Free The Fly-By-Nights by Brian Lumley

Garth himself now settled down…
    But having closed his eyes for what seemed barely a moment, suddenly Garth sensed a silent figure standing there, silhouetted against the dull glimmer of near-distant daylight: a young woman’s figure and quite motionless. And through half-shuttered eyelids, finally he recognized its owner.
    “Oh!” said Layla Morgan as Garth’s eyes snapped fully open and he jerked upright in his bed. “Garth, I’m so very sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I saw your father going off on his own and…well, I didn’t think you’d have your head down yet, and if you didn’t maybe we could… I mean, we never seem to get a chance to…so what do you think? Perhaps now is as good a time as any to…to…?”
    Equally or even more tongue-tied, and not yet fully awake—though his weariness was rapidly falling off him—Garth groped for something, anything to say, just as long as it didn’t sound too stupid! And at last: “Yes?” he nodded. “Please go on: now’s a good time to…to what?”
    Layla shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! Talk, maybe? Oh, dear! This is no good! It’s supposed to be you doing the talking, the…well, persuading!”
    Layla wanted to talk, wanted to be persuaded? Garth’s heart sang! She wanted to talk to him, to Garth Slattery! Previously: a shy smile in passing (most of the modesty being his); or occasionally, in reply to a bout of wistfulness he couldn’t conceal, Layla’s querying, soft-eyed glance (which might mean anything or nothing at all), and that had been all…almost. Ah! But what of that yearning, that anxious, even sad and frustrated expression that she’d worn in the trundle last night, when their eyes met during those few fraught seconds when it seemed likely they were under attack by fly-by-nights?
    And now…now she wanted to talk to him!
    That was what Layla had said, wasn’t it? Yes, yes of course it was! But she’d also said it was supposed to be him doing the talking!
    “You wanted to talk?” Garth blurted, edging awkwardly aside under his blanket, and almost unconsciously, on impulse issuing a silent invitation to sit by patting the barely adequate space that he’d vacated. Which was when he saw that Layla had brought her necessaries with her, a small bundle of items to ensure she got her day’s rest: a rather thin, worn blanket, a pillow (actually a cushion,) and a pair of soft, warm leather leggings.
    Then (amazingly!) Layla threw the cushion down in the space he’d allowed her, got down and sat beside him (somehow managing not to crush too close; a consideration which, to him, mattered not at all, or perhaps a great deal), and shook out her blanket over her knees and feet.
    And now Garth found his voice, the words, and something of his courage. “You’re right: we’ve never had a chance, an opportunity to talk about…well, anything! And I’ve really wanted to…to talk, I mean! Then there’s Ned Singer. It seems whenever you are there, he’s there too, and you haven’t appeared to mind his company. At least not that I’ve noticed. Well, I understand something of that: he’s an older man and experienced, and runs his own scavenger team. Or at least he used to, before the trek. So you see—”
    “—So I see you’ve got it all wrong, Garth!” Layla stopped him short. “Yes, Ned’s always there—because he cuts everyone else out! Other young clansmen have showed interest in me, too. And more especially since I’ve been on my own. But I’m sure Ned has warned them all off. Anyone who looks at me more than once: they soon lose interest after Ned has talked to them. Why, he’s nothing but a bully!”
    Garth nodded. “Ned’s spoken to me, too. And he made himself very clear. A threat, really, but I don’t much care for threats—and I very much care for you. Ned says he wants you; well so do I, and I’m not about to lose interest!” There, he’d said it! Or had he said too much? “But…as yet I’m a