‘Mayhap a way,’ he answered, ‘if we are left to take it. The sun will be through in a little, enough to reveal our meeting should any chance to be looking.’
Struck by something in his tone, and perhaps by his apparent failure to observe her half proffered hands, she moved a little back, her lips parted, her eyes full of a questioning wonder.
‘Was this mist, then, of thy bespeaking,’ she said, ‘and engaged to us up to a certain hour? You speak as if I should have remembered that.’
‘I speak like one keeping an appointment,’ he answered.
She searched his face for humour, but discovered none.
‘Brion,’ she said suddenly, ‘am I late to our tryst?’
‘A man might consider so,’ he replied stiffly.
‘But only by a few minutes?’
‘Say fifteen, Mistress—nothing to a lady that holds the terrors of this wood at naught.’
Her face was lifted to his. The dimples threatened a moment, but she controlled them.