Finding her

*Zac*
She is returning to the house, the boy snuggled in her arms, hidden beneath her heavy woolen cloak. A smile lights up her face as I approach and I feel it like a kick to my gut.

“You're barely limping,” She says, as though I have made a major accomplishment, when in truth I have absolutely nothing to do with the healing. “Jolly good for you. Has the pain diminished ?"

“Yes, somewhat. I feel confident that I'm well on my way to recovery. No little thanks to your efforts." I tell her.

She blushes, but her eyes sparkle. “I did nothing really."

I nod toward the bundle in her arms. “Should he be out here?"

“The air does him good, I think. But we’ve been walking about long enough. I am going to take him in now.” She says.

I am astounded by my own disappointment. The cold is bracing, and rain scents the air. Still I want to linger in her company, take a turn around the garden with her at my side. “Dr. Roberts says I should not overdo it. As this is my first venture out, I should probably be content that I made it this far without stumbling and head back inside myself too. Would you be kind enough to join me in The Princess’ Sitting Room ?"

“Will your mother mind ?” She asks.

I find myself smiling as I haven’t in a long while, and I can’t for the life of me explain why I am amused. “It's not my mother’s room per se. I believe it was where the first princess preferred to spend her afternoons with her ladies, and it has been named The Princess’ Sitting Room ever since.”

“If we’re not imposing on anyone, then yes." She says with a small smile.

I wait until she falls into step beside me. I want to offer her my arm but hers are already full. “That is where we differ, you and I,” I say solemnly. “If I wanted something, I would not care one whit if someone is imposed upon."

“I know that’s not true. I witnessed your stubbornness and refusal to be tended until every wounded man around you had first been seen." She says with conviction.

I stumble at her words, and nearly tripping. Dammit. She reaches out with one hand to steady me and I reach out with the other to ensure she doesn’t drop the child. I stare into her eyes, trying to absorb more information without words.

Did this happen when I was in danger of losing my arm? Had I really insisted others should go before me? Had I lost my mind? That sounds not at all like me. To put others ahead of myself? Had she confused me with someone else? Or during the war had I become a man who would be unrecognizable to even me? It hardly seems possible.

“You've gone pale again. You should get off the leg," She says.

She assumes it is pain that drains my face of blood. It is discomfort, yes, not of the body, but of the soul. I nod quickly. “Yes, of course."

We share not a single word as we make our way into the house. I, because I can think of nothing to say that wouldn’t make me sound like an idiot. She? No doubt because she is worried I have lost the ability to converse while walking, and therefore risk causing myself further injury with any sort of distraction.

Once inside, we leave her cloak and my greatcoat with a servant. I order that tea and biscuits be brought to The Princess Sitting Room. Then I lead Callie through the warren of hallways to the small room.

“How deliciously quaint,” She exclaims softly with a thread of joy woven through her voice as we enter.

I realize that I have selected this particular room because I had somehow known that it would please her. The beige walls are lined with portraits. A fire is already crackling in the hearth. A settee is placed before it, chairs on either side of it. But it is the bay window that I had anticipated would draw her. The matching stuffed velvet armchairs are arranged so one can enjoy the room as well as the gardens. The draperies have been pulled back, providing light that the unlit crystal chandelier can not.

“I can quite understand why the first princess appreciated this room," She says as she wanders to the window and sits, tucking the boy into the crook of her arm. She glances up at me. “Is it a favorite of yours as well?"

“It is now.” I join her.

Laughing lightly, she shakes her head, then gazes around the room with obvious curiosity. “Are any of your ancestors in the portraits on these walls?”

“No. Mine are all at West cliff Palace, which is my older brother's estate. He and I share the same father. Draco and I don't.” I explain.

“I’m not particularly intimate with the circles of the dragon aristocracy, but I should think it is rare for one man to have two titled brothers." She says curiously.

I shrug slightly. “My mother has always been one not to be outdone. Quite honestly, after Draco’s father died, I’m surprised she didn’t marry again and try for a third titled son. She is still young enough to have accomplished it.”

“Do you think she'll marry Leo?" She asks.

“He may have … talents that she appreciates, but he is a commoner. I very much doubt she would settle for him.” I admit.

She looks a bit sad. “Even if she loves him beyond all measure?"

I am not certain my mother is capable of loving anyone other than her sons. “Do you believe someone should marry for love or gain?"

“I don't believe one excludes the other," She says thoughtfully.

“But if you could have only one?” I press her.

She turns her attention to the gardens. I wonder if she will be here to see them in the spring.

“I think one must do what one must do to be happy,” She says finally.

“Can one be happy without love?” I ask.

She bites her lip. “I think one can be happy without a good many things. If my time at the military hospital taught me anything at all, it is that.”

And what, I bloody well wonder, has my time in the war taught me?

The gray sky choses this moment to lighten; the sun that has been hidden behind heavy clouds for most of the day breaks free and sunlight pours in through the three windows to focus on her. If I were a religious man, I might have thought it was a sign. She possesses a calmness that appeals. Even at my worst, even when I had forced her to give me a vow regarding my leg, she had never wavered, never panicked. The light lands upon her cheeks, glows in her eyes. Not for the first time, I believe it must have been her eyes that had drawn me to her. A man would be a fool not to notice them, not to wonder at the secrets they hold.

“You're doing it again," She says softly, and I watch as pink tinge her cheeks.

“Whatever are you on about? " I ask.

She smiles softly. “What you did that first night during dinner. Stare at me as though you are counting my freckles."

“Do you have freckles?" I had been so distracted by her eyes that I had not noticed.

“I have not spent much time in the sun of late, so they have somewhat faded. But they are quite unbecoming when they have their way.” She sighs.

“I can’t imagine anything about you being unbecoming.” I say without thinking.

Her mouth quirks, the start of a smile, the beginning of a laugh. I don't know which. A time had existed when I had been able to read women so easily. Am I simply out of practice, or is she unlike any woman I have ever known?

The baby mewls, squirms, then pressed a tiny balled fist to his mouth and begins to suckle. I had all but forgotten he was there. How can I not notice the child when I notice everything about the mother? I have little interest in the boy. If he is indeed my son, shouldn’t I care more?

“Why Zane?" I hear myself ask.

She looks at me, her eyes wide, her brow furrowed as though I have confused her with my question.

“The boy. Why did you name him Zane? Why not Zac or Lyons or something to brand him as mine?" I ask.

“Because he is to be his own person. I didn’t want him to feel he had to live up to his namesake war hero.” She explains.

I shake my head. “I’m hardly a hero.”

I have surprised her with my words. It is written on her face in the widening of her eyes, and the parting of her lips, lips I desperately want to kiss again. Perhaps that is the reason I had selected this room in a distant corner of the residence.
It is seldom visited. I can flirt … seduce

The boy's sucking grows louder. I had failed to take into account that we would have a miniature chaperone.

“I had not expected you to be overly modest,” She says softly. “I heard tales of your exploits even after I left the war."

“I don't want to discuss the war or my role in it,” I say more harshly than I had intended. That too surprises her, but she recovers quickly enough.

“Yes, no, of course not. Zane. I named him Zane because …”. I can see the desperation, the fear, as though I will find fault with her reasons. “I don't know. It seemed to suit him. I simply looked at him and thought … Zane. His name is Zane. Also it does remind me a bit of Zac."


I try to make up for my earlier blunder, my harsh tone. I force a lightness into my voice. “A mother's instinct perhaps.”

“Yes, quite.” She smiles.

She has forgiven me so easily. I see it in her warm smile. I was wrong. It hadn’t been her eyes that had drawn me to her. It had been her smile. When it is freely and joyfully given, it eclipses everything else about her. I believe I might give my last breath to see her smile.

“You've hardly gotten to know Zane. Would you care to hold him?" She suddenly asks.

Again, the reminder of the boy. I shake my head. “What do I know about babies?”

“But he is your son. At least come nearer.” Her invitation is accompanied by another smile that I scarcely can resist.