Free Blood Of The Wizard (Book 1) by Thomas Head

me. 
    “Sturdy.  Well fed.  A bit of pooch here in the middle though.  You belonged to somebody once.”
    “ Really?” I said, strangely thrilled at the odd witchery she was making me feel.
    “ Oh yes.  The body, the posture, the gait, the voice… They all tell an interesting story.”
    “ Story?”
    “ Don’t you know you’ve been talking in gushes for the past ten minutes?  No?” she said.
    As she continued her inspection, I took a long pull from the flagon.  “Well!” I said, the tasty beer propelling me.  “If you’ll give me a week’s warning, I’ll try to keep up my end of the conversation.”
    “ Ah!  There!  I’ve pulled you enough to break through the ice at last!  It’s been such hard work!”
    “ And you come up badly wet . ”
    “ Oh.  You’re doing well, handsome!”
    “ Thanks to my instructor,” I said, and I swept her a courtly bow.
    “ There!  There!” she cried, dropping her blouse as soon as I stood up.
    “ Madam!   You’ve never given me my name—”
    “ So long as you come when you’re called, I’ll just call you Handsome.”
    “ That, my dear Dhal, is not going to be a problem.”

 
     
                                Chapter 11
     
     
     
    “Handsome!” she whispered, interrupting my sleep at some point in the night.  “Let’s begin again.”
    With a strange hope in my heart, I crawled cautiously down through the silent shadows of my dreams in the waking world.
    But she had not uttered the words. 
    I smiled anyway.
    She was curled up next to me, naked in the cold grass, also smiling.  I pulled her a bit closer.
    The wind moved through the empty solitudes of the forest, and it brought a warm, aching sigh of unutterable satisfaction.  I stared into the vast wastes of stars, completely content with my place in it all. 
    I breathed, r eflecting on my experiences in life, on Halvgar’s maddening heartache.  I’ll tell you and you alone, I was beginning to think of life as a senseless jumble with no purpose but to get through it.  Now, something in the calm of the forest around us, or the certainty of our unerring moment together, quieted my unrest.  The curves and gentle noises of breath that came from the woman beside me were too flawless for the limitation of speech.  Every faint breath brought me peace, a peace as vast and noiseless as the wheeling of planets through the star-speckled black, and any attempts to describe it seemed sacrilege.  Perhaps it was.  And that was purpose enough for my life.  For now. 
    I have no idea why such a moment came to pass with her, specifically.  There had been many others.  But let anyone who would hear a fool mutter absurdities, hear this—just like a mother quiets a fretful child, that rowdy, clever, gorgeous woman so free with her love, calmed and lulled my tumultuous thoughts.  And I loved her for that.  I did.  I loved her.  Say what you will, and trust that I know it’s difficult to understand.  Or perhaps it is challenging to even believe. 
    But I did. 
    I loved her.
    Finally, with the creeping morning light, she stirred. 
    “ If you’ll wear this tartan, or maybe put away somewhere safe, perhaps you’ll remember the stray that came through your village on Mayday’ Eve.”
    She yawned, then smiled sleepily . 
    “If you’ll keep one end of the plaid for yourself, handsome, I’ll take the other.”
    “ Brilliant,” I whispered, tightening my clasp around her fingers.  “You are… just brilliant.”
    I kissed her neck.  She laughed a low, mellow laugh that set my heart beating.  I felt a great intoxication, a “beer strength”, they call it.  Hell, but I could have conquered a good chunk of the known world if she had asked.
    “ Fie!” someone shouted in the distance.
    “ Ooooh, no.”
    “ Fie?” she asked.
    “ Me—I mean, yes,” and I gulped down my embarrassment.
    From the river came, “Fie, where the devil are you, lad!”
    “ Damn