Free When Lightning Strikes by Cynthia Lucas

are always trying to find some way for there to be intimacy. You just will not give up, will you?”
    He smirked and shrugged, unwilling to deny what she said because it was the truth!
    “As I was saying then, since I am unable to tell you of myself, you tell me about you. Tell me about your people, your way of life and your hardships. Anything.”
    “You would wish to know?” His brows knit together.
    She nodded. “Yes, I would.”
    This was most unbelievable to him. A gadge outsider – a noblewoman – lying here next to him wishing to hear the truth of his life and people and their ways? Their hardships? No one had ever given a damn about him except his mother and those close to him in his troupe.
    Should he trust her? God knows, those of her kind were untrustworthy enough. But there was something different about this lady, indeed. She did not seem like one of them.
    “Very well, then. What exactly would you like to hear?” he asked her, still wary.
    “Well, how old are you? Where did you learn to work with knives like you do? How many people are there in your troupe? Who are those women I saw this evening?”
    He raised an eyebrow at her numerous questions. So... she had been up and peering out of the wagon when he left to fetch the stew. He smiled.
    She sat there nervously, realizing that she may have said too much at one time, and in doing so, revealed that she was not nearly as badly hurt as he suspected. She was indeed well enough to be up and spying on him through the parted canvas of the wagon.
    “I have seen twenty and eight winters come and go. I learned to juggle from my stepfather; the man who loved my mother until the day a fever took him. There are twenty and one of us, including Esmeralda's babe that was born a sennight past.” Then he paused before adding, “The other women you saw are part of the troupe also. They are the dancers, Fala and her sister Shaia. There are more women as well.”
    She was relieved to see the playfulness in his smile as he spoke. But she had also seen a flicker of pain in his eyes when he spoke of his mother earlier.
    “I am sorry about your mother. I am certain it has been very hard on you losing her.”
    He stared back as his look became more sorrowful.
    “Her name was Mara, and she was the only person in this world who ever truly cared for me.” He paused a moment, toying with a long piece of rye grass that was stuck to the blanket.
    “I do not slight her husband, Peer, for he loved me as well as he could, but not as Mara did. She taught me everything she knew about the world, about outsiders, about the harshness of life and how to survive in a world that looks upon us with eyes of hatred. She shared with me her knowledge of herbs and healing. In this, she devoted great time and care, training me since I was barely past being a babe.”
    He sighed and threw aside another piece of grass that was stuck to his shirt.
    “Peer - the man who took her to wife after I was born out of wedlock - trained me in the art of juggling. He cared not one whit that I was some man’s bastard, and loved us well. I lost them both.”
    Sarah could see the pained look in his eyes and could tell he had suffered more than he was letting on, and was carrying an awful lot of weight on his shoulders. How could he not, being the leader of this whole group and having lost his parents recently? She wished she could ease his burden somehow.
    “What happened to your real father? I mean…your sire?” she asked, struggling to remember the proper word they used for their fathers in this century.
    Dominic ignored her question as he shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. "Can you remember how old you are, Sarah?"
    ‘ Well - obviously he doesn’t want to discuss his father,’ she thought to herself. She paused for a moment and looked thoughtful, as though she were trying to remember something. Should she reveal her age? Well...I guess it can't hurt anything to tell him how old I am.
    “I am