Ronan.
Always Ronan, much to her dismay when she woke and recalled the dream. But for now, lost in that warm fog of half sleep, she had no problem admitting to herself who it was, and envisioning him there, in her blankets, enjoying the dream, feeling the heat and the--
"My lady?"
Now Ashyn did bolt upright, as Tova growled and rose from her side. A figure appeared in the entrance to the small cave where Edwyn had put her for the night. It was a young man, and all she could see was his outline. A little under average height, but well-formed, with tousled curls, and her first thought was Ronan. She blamed the dream, because Ronan would never call her "my lady." She was Ash, unless he was annoyed, and then she was Ashyn.
The young man standing in the entrance was Ronan's stature, but Northern in his coloring, with light hair, blue eyes, and skin as pale as her own. She knew him, too. Tarquin, the guard Edwyn had assigned to watch over her cave as she slept.
"Hmm?" she said.
"You called out, my lady."
Her cheeks flamed red-hot, and she was glad for the darkness. "Did I?" she managed to say in as calm a voice as possible. "I must have been dreaming. It has been a very difficult fortnight. My dreams are often unsettled."
"Yes, it did sound unsettled." He lit his torch and ducked to step into the low cave. "I could summon the healer with a sleeping draught."
"No, I am quite fine. But thank you for asking."
He lifted the torch, and she realized she was still sitting up and her bedclothes were . . . less than adequate, having been borrowed from a woman significantly larger than Ashyn. She tugged the blanket up, but not before Tarquin had gotten a good look, and he stopped short, staring even after she covered herself, and continued to stare, as if he'd never seen a girl on a sleeping pallet. She dropped her gaze, trying to be demure, only to discover that she'd dropped it to his breeches, where she could see the proof of his thoughts.
She tore her gaze away as her cheeks flamed.
"I--I'm sorry, my lady," he stammered. "I did not mean to intrude. I only wished to be sure you were well and did not need my assist--"
He stopped there, and when she looked over, his face was as red as hers must surely be.
"I do not," she said evenly. "But again, I thank you for offering."
"Then I'll leave you to your sleep. If you need me--I mean, if you require assist--that is, a sleeping draught . . ."
She tried not to smile as she lifted her gaze to his. "Thank you."
She did smile then, offered it to him along with the thanks, and when she did, he stared again and said, "You are beautiful, my lady." Then his eyes widened, as if in horror, and he said, "I did not mean--that is to say--"
"There is no harm in a compliment. Thank you, Tarquin."
And there was no harm in it. If anything, it was welcome. Ashyn had grown up knowing her looks would not appeal to many young men in the empire. Either she was too pale and odd in her appearance, or she was exotic and desirable because of that and no other trait.
Even when young men in Edgewood did find her looks to their taste, there was another who looked exactly like her, and whose brash and bold personality always outshone Ashyn's quiet timidity. The only young man who'd sought to court her was the scholar Simeon . . . who'd then named her sister and the prince as traitors. Not quite a pleasant memory. So to have a Northern boy tell her she was beautiful? It was a small thing, but it felt warm and comforting, even if her return smile held no hint of invitation.
"I--I'll leave you, my lady," he said, backing up . . . and hitting the cave wall.
She tried not to laugh. "Thank you again, Tarquin. I will see you in the morning and--"
A cry sounded beyond the cave. Tarquin raced out. Tova lunged in front of Ashyn as she pulled her dagger from under her sleeping pallet, grabbed her cloak, and started for the cave entrance. Tarquin stood a few paces outside it, his sword drawn.
Edwyn said they had only a few warriors in their group, and most had gone seeking news of her sister, but he'd kept two behind, leaving one to guard Ashyn. From the way Tarquin held his sword, though, he might be a trained warrior, yet he was not an experienced one. When Tarquin saw Ashyn, standing in the entrance, dagger raised, his eyes widened.
"My lady," he said. "Go back inside. I will handle this."
"I am trained with my dagger." Not untrue, though she'd come to realize she needed much more training.
"Perhaps, but my orders--"
Another cry, and they both went still.
"Is that an animal?" Ashyn whispered. "Or a bird? I'm unfamiliar with this area."