Into the Wilderness
Page 149
"I don't recall using the word mightily," Elizabeth said primly, and she yelped as he grabbed her, pulling her up against him to pinch her bottom.
"Mightily! Owl Mightily!" she conceded, laughing and trying to squirm away from him.
He settled down with her half—pulled across his chest.
"Can we do that, tomorrow?" she asked. "Stay abed?" She knew the answer before he shook his head, but it was a disappointment anyway.
"Wouldn't be wise. We'll have our days abed, if you haven't got tired of the business by then."
"Oh, now who's fishing for compliments?" she asked. She sat up to look around herself. There was a small island in the middle of the lake, populated by beech trees and crowned with a few tall pine trees that reflected unevenly in the water.
"Shall we swim out there?" she asked lazily, lying down again.
"Not with your foot the way it is," he said. Instead of rising, Nathaniel stretched out and pulled her head to a more comfortable spot on his shoulder. This pleased her, but it was hard to ignore the rumbling in her stomach.
"There's trout enough for the taking," she suggested.
But Nathaniel was pointing into the sky, and she followed the line of his arm and drew in a sharp breath.
Above them the eagle still circled, but she wasn't alone.
Against the gathering clouds, the pair dodged around each other and then seemed to purposely collide in midair. With locked talons they plummeted downward in a free—fall interrupted by a series of complex somersaults. Suddenly they tore free of one another.
"They mate for life, but they go through this every season anyway," Nathaniel said. The pair was rising again, the sound of their wings clearly discernible. Talons struck and the birds fell in a swoop that ended in a long roll. Once more the performance was repeated, and this time the male covered his mate in mid—fall with a great scream of triumph, a sound almost human.
"Not exactly lowly Venus consorting with Man," said Nathaniel. "But you might call it sporting,"
Elizabeth stifled her laughter against his chest. "Very unseemly, this conversation."
"But you like it anyway."
"I like it precisely for that reason," she said, suddenly thoughtful. "It is a great luxury, the freedom to speak what is on my mind. What other person in the world male or female could I ask about these things?"
"Don't go imagining I'll always have an answer," Nathaniel said.
"It isn't an answer I want—"
"Aye," Nathaniel interrupted her, squeezing her hand. "It's the freedom to talk. I know, I know. So you're in the mood for talk right now?"
Elizabeth didn't answer. She looked into the shadows of the forest, wondering about the eagles. "She didn't seem to enjoy it very much, did she? Nor did he, for that matter."
"They don't take joy in mowin', not the way folks do." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's a good sign, anyway," he said. He had a thoughtful look about him.
She still found it strange sometimes to hear that Nathaniel took such things seriously, signs he read from the animals and the stars and his own dreams, in which he sometimes flew over the world. Her first and strongest impulse was to reject it all as wishful thinking, but slowly she was beginning to wonder not so much about the truth value of Nathaniel's beliefs, but at his powers of observation.
"Do you think we'll be like that, always struggling and then coming back together?" she asked.
He rubbed a hand across her back. "I expect we'll tussle," he said. His rubbing became slower and more purposeful, and she shifted a little and murmured against his chest.
"You're tired," he said. "And you hurt, I guess."
"It's not so bad," Elizabeth admitted. She was tired, that was true; she thought she might never move another muscle. But if she gave Nathaniel any encouragement at all, they would forget about swimming and food altogether for a while. It would take her mind off her foot; he could make her forget anything and everything when he came to her.
"Come, then," he said into her hair, tugging on the clasp to release it. “Come consort with me, darling'. If you've the mind for a little venery, that is."
She could feel him smile, but she didn't rise to his teasing. Instead Elizabeth put her hands over his chest, breathed in his smells. She could get dizzy sometimes, this close to him. With one finger she traced the line of his jaw, and thought about kissing him. She intended to kiss him, and very soon, but for the moment she was content with thinking about it.
"Boots, tell me, tell me what you want," he said against her ear.
She squirmed a bit and buried her face in the curve of his neck, gasped as she felt him cup her hips and pull her up against him. She slid a hand down his belly.
But Nathaniel caught her hand and held it away from him, his head tilted hard to one side and his expression suddenly preoccupied and distant. Elizabeth froze, seeing his concentration directed outward, to the forest. He heard something. She softened her own breathing, closing her eyes to screen out distractions in an attempt to hear what he did. There was something, just above the sounds of the lake. It might have been the wind on the cliff face, but the treetops stood unruffled against the sky. It came and went and then came again. Singing. Very faint, but clearly singing.
Nathaniel was on his feet, reaching for his gun. "Stay here," he said softly.
"Mightily! Owl Mightily!" she conceded, laughing and trying to squirm away from him.
He settled down with her half—pulled across his chest.
"Can we do that, tomorrow?" she asked. "Stay abed?" She knew the answer before he shook his head, but it was a disappointment anyway.
"Wouldn't be wise. We'll have our days abed, if you haven't got tired of the business by then."
"Oh, now who's fishing for compliments?" she asked. She sat up to look around herself. There was a small island in the middle of the lake, populated by beech trees and crowned with a few tall pine trees that reflected unevenly in the water.
"Shall we swim out there?" she asked lazily, lying down again.
"Not with your foot the way it is," he said. Instead of rising, Nathaniel stretched out and pulled her head to a more comfortable spot on his shoulder. This pleased her, but it was hard to ignore the rumbling in her stomach.
"There's trout enough for the taking," she suggested.
But Nathaniel was pointing into the sky, and she followed the line of his arm and drew in a sharp breath.
Above them the eagle still circled, but she wasn't alone.
Against the gathering clouds, the pair dodged around each other and then seemed to purposely collide in midair. With locked talons they plummeted downward in a free—fall interrupted by a series of complex somersaults. Suddenly they tore free of one another.
"They mate for life, but they go through this every season anyway," Nathaniel said. The pair was rising again, the sound of their wings clearly discernible. Talons struck and the birds fell in a swoop that ended in a long roll. Once more the performance was repeated, and this time the male covered his mate in mid—fall with a great scream of triumph, a sound almost human.
"Not exactly lowly Venus consorting with Man," said Nathaniel. "But you might call it sporting,"
Elizabeth stifled her laughter against his chest. "Very unseemly, this conversation."
"But you like it anyway."
"I like it precisely for that reason," she said, suddenly thoughtful. "It is a great luxury, the freedom to speak what is on my mind. What other person in the world male or female could I ask about these things?"
"Don't go imagining I'll always have an answer," Nathaniel said.
"It isn't an answer I want—"
"Aye," Nathaniel interrupted her, squeezing her hand. "It's the freedom to talk. I know, I know. So you're in the mood for talk right now?"
Elizabeth didn't answer. She looked into the shadows of the forest, wondering about the eagles. "She didn't seem to enjoy it very much, did she? Nor did he, for that matter."
"They don't take joy in mowin', not the way folks do." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's a good sign, anyway," he said. He had a thoughtful look about him.
She still found it strange sometimes to hear that Nathaniel took such things seriously, signs he read from the animals and the stars and his own dreams, in which he sometimes flew over the world. Her first and strongest impulse was to reject it all as wishful thinking, but slowly she was beginning to wonder not so much about the truth value of Nathaniel's beliefs, but at his powers of observation.
"Do you think we'll be like that, always struggling and then coming back together?" she asked.
He rubbed a hand across her back. "I expect we'll tussle," he said. His rubbing became slower and more purposeful, and she shifted a little and murmured against his chest.
"You're tired," he said. "And you hurt, I guess."
"It's not so bad," Elizabeth admitted. She was tired, that was true; she thought she might never move another muscle. But if she gave Nathaniel any encouragement at all, they would forget about swimming and food altogether for a while. It would take her mind off her foot; he could make her forget anything and everything when he came to her.
"Come, then," he said into her hair, tugging on the clasp to release it. “Come consort with me, darling'. If you've the mind for a little venery, that is."
She could feel him smile, but she didn't rise to his teasing. Instead Elizabeth put her hands over his chest, breathed in his smells. She could get dizzy sometimes, this close to him. With one finger she traced the line of his jaw, and thought about kissing him. She intended to kiss him, and very soon, but for the moment she was content with thinking about it.
"Boots, tell me, tell me what you want," he said against her ear.
She squirmed a bit and buried her face in the curve of his neck, gasped as she felt him cup her hips and pull her up against him. She slid a hand down his belly.
But Nathaniel caught her hand and held it away from him, his head tilted hard to one side and his expression suddenly preoccupied and distant. Elizabeth froze, seeing his concentration directed outward, to the forest. He heard something. She softened her own breathing, closing her eyes to screen out distractions in an attempt to hear what he did. There was something, just above the sounds of the lake. It might have been the wind on the cliff face, but the treetops stood unruffled against the sky. It came and went and then came again. Singing. Very faint, but clearly singing.
Nathaniel was on his feet, reaching for his gun. "Stay here," he said softly.
