packing up Guinevere’s effects, and then from retrieving their own horses from the mews.

“You can’t leave us like this, Guinevere!” Betha screeched as Oskar helped Guinevere up onto Vindicator’s back. “We have no other prospects—”

---