Alex sipped at a soothing cup of tea, and winced as the baby kicked,
harder than previous occassions, making her seriously regret her decision
to even conceive the child. He. she, whatever it was, was just as
rebellious as its father.
She smiled, and allowed herself the quietest of laughs. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she was a married woman. It felt strange. She had only ever really encountered two married couples since the disaster of the dragons, and she had never really thought it would happen to her.
It was a miracle they had even managed to do it officially. One of the colonists was able to marry people legally.
Legal. that didn't really matter anymore. There weren't even governments and law officials to uphold the law in any way. It had faded away along with everything else they had once taken advantage of so long ago.
She heard booted feet scaling the steps, and she recognised the pace. It was Quinn, and something was troubling him by the sound of how heavy he was treading.
Alex placed down her cup of tea -something she had once considered typically British in every way-, and braced herself for her husband.
He walked into the room, gave her the briefest of smiles, one that didn't even seem to be meaningful. He strode right over to the cabinet, and retrieved the large gun he kept there.
Alex immediately stood, with a little difficulty, and asked loudly, "What are you doing?"
Quinn turned his gaze upon his wife, and replied stoically, "I was right. There's another male."
"How." her voice fluctuated, and she swallowed, "how do you know that?"
"Deacon, the American who showed up at the gates. He's seen it."
"How does he know it was a male? It could have just been a big female," Alex countered, following Quinn around the small room.
He donned his long coat, and turned full on to face her. His eyes were filled with disappointment. Probably with himself. he blamed himself.
"The males are much bigger. you know that, Alex," he said quietly, taking a gentle hold of her face.
Alex blinked back the sudden tears. She was frightened she was going to lose Quinn, the man she loved. She shouldn't let it get to her, she realised. He knew how to take care of himself.
He pulled her into a kiss; more passionate than the affectionate delicate ones he gave her frequently to remind her of his love for her. This one meant more. He was telling her not to worry, that he would be back. Quinn was reminding her that he would be back.
He ran a gentle hand over her stomach, and the child within, and smiled, resting his forehead on hers for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice sounded forced, slightly choked, "I have to go."
He turned, and walked from the room.
She watched him go, his long coat trailing behind him, and as she lost sight of him, she let the tears roll.
* * *
Quinn took a deep, slow breath, numbing the sadness of leaving the woman he loved behind. He reached the bottom of the twisting staircase, and saw Deacon waiting for him.
He also saw Jared, his fingers curled tightly around the reins of two horses, one black, the other dappled, both quite muscular and strong. Both built for speed and riding.
Quinn walked directly past Deacon, who stood swigging at the bottle he had sampled earlier. Apparently, the Yank was getting quite attached to the substance. Maybe it calmed his nerves. Who knew?
Not me, Quinn thought, accepting the reins to the black horse off of Jared, running a hand down the white blaze on the animal's beautiful face. It snorted, and bowed its head slightly.
He mounted it with ease, holstering the powerful rifle, and reaching for the crossbow that Malcolm held for him. Quinn shouldered it immediately, and waited for Deacon, one hand on the front of the saddle, the other holding the reins at his thigh.
Deacon screwed the lid on the bottle, tossing it carefully into one of his bulging saddlebags, and swung into the western-style saddle. With a sigh, he accepted the split reins from Jared, and squeezed gently with his knees, bringing the horse to attention. With a snort, the dappled stallion's head rose from its snoozing position, and it sniffed the air.
Deacon gave a short whistle with his fingers, and his scruffy mongrel came running to the horse's side. As usual, the dog was panting, and it glanced up with liquid eyes at its master.
"C'mon," Quinn said bluntly, turning the horse with one sharp pull on the reins. It turned on its hindquarters, a move it had taken Quinn months to master with the animal. It helped a great deal when he had to make a sharp exit from a dragon.
Deacon turned his horse with another squeeze of the knees, and a gentle raising of the reins in the direction he turned.
The two horses had apparently made friends fast, and travelled side by side without a sound, hooves treading the sloshing mud with ease.
Quinn took one last sorrowful glance back at the castle as they trotted through the gates, which were shut firmly behind them.
From the small window in the tower, he could make out the shadowed figure of Alex.
She smiled, and allowed herself the quietest of laughs. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she was a married woman. It felt strange. She had only ever really encountered two married couples since the disaster of the dragons, and she had never really thought it would happen to her.
It was a miracle they had even managed to do it officially. One of the colonists was able to marry people legally.
Legal. that didn't really matter anymore. There weren't even governments and law officials to uphold the law in any way. It had faded away along with everything else they had once taken advantage of so long ago.
She heard booted feet scaling the steps, and she recognised the pace. It was Quinn, and something was troubling him by the sound of how heavy he was treading.
Alex placed down her cup of tea -something she had once considered typically British in every way-, and braced herself for her husband.
He walked into the room, gave her the briefest of smiles, one that didn't even seem to be meaningful. He strode right over to the cabinet, and retrieved the large gun he kept there.
Alex immediately stood, with a little difficulty, and asked loudly, "What are you doing?"
Quinn turned his gaze upon his wife, and replied stoically, "I was right. There's another male."
"How." her voice fluctuated, and she swallowed, "how do you know that?"
"Deacon, the American who showed up at the gates. He's seen it."
"How does he know it was a male? It could have just been a big female," Alex countered, following Quinn around the small room.
He donned his long coat, and turned full on to face her. His eyes were filled with disappointment. Probably with himself. he blamed himself.
"The males are much bigger. you know that, Alex," he said quietly, taking a gentle hold of her face.
Alex blinked back the sudden tears. She was frightened she was going to lose Quinn, the man she loved. She shouldn't let it get to her, she realised. He knew how to take care of himself.
He pulled her into a kiss; more passionate than the affectionate delicate ones he gave her frequently to remind her of his love for her. This one meant more. He was telling her not to worry, that he would be back. Quinn was reminding her that he would be back.
He ran a gentle hand over her stomach, and the child within, and smiled, resting his forehead on hers for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice sounded forced, slightly choked, "I have to go."
He turned, and walked from the room.
She watched him go, his long coat trailing behind him, and as she lost sight of him, she let the tears roll.
* * *
Quinn took a deep, slow breath, numbing the sadness of leaving the woman he loved behind. He reached the bottom of the twisting staircase, and saw Deacon waiting for him.
He also saw Jared, his fingers curled tightly around the reins of two horses, one black, the other dappled, both quite muscular and strong. Both built for speed and riding.
Quinn walked directly past Deacon, who stood swigging at the bottle he had sampled earlier. Apparently, the Yank was getting quite attached to the substance. Maybe it calmed his nerves. Who knew?
Not me, Quinn thought, accepting the reins to the black horse off of Jared, running a hand down the white blaze on the animal's beautiful face. It snorted, and bowed its head slightly.
He mounted it with ease, holstering the powerful rifle, and reaching for the crossbow that Malcolm held for him. Quinn shouldered it immediately, and waited for Deacon, one hand on the front of the saddle, the other holding the reins at his thigh.
Deacon screwed the lid on the bottle, tossing it carefully into one of his bulging saddlebags, and swung into the western-style saddle. With a sigh, he accepted the split reins from Jared, and squeezed gently with his knees, bringing the horse to attention. With a snort, the dappled stallion's head rose from its snoozing position, and it sniffed the air.
Deacon gave a short whistle with his fingers, and his scruffy mongrel came running to the horse's side. As usual, the dog was panting, and it glanced up with liquid eyes at its master.
"C'mon," Quinn said bluntly, turning the horse with one sharp pull on the reins. It turned on its hindquarters, a move it had taken Quinn months to master with the animal. It helped a great deal when he had to make a sharp exit from a dragon.
Deacon turned his horse with another squeeze of the knees, and a gentle raising of the reins in the direction he turned.
The two horses had apparently made friends fast, and travelled side by side without a sound, hooves treading the sloshing mud with ease.
Quinn took one last sorrowful glance back at the castle as they trotted through the gates, which were shut firmly behind them.
From the small window in the tower, he could make out the shadowed figure of Alex.