Though I'm going for confident calm, I suspect I'm grinning like an idiot when a couple of hours later, I walk back into the cave. Isabeau is perched on my brocade-wrapped wrist and in my other hand, I hold up two dead, but juicy pigeons.

This feels like walking into a council meeting after brokering a new trade deal with France, but better.

I never would've guessed it, but sea air makes everything better.

Another unexpected development is seeing Lachie's intense brown eyes light up when I walk in and the effect this has on me.

Butterflies in my gut.

Am I in trouble?

How did my annoyance with him go from rampant and always there to barely existent overnight? It must be the post-hunt intoxication. No doubt, working with Isabeau has lifted my spirits to higher spheres.

Lachie whistles through his teeth approvingly while measuring the pigeons' girth with his hands. "Nice catch."

I'm far too pleased with this compliment for my own good but after feeling as wretched as I have, I decide not to squash this bubble of joy. The sun has come out and I'm gonna dabble my pinky toe in it ... perhaps my whole foot. The day is still young.

I put down the pigeons and allow Isabeau to hop off my arm and onto a tree stump outside the cave. In former times, I would've tied her to it with the leather bands dangling from her feet, but after what she's done, after finding me out here, this doesn't seem fair. I'm just going to trust that she decides to stay or come back.

"So, what've you been up to?" I challenge Lachie. Let's see him do better than two yummie birds and one kick-ass bird that can catch as much of the yummie sort as we need.

"You're gonna be amazed," he says, his eyes twinkling. Why am I not surprised?

"Am I now?" I can hardly contain a smile because I already have a pretty good idea of how this is going to go. Something like: I walk in with two pigeons and Lachie tops it with three and effortlessly puts gravy and cranberries on top. Next, I will have to think very hard about how I can one up him, and honestly, this is the best game ever.

"Close your eyes!" he says.

"What, why?"

"Do you want your surprise or not?"

This man.

A ray of sunshine slants into the cave and highlights his features. I can tell he has cleaned up, freshly shaven and smelling like soap, his face painted immaculate white again, the rings around his eyes black as night, but that jaw, those cheekbones. And gaah, those better not be dimples.

Internally, I'm swooning, but as casually as I can manage, I gesture toward his face. "What's that, jester? Have you tidied up?"

He leans in and whispers, "do you like it?"

Gawd. Even his voice wreaks havoc in my belly. I rapidly close my eyes to hide my true feelings. "I think I want my surprise now."

"That's a girl," he says.

I open my mouth to object. Him calling me Marigold is one thing but him calling me a girl is unacceptable. I have to object but I don't find the words because he has moved behind me and his proximity is not as unpleasant as it should be. To make matters worse, he covers my eyes with his hands and all I can think about is how nice they smell.

"No peeking now. I'm gonna walk you over to the other side of the cave." He breathes against the back of my earlobe and I passionately hope that he doesn't breathe in, because as opposed to him, I'm a ghastly mess.

I'm definitely not smelling of soap.

As we shuffle forward, his solid body pushes into my backside and my heart races with all the sensations that come from being in Lachie's arms and control. "Where are we going? What are you doing?" I'm trying hard not to spiral into my worst self.

Lachie stops moving forward but keeps his hands and body exactly where they are. "Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. You're gonna love what I'm about to show you."

"I'm scared." Admitting that out loud probably means I'm not as scared as I think I am. Perhaps, I'm starting to trust him?

"There's no need to be. Just let me take the lead for a bit. Three or four baby steps and we're there."

I try to steady my nerves. He sounds genuine. He's been consistently good to me from the moment we were abandoned on this island. "What's it going to be, jester? Three or four?"

"Four. Are you with me?"

I exhale slowly and deliberately. It's going to be okay. "Not one step more, Lachie Greer."

"I wouldn't dare. Now ... are ... you ... ready?"

The four steps are completed and I'm still alive and breathing. I'm also alarmingly aware of how good it feels to be held by Lachie Greer. I exhale some more. "Show me what you've got, jester. It better be good."

"Surprise one!" He slides his hands from my eyes to my elbows and keeps me steady while I blink away the shock of light hitting my pupils.

In front of me is the funniest hodgepodge of materials I've ever seen. Grass, twigs, stones, shells  ... is that the other brocade band from my dress? Inside the crazy structure, the chicks are hopping around happily. "A chicken coop? You've built a chicken coop? Why that's ..." I can't hold back my laughter, which is probably fueled by the pent-up excitement but also, "It's the ugliest chicken coop I've ever seen, but hey, it works. You're a genius, Lachie Greer, a weirdo, but also a genius."

"I'm not going to respond to these accusations," he says, the chuckle in his voice obvious, "Instead, I will proceed to more important things. What do you wanna call them?" His hands are still on my elbows but his body is no longer pressed to mine. Every vein and nerve end in my body is aware of his presence though.

"Chick one and chick two?"

He groans. "You're gonna have to do better than that."

"Uhm, let's call the yellow one Sunny."

"They're both yellow."

"Sunny and Daffodil?" I don't know how I come up with this nonsense so fast but it fits the mood, and behind me, Lachie almost chokes on his laughter.

"Beats egg yoke, I suppose," he says.

"That would be cruel."

"Can't have that. Are you ready for your next surprise?"

"You have more?" Of course, he has.

"Follow me!" With a simple nudge to my elbow, he lets go of me and I feel immediate disappointment that his 'no peeking'- game is over.

He walks out of the cave, backwards—so his eyes and smile don't have to leave me.

"Watch out! You're going to stumble." I hurry after him.

"You're going to be amazed."

"Again? I doubt it."

I'm not worried anymore, only curious and excited. After a short walk from the cave, we arrive at a body of water. From a tree branch next to it, my shift is swinging with the wind, clean and in the process of drying.

"I didn't get around to your dress yet, but here! Go on, taste the water!" He scoops up some water and brings it to my lips.

It's deliciously cool and fresh, not salty at all.

"It's a natural spring," Lachie says, "It was on my map."

The map, of course. This knowledge somehow makes me feel a bit less inapt. It's easier to find the good stuff when you've got a map. But instead of envious, today I choose to be happy that Lachie has a map. This spring is going to make our life on Baile na Grod a whole lot easier.

"Do you wanna wash up?" he asks. "I've left the soap underneath the tree."

I hesitate, not sure how he wants to go about this. Is he proposing to jump in together? Does he want me to undress in front of him? While I still figure out a sensible response, Lachie takes the lead again, "In the meantime, I'll go and see about the pigeons. Take your time. No rush. I promise I won't spy on you."

"I wasn't ... I didn't think ..." I don't know what to say. I hope I'm not blushing. "I was only wondering about the wild animals," I blurt.

Lachie frowns and looks around. "The bears or the whales?"

"There could be bears. You don't know."

"I reckon a beaver at worst."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't you make fun of me, Lachie Greer."

"I wouldn't. Cross my heart and hope to die, sweet Marigold."

"Yes, you would. And what the fuck, sweet Marigold? You call me sweet?"

"It's not my fault you look very sweet when you're thinking bad things."

"I wasn't ..."

He cocks his head and uses one of his lopsided grins to dare me into talking myself into a bigger mess. This man. THIS MAN!

"I tell you what," he quips, "when that bear pops up, you blow that whistle, and I come dashing. Or when a beaver pops up, or a chick, or you know, when you drop your soap and need me to help you get it."

"I'm not going to drop my soap."

"Not even when I want you to?"

"Most certainly not when you want me to."

WC 1580 words
TWC  8557 words