She swam over to him. “Yes, doesn’t it?’’
Talon ducked his head beneath the water and came up again. “I missed bathing today, and I think I needed this.’’
“You didn’t smell any worse than usual,” she said.
“Huh?” he said, stunned by the remark. “I smell bad?’’
She laughed. “It’s a joke, you simpleton.” Then she began to splash him.
He splashed back, and quickly they were drenching one another as if they were children. Then they swam for nearly an hour, until the large moon rose in the east, and finally Alysandra said, “Time to get out.’’
“I didn’t bring toweling or robes,” Talon said, as if he should have thought of such things.
“It’s warm. We’ll be half dry by the time we get back to the hut.’’
They left the water and walked along side by side. Talon couldn’t take his eyes from the way her body was bathed in the moonlight. She was slender, as he had known she would be, but her breasts were larger than he had imagined, and her hips were narrower than he had expected, almost boyish from certain angles.
“You’re staring.’’
He flushed. “Sorry, but I was thinking of how best to pose you.’’
She glanced away. “Oh. Of course.’’
Embarrassed, Talon realized that his body had started to respond to the sight of her. He wished he could creep away and die, but luckily Alysandra ignored his embarrassment. When they reached the hut, Talon stopped at the door. “I just realized . . .”
“What?” she said, turning to face him.
“There’s only one bed.’’
“Of course,” she said, stepping forward until she was pressed up against him. Arms snaked around his neck and suddenly her face was in front of him, and her mouth was upon his. Talon hesitated but only for an instant, then he pulled her into him and everything else in the world was forgotten.
“What is that you’re whistling?” she asked.
“Hold still,” Talon commanded with a grin. “Some tune, I don’t know. Something I made up.’’
“I like it. Can you play it on the pipe?’’
“I think so,” he said, stepping back to look at the painting he had begun that morning, the third since Alysandra had come to the hut. For the first time since taking up the brush he was confident, and the first sketch he had made required little correction. He was now applying paint in blocks and patches, giving color to a black-on-white image, and before his eyes he could see it taking form.
He had spent the first night with her in a state of euphoria. He had never imagined he could feel for any woman the way he did for Alysandra. She was sweet, warm, passionate, and giving, as well as insistent and demanding in a playful and arousing manner.
They had hardly slept, save for brief naps between bouts of lovemaking. Finally, she had announced that hunger was making it impossible to sleep and he cooked while she bathed in the lake. He took a quick swim while she ate, then returned and wolfed down bread and cheese, a gulp or two of wine, then dragged her back to bed.
Somehow between lovemaking, eating, and sleeping, he had contrived to dig the cellar in the rear of the property next to the abandoned shed. He had been delighted to discover that someone had started the same project years before, and most of the hole was already dug, so that he only had to clear away years of accumulated detritus and brush, then trim the sides, dig out steps, and measure a door.
He finished the task on the second day. The meat, ale, wine, and cheese, along with a basket of fruit, now rested in the cool cellar. Since then, he had devoted himself to one thing only, Alysandra.
He stepped back from the painting and made a considering noise. “Hmmm . . .”
She dropped her pose and came over to look. “That’s me?’’
“Yes,” he said in mock seriousness. “It’ll start looking more like you as I refine the details.’’
“If you say so.” She came around behind him and hugged him. Then she let her hands drop down along his stomach and with mock surprise said, “My, what’s that?’’
He turned in the circle of her arms, kissed her, and said, “Let me show you.’’
For the entire summer, they lived an idyllic life. Occasionally Master Maceus would come to review Talon’s work and would find ways to improve it; yet he never criticized. As autumn drew on, Talon was finishing his twelfth portrait, this one of Alysandra reclining on the bed.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, applying further details he had just noticed. Now he was starting to seek perfection in the work.
“About what?” she asked with a smile.
“About what is to come next.’’
“Another painting?” she said with a grin.
“No, I mean about us.’’
Suddenly her smile vanished. She stood up and quickly moved to stand in front of him. Without the slightest hint of warmth she raised her right hand and put her index finger over his mouth. “Shush,” she admonished. “There is nothing to think about. We just are here, now, and that’s all that matters.’’