"We should put spiders in his bed roll."

Cole swayed a little where he sat beside Katrina, gazing at the fire, a slight smile on his lips. "That wouldn't help."

"It'd help me plenty," Katrina muttered, slouching down to pout. Her thighs hurt, and she couldn't sleep, so she'd decided to get up and wander. As usual, Cole—she wasn't sure when he'd given her that name to use, only that he had—was guarding the camp, sitting before the fire, watching it dance as he listened to the world around them. In the past two and a half weeks, she'd often gotten up in the dead of night, if only for a few minutes, only to find him there, guarding the whole lot of them. Despite her restlessness tonight, however, wandering had proved too painful, so she'd decided to sit with him rather than pull a blistered muscle.

Being near him seemed to make her aches lessen, too.

Cole straightened from where he sat, eyes unfocused as the flames reflected against the pale blue of his irises, looking something akin to fire raining down from the sky. "Skittering legs, broken branches. They gather and nest. Too close to the hold, have to smoke them out. Wrong way, wrong way. Fall back. No. Yes. Yes, good. They'll leave us be now."

Katrina eyed him. "What's that mean?"

"He knows where to find the bigger spiders."

With a grumble, Katrina glared toward Branson's tent. Granted, he hadn't seemed as angry at her the last two days. Cullen had mentioned briefly that he'd thought she was a Wolf, which had been the main reason he hadn't liked her. Even so, every time she tried to talk to him—though she didn't get many chances, admittedly—he still seemed irate, if not cross.

She couldn't understand most of what he said, and he spoke very little common, so he couldn't understand most of what she said. Perhaps that was part of the issue. Language barriers could be pains.

With all the riding, she hadn't been able to practice Avvar much, either. At least she could tend to a fire now. Cullen had even shown her how to roast their dinners on a spit. While it wasn't much, between that and tending to the horses, she was at least able to pretend that she knew a little of what she was doing.

She wasn't sure why that mattered, but it did.

As she started to turn back to Cole, her gaze lingered on Cullen's tent. They'd barely spoken since that morning before they'd begun the harder riding, two days ago. He'd offered her a place in his hold and then…

"Heart pounding, gentle lips, leaned head. So close, so close. Why should it matter so much? Just a second more…a held breath let go too soon."

"We need to work on what you narrate," Katrina muttered, finally turning back to eye him.

Cole picked up a small rock from the ground near the campfire and inspected it idly, turning it slowly to see its different facets. "He's awake right now, if you wanted to talk to him."

"How do you…" Trailing off, she glanced toward Cullen's tent again, narrowing her eyes as she leaned her head in one hand, elbow propped against her knee. She drummed her fingers against her cheek. "I don't know what I'd even say."

"You could start with an answer."

"What?"

Blinking owlishly, Cole shrugged, letting the rock drop from his hands. "His question. You could answer it."

Katrina felt heat creeping up her neck and spilling into her cheeks as she looked back at the fire. "I'd have to have one to do that."

"You do."

"If you say so," she mumbled into her hand. Drumming the toe of her boot against the mostly dried mud—mostly frozen was more like it—near the campfire, she tilted one way and then the other. "So. I've been wondering. I never see you riding with anyone. How do you keep up with us?"

"Easily."

Even as she scowled and looked up to tell him that wasn't what she'd meant, she found herself alone at the campfire. She twisted her lips to one side, glaring at where he'd been. "I still remember you, you know. I'm getting better at that."

"Focus, focus, focus. Words that matter and words I want. Sometimes a boy. What was his name? Never mind that. I think I'm mad at him, anyway."

The words drifted around her without a speaker.

Getting up, she grudgingly made her way back to her tent, though she stopped short of going in. Hand on the flap, she found her attention wandering back toward Cullen's. Was he really awake? Who had told her that? It had been someone reliable.

Before she really knew what she was doing, she was kneeling in front of Cullen's tent, fingers just barely curled around the edge of the flap. Should she knock? On what, the tarp? What if he wasn't really awake after all? If she just crawled in, that would be strange, wouldn't it?

It would. Most definitely strange.

"Cullen?" She whispered. Silence reigned. Dammit, wasn't she supposed to call him Thane Magicsbane? He'd asked her to call him that, forever ago, and she'd completely forgotten. It didn't help that she only thought of him as Cullen in her head. Leaning a little closer to the tent, she tried again. "Thane Magic—"

Quite abruptly the tent flap drew back, and Cullen was staring at her, slightly bewildered and clearly groggy. His hair was a tousled mess, his curls wilder than usual as they hung like a shaggy curtain around his face.

Katrina nearly tumbled backward when he appeared so suddenly, narrowly managing to catch herself as she rocked back. At the same time, Cullen lightly gripped her arm to help steady her.

When they were both sure she wouldn't topple over, Cullen quirked a brow and motioned to her. "You should be sleeping."

"So should you," she retorted with an eye roll. At her words, he seemed to realize he was still holding her arm and quickly let go. Katrina shifted a little and then motioned toward his tent. "Um…can I come in? It's cold away from the fire."

Cullen laughed, and Katrina was surprised at how the way his smile tugged on the scar on his lips made her feel like butterflies had gotten caught in her chest. "This is nice weather," he murmured as he moved away from the tent's entrance to allow her room to come in.

Even as she slipped in, a blanket dropped around her shoulders. Cullen had already seated himself on his bedroll and patted the spot beside him for her to sit. Pausing to tug off her shoes first, she curled up with the blanket wrapped around her, toes tucked carefully beneath it so that they wouldn't freeze.

When she met his gaze, he was still grinning, though his smile slipped somewhat, and he scratched at the back of his neck before motioning to her. "You… wanted to speak about something?"

"Well, yes," Katrina hesitated. What could have possibly possessed her to think this was a good idea? Part of her wanted to just bolt for the exit, figuring that Cullen wouldn't follow. Or if he did, he'd stop short of coming into her tent after her. "About the other day…"

Quite abruptly she wondered if she wanted to say yes to Cullen's offer because she liked the prospect of being able to stay near him, or if she was just afraid of going home to face the truth that she no longer had one. What if she was just projecting her abandonment issues onto him? She had gotten irrationally upset when he'd left, and even yelled at him when he'd come back.

For fuck's sake…

"I…" Katrina took in a deep breath, held it and closed her eyes. "I kind of misled you when we first talked," she whispered. She heard him shift slightly in his seat, felt those butterflies from earlier turn to stones, and began talking, probably a bit took quickly. "I was basically fucking kidnapped and didn't know if rank would matter, and I thought being a noble might make you all less likely to kill me—well, not you specifically, but seeing as Thane Blackwall was such a bastard and you two clearly weren't on good terms with one another, so I…sort of lied." She opened her eyes, but couldn't bring herself to look at Cullen. "I was disowned. I have no rank, no titles. I'm essentially dead to my family."

Tears pricked her eyes as saying the words seemed to finally make it real. It wasn't just a worry in her head that she could shake with a few quips and feigned ignorance. She had been disowned.

For standing up for her fucking sister.

For doing what her damned family should have done to begin with.

This whole thing was so ridiculously stupid…

Arms wrapped around Katrina, drawing her to the side and messing up her perfectly placed blanket, exposing her toes to the cold. She forgot them as Cullen drew her to him, resting her head against his shoulder and stroking her hair. She leaned into him, her arms slipping out from under her blanket to wrap around him.

Despite feeling like she could burst into tears, she managed to rein in her unruly emotions after a few sniffles.

"It's alright to cry," Cullen murmured, leaning back a little to look down at her, concern clear on his features.

"And get my face all wet and freeze to death? No, thank you," Katrina mumbled, reaching back for the blanket and tugging it closer to her.

Cullen's grin returned, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek dry. "I can keep you warm."

Katrina buried her face against his shoulder to hide her embarrassment at his words. He probably didn't know how that could be taken multiple ways. Even as her mind wandered back to his offer from the other morning, she promptly realized she was curling up with him. She started to straighten up, but stopped herself.

Maker's ass and overthinking aside, this was where she wanted to be.

When he adjusted the way he was sitting a little to better keep her wrapped in the blanket, another thought occurred to her, and Katrina had to fight back a groan. With a sigh, she mumbled against his shoulder, "You didn't understand half of what I said, did you?"

Cullen had resumed stroking her hair, and his hand paused as she spoke before resuming the soothing repetition. "I…not all of it."

Lifting her head, she rocked back a little, a shiver running up her spine as his hand slid against her back, allowing her the freedom to leave, if she so chose. "Long, teary rant short, I'm not a lady anymore."

…-…

"Cullen, are we leaving or—"

Prior to the comment, Cullen had been quite content, drifting in a state somewhere between dreaming and waking, a gentle warmth curled inside of him. Regardless of what might come or what had already happened, the world at present was as it was meant to be.

While the words reached some part of his subconscious, it was the vigorous shake to his foot that finally prompted him to lift his head and open one eye as he stared down toward the entrance to his tent. Branson knelt there, disbelieving scowl in place, fingers still gripping Cullen's toes, ready to give him another shake if he didn't answer fast enough.

"Is it time to go already?"

"I don't believe you," was Branson's hissed response.

At Branson's words, Cullen glanced slowly, sleepily around his tent, trying to fathom what his brother was on about this time. First it was a travesty that they'd helped the Wolves, then his infatuation with a Lowlander, now…

He stopped his survey when he found Katrina beside him, head still resting against his shoulder, one arm slung across his chest. One of his hands was clasped around her bare one and the other was tangled in her hair. She was snuggled tightly underneath a blanket that he'd been considering not bothering to unpack the day before.

Thank the Lady for small miracles.

"You said you didn't steal her," Branson said, glaring pointedly when his voice elicited a soft groan from Katrina.

Carefully, Cullen slipped out from under her, smiling faintly when she curled into herself as soon as he was gone, mumbling something about the cold, though it wasn't enough to wake her. He brushed some of her hair back from her face, fingertips lingering on her cheek before he finally hauled himself up and out of his tent.

The sun wasn't even over the mountain peaks yet. He turned to Branson, who now stood beside him, arms crossed. "I didn't steal her."

"Then why are you sleeping with her?" Branson snapped. He pointed toward the tent. "Don't you remember the stories? Lowlanders equate sex to bonding forever and all that nonsense!"

Cullen scratched at his bare chest, nails scraping across his light dusting of chest hair as he stared at Branson, his brain still too muddled with sleep to be able to muster the concern deemed necessary by his brother. While he could, admittedly, remember those stories, he'd couldn't help but consider that the thought of forever wasn't nearly as terrifying as Branson was making it out to be.

"We didn't have sex."

Rubbing his hands against his face so that they covered most of it, Branson finally spread his fingers just enough to peek at Cullen. "If she was just one, single Lowlander, whose presence wouldn't drag her world into ours, I could see this working. There'd be a ridiculous amount of grumbling in the hold, but people would get over it, so long as she was willing to respect our traditions. But you yourself said she's going to have assassins or whatever other manner of Lowlanders coming for her. The longer she's with us, the more danger we're in." He paused, spitting to the side and glaring at the tents still up. His was—of course—already packed. "Why should we die for what the Wolves have done?"

"I'm not having this argument with you again," Cullen muttered. His earlier calm was slowly being whittled away by Branson's concerns. As much as he'd like to dismiss them, the truth was that even if he wasn't too worried—after all, Lowlanders didn't come this far south, so if they did figure out that Katrina was with them, they'd be stumbling blind, giving the Avvar time to prepare and pick them off—Branson's fears would be echoed over and over in the hold. Cullen needed to have answers for them, needed to have good reasons for why Katrina belonged with them. With him.

He'd been hoping to talk with Galyan, his augur, about it before addressing the hold. The Gods had defended Katrina before, so surely they would do so again. Once they'd spoken, no one would be able to do much of anything about her presence, regardless of whether they disliked her.

Branson set his jaw, clearly trying not to sulk as he crossed his arms. "We've already lost Mia. We don't need to lose you, too."

Clapping an arm around Branson's shoulders, Cullen tousled his brother's hair, grinning when Branson cried out and batted him away. "What do you think is going to happen? Katrina's going to drag me back to her Lowlands to be her husband?" Even as Branson scowled at the absurdity of it—they both knew that Lowlanders didn't steal their partners—Cullen's smile slipped, his gaze wandering back toward his tent. He thought back to the night before. "Honestly, I don't think she can go back to the Lowlands."

At that, Branson paused, shifting his weight. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She said she's not a lady anymore," Cullen murmured, the events coming more clearly into focus and further ruining his mood. She'd come to see him out of the blue, just to tell him that—he'd been rather hoping her appearance would have had something to do with his offer to her, though it hadn't been brought up.

Cullen hadn't been able to keep up with most of her explanation—she'd been speaking far too quickly for that—but he was certain that with the way she'd seemed so upset that it was a recent turn of events. Despite wanting to ask her more about it, she'd shifted the conversation away to idle stories that had little to do with anything, and he had listened and shared his own, not wanting to force her to talk about something that obviously pained her.

She'd fallen asleep telling him about a dwarven writer she'd met once at a book signing, and he hadn't seen a point in waking her up just to take her to her tent when he could let her rest with him. There was no harm, surely.

"What do you mean she's not a lady anymore?" Branson asked, suspicion thick in his voice.

With a shrug, Cullen motioned toward the tent. "That's what she said."

"Tis likely because of her time spent alone in the company of men."

Both Branson and Cullen turned to see Morrigan was up and already breaking down her own tent. She didn't bother looking at them as she continued. "Is it not true that Lowlanders'…purity is highly valued? She cannot be wed if she cannot prove that she has kept herself from another man's bed. And after being in the wilderness so long, with the 'barbaric' Avvar, who will believe her when she goes home and says that nothing happened?"

"She wouldn't have come into my tent—" Cullen tried to object. There was no way this could be their fault. He felt knots twisting in his stomach, though…

The reason Morrigan was the one coming with them out of all the Wolves was because she was not only knew the common tongue so well, but was also particularly well versed in all matters involving the Lowlands. She'd studied it for quite some time, and Thane Blackwall and Dorian had thought her expertise would be useful in further translations.

"If I had to guess, 'twould be that this happened far before our little venture back to your hold. She was left alone with Dorian, was she not?" Morrigan kept packing away her things, still not deeming the Lions worth her direct attention. "We thought of healing her, but her culture dictates that a man and woman must not be left alone together, lest something scandalous happen." Morrigan rocked back onto her feet, holding her bundled tent under an arm as she finally met their gazes. "Tis irrelevant that she'd never need worry about any misstep on Dorian's part, as he'd be more likely to steal you than her," she pointed at Branson, and then let her hand slip back down to her side.

As Branson and Cullen exchanged an uneasy look, Morrigan shrugged. "By saving her, you ruined her in the eyes of her people. If she says she cannot go home, 'twould be why."