Ghosts

Oh no… no… Gods, not the story… Natasja collapsed more than she sat down, her knees giving out and buckling. She was reluctant to look at Brynjolf, ashamed of her persistent questioning, afraid of the words he was about to speak. She stared at her scuffed boots and the sprigs of grass poking out from beneath them. If he saw her eyes, he would know she understood, as she understood about all things painful. But she didn't want to understand; she wanted to be ignorant, just this once, for certain uncovered truths might have her fleeing toward… anywhere but Riften. The most dreadful ache in the pit of her stomach rose as she stared at the stone, the silence unbearable. Say something, say something….

"I don't need to hear the story. I'm sure I know-"

"No, you don't know," he interrupted, his voice soft and tinged with grief. "Anabel was not my wife, but… she would've been. She was in the Guild, a promising thief, too. So skilled and clever." He smiled sadly. "There was a time when I had fierce enemies, only I didn't realize it. Too naïve, too… eager for riches to care. I stole from the wrong people and Ana paid for it with her life."

There were so many lines furrowing his brow and only unhappiness and pain could have put them there. Worse, was that he looked vulnerable. She began to feel uncomfortable watching him like this; it almost seemed a violation of his privacy. Natasja closed her eyes for a moment.

"It was her choice to join the Guild, wasn't it?"

"It was, and my choice that night led Anabel here. Every assassin knows the way to kill a man without shedding blood is to take what is most valuable from him."

She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "Brynjolf, I'm sorry. I… have no words to say."

He went on with the story, attempting to purge the sorrow from his soul. "She suffered first, unspeakable things done before I found her. Never again, I swore I would never allow this to happen again." He ran his thumb across Natasja's cheek, a tear escaping his eye. "I'm sorry, lass. I was foolish back there at the stables. Caught up in the moment. But we cannot be together in the way you wish to be."

"Why can't we? I can handle myself. I'm experienced when it comes to threat and fear, Brynjolf, not a novice," she chattered on. "You don't know what I've done, the things I've escaped from. What happened with Anabel was undoubtedly because she hadn't the skills to survive."

"Perhaps." He nodded somberly. "But it was mostly my fault." He turned away from her. "You deserve someone who can give you all of the things that please you."

Gently, she grasped his chin with her hand, forcing him to look into her eyes. "You please me," she said softly.

She tilted her head and brushed her lips against his. For a moment, he melted into the kiss, and his affection made her dizzy. She felt rushes of emotion she had not experienced since her life in Whiterun. When she felt his hands tenderly cup her face, all of the barriers she had set up against those emotions crumbled like a dam bursting. She felt herself responding honestly to the desire his kiss ignited in her. Then it was over.

"You are free to leave the Guild."

"And that's all you have to say to me?" she asked, practically shouting and gaping at him.

"I honestly didn't think I would need to tell you this so soon. And I knew it would hurt. But I'm saving you from further upset this way." He stood up unsteadily, and his shoulders slumped. "It's your choice. If your things are cleared out by tomorrow, I'll explain it to Mercer. No worries."

"Damn you, Brynjolf! And damn your guilt. I'm not running away," she asserted. "Maven and Delvin told me about the Meadery job. Whiterun is where I'll be heading tomorrow. So you can take your protective instincts and shove them up your arse!" She picked at the grass viciously, her eyes veiled by long bangs and her cheeks tight.

He'd never seen anyone so angry with him, or miserable because of him. But it was for the best; better to have her furious with him than face the alternative down the road. He reined in the guilt, pushed back the desire to cradle her in his arms, and forced his tone to grow cold.

"Be careful then, lass. A lot of skeevers live in those tunnels. They're bloodthirsty and disease-ridden creatures."

"Yeah, thanks for the tip!"she shouted angrily, wiping away the tears the ache in her heart had drawn out. She sat with her head on one knee, taking shallow breaths until the pain lessened. "You're a damn fool," she whispered, unsure if he'd heard her.

He did. With long strides, he left the cemetery, glancing back only once to see her hunched and silent, misery consuming her.

To the Flagon then, for a stiff drink or two.

Once inside the Cistern, Brynjolf approached Mercer before heading to the Flagon. The older, but not necessarily wiser man didn't raise his head from the Guild's books. Brynjolf waited a moment, then spoke up impatiently. "Natasja's leaving for Whiterun tomorrow."

"So, the new girl is eager for more work. Good. Maybe you are right about her."

"I am."

"Still, she's an amateur. I want you to go to Whiterun with her. I'll take care of things here."

"What?"

"Tail her if you don't want be around her," Mercer said, carefully dipping the tip of his quill into the inkpot, avoiding Brynjolf's eyes. "She'll need the backup. I'm sure of it,"

Mercer was hiding something. A sixth sense in Brynjolf was sure of it. "And why are you so certain, Mercer? What aren't you telling me?"

Mercer set his quill down on the table carefully, too carefully. "Is there a problem, Brynjolf? I do not like to be interrogated." Brynjolf backed away, his palms held up as he yielded. "Good." As if his demand wasn't insulting enough, Mercer threw a coin at him. "Don't forget to eat, hm?"

"By the Divines, this must be my punishment," he grumbled walking away and unaware he had just passed Delvin. "I don't know what's going on around here."

"What's that?" Delvin asked.

"Ah, nothing, nothing." He stopped, still staring, and forgetting Natasja and Delvin's earlier tryst. "Anything interesting happen tonight, Del?"

"Nah, it was much less excitin' than I would've liked. That Nord's a curious one. I thought there was a right good tumble in my future, but she changed her mind. Said she was interested in another and it would be wrong to forget him."

"Did she now?" Surprised didn't describe his feelings. Yes, he was intrigued by her. Impressed. Aroused. But not surprised. "I wonder who he is."

Delvin saw Brynjolf's mind racing. He'd known him far too long to miss that kind of reaction. "She didn't say much. Just that he was a lousy pickpocket, but a good man. Know anyone like that?"

"Can't say that I do."

"Right." Delvin took a step closer. "You know, Bryn, I can give you a bit of help with your sneakin' skills. You've grown lazy with your high and mighty position here, I think."

He stared at Delvin, and after a pause he said, "Mercer wants me to tag along with her to Whiterun."

"Ahh, very interestin'. I'm surprised Mercer's sending you off. Something strange about that, eh?"

"Maybe. Keep an eye out, Del. The way things have been around here, you never know who's got your back."

"Mercer thinks I'm daft anyway. Should be easy enough." Then, as an afterthought, he said, "And Bryn, don't play cards with the Nord. She cheats like a bandit."

His short laugh sounded strangled. "Aye, she is a cagey one, isn't she?"

A sudden sashay of hips distracted the two men and their eyes went to Natasja. "Speakin' of the temptress," Delvin whispered.

Natasja pulled Delvin toward her, not sparing a glance at Brynjolf, and her words were all jumbled together in a rush. "Del, can I talk to you a moment? If you're not too mad at me about tonight, I could use a few pointers from a master sneak before I head out."

"No worries, girl," he whispered with a pat on her shoulder, and then raised his voice. "And I was tellin' Bryn he needed some help with that too. How about a little class then?"

"Count me out, Del. I've got packing to do." Brynjolf walked away slowly, looking at his feet.

Delvin shrugged.

"Where is he off to?" Natasja asked.

"If I tell you that, you better not let him know who you heard it from."

She pounded her chest twice and held up two crossed fingers. "Thief's honor."

Delvin smirked. "Whiterun. Mercer's order."

"Shit. I don't need a bloody nursemaid," she snapped.

"Bryn's been called many things, but nursemaid isn't one of them. I'm not goin' to hold back on you, Nat—can I call you that?"

"Yeah, whatever," she said unsmiling, her eyes flitting around the Cistern.

"Such sour moods around here," Delvin remarked. "Let me ask you somethin', Nat. Did he tell you? The story, that is.

She looked at him apprehensively. "Was it really as bad as he said, Del?"

"Worse. Never seen anything like it." When he paused, she eyed him curiously. "I shadowed him. We knew they were ruthless killers, and I couldn't let him go it alone. When I got to him, there weren't any of the bastards left for me to take care of. He'd hacked them to pieces, blood and guts everywhere, and he just… held her in his arms. It was right out of a tragic love story, I tell ya."

"Oh, Gods… It's a wonder he didn't go mad."

"He did. At least for a while," Delvin said sadly, as though he were speaking to himself. "Ana was somethin' though. Sweet little thing, but a trickster like one I've never seen. She'd pull these pranks on Bryn, get him all riled up, making him look like a fool in front of us. Then she'd bat her eyelashes, cook him a meal, and soften him right up again. They were quite a pair. Made the Guild a lot of coin too." He straightened and put on a smile. "But enough talk about that. Come on! Delvin'll have you sneaking like a fox in no time."

"Give me a couple minutes, will you, Del?" she said as she turned to leave. "I have to do something first."

"You know where to find me." He nodded. "And, Nat, go easy on the man. For his sake."

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes soft and thoughtful. "I'll keep what you said in mind."

Natasja picked up her pace and turned the corner leading to Brynjolf's private room. She tiptoed to the doorway, and saw him sitting on his bed, his head cradled in his hands. Shit. Two sharp raps on the door and his head lifted.

She took a step toward him. "I have to say something to you."

"Sorry, lass. I have important things to do. How about another time?"

"You're just sitting there!" she said, quirking her lips. "Brynjolf, I want you to listen to me, right now." His eyes went dark at her demand, but she held her ground. "Please." When he sighed and shook his head, she dove in headfirst. "I want to apologize for my behavior in the cemetery. I was out of line," she said without taking a breath. "And secondly, I… I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Anabel. I don't want to dwell on bad memories, but you think no one knows what you went through. I'm here to tell you that I do know. I truly do."

His expression softened, which made her throat tighten just a little.

"I appreciate that, lass. I'd… hoped there wasn't heartbreak like that in your past, but I guess that hope was in vain."

"I like to keep the past in the past. People change. Circumstances change and I go along with all of it," she said stoically, but Brynjolf thought she sounded rather desolate. "My future was altered by… strange events. It was inevitable, but that doesn't mean I give them control over me today." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Listen to me. I sound like one of the priests at the temple now. Look, I only wanted to apologize. "

Brynjolf tried to imagine Natasja sounding desperate and could not. He could think only of her low, warm, controlled voice, her rigid quiet. "I'd be willing to listen to your tales, if you have a mind to talk about it."

"Maybe on the road to Whiterun?" she said with a smug expression.

"Damn that sneak." Brynjolf jumped to his feet and paced like a caged animal. "I know you don't want me to tag along, lass, but I can't refuse Mercer's request."

"I know you can't. It's fine with me," she said, her brows knitted together. "Well… we'll make the most of it then. I promise to keep at least twenty paces ahead of you at all times. So you can watch my back." She faced him, grinning mischievously.

"Don't you have some training to get to?"

"You think you're sick of me now?" Stepping back out the door, she flung her hair over her shoulder and looked at him boldly. "Wait until you spend a few days alone with me. You'll be crying for your mum after an hour of my lectures on herbs and wildlife."

"Challenge accepted, lass," he said, and ran a hand through his hair as she disappeared. Damn you, Mercer.

Natasja and Brynjolf rode all day, mostly in silence. Contrary to her strong statements the night before, she had withdrawn, wearing the same mask of cold indifference she'd worn from the beginning. What few diversions they had were of the bandit variety, and the occasional wolf pack. It was nothing they couldn't handle working as a team. When Natasja set to killing alone though, her swiftness and brutal ferocity often left Brynjolf speechless. He tried to question her, ask where she had learned to wield her sword with such force. All he got back was a glare, to which Brynjolf would say "Now, now, lass" every single time. It didn't make the travelling any easier, but her exasperated hisses entertained Brynjolf immensely.

Just before nightfall, they made camp on the southern shore of the Lake Geir. They were not far from Ivarstead, but Natasja insisted they camp in a pleasant, semi-wooded spot rather than venture into town to the inn. Brynjolf was curious, but didn't push her for more information. It had been quite a long time since he spent a night sleeping under the stars, so he agreed, and the idea of spending time alone with her was fascinating to him.

Twilight bathed the lakeshore with an ethereal glow, painting the sky with the same pale violet as the flowers clustered where their horses stood tied to a tree. Natasja tended the fire while Brynjolf laid out a supper of bread and fish stew. They sat by the small blaze for a while, Natasja munching an apple and Brynjolf honing his blades. The crackling of the coals and the sounds of the crickets all around them made her think of the times she and her sister had camped when they were children. Those happy memories spurred her to speak at last.

"They're awfully loud tonight."

"Who?"

"The crickets. The warmer it is, the louder they sing."

He reached out and plucked a cricket from her hair, holding it in front of her eyes. "I think this one likes you."

He didn't see the finger coming before it poked him in the eye as she jumped from her log, squealing and flailing about. She scurried backwards, her hands slapping her head pointlessly, her hair flying in all directions.

"Whoa, lass! It's only a cricket!"

"I hate them!" In a frenzy of movement, she moved nearer to Brynjolf. When he hauled her up in his arms, she continued to thrash wildly. "Put me down!"

She kicked and twisted until he nearly dropped her. "Be still, lass. For the love of… Are you trying to attract every bandit within shouting distance?" When he started to laugh harder, she began to slip from his grasp. Ignoring the ache developing in his back, he bent forward, and he let her hit the ground, feet first.

"Damn insects." She brushed her arms of invisible bugs and shivered. "No, I'm not trying to attract every bandit. I … ach… bugger off, Bryn." She pulled away from him as he looked at her with an outrageously amused expression. How foolish she was. She should simply accept the inevitable: he would see a few of the irrational fears she possessed on this trip. She puffed up angrily. "Don't make fun of me."

"Never, lass." A half-smile turned up his lips and his brows rose, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Maybe you should trade in your sword for a fly-swatter when we get to Whiterun."

"Ha. Ha." She couldn't help but laugh at herself then. And Brynjolf was trying so hard to keep a straight face, it was all she could do not to reach out and punch his arm. Although she doubted he would have taken the gesture in the spirit in which it was intended.

Her amusement made him scowl. "Are you… are you laughing at me now?"

"I'm laughing at us," she corrected him. "But just so you know, I resisted the urge to bring you down and beat you until you begged for mercy. I'll keep that in my pocket for another time."

"Is that a promise?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as he reclaimed his piece of driftwood and sat.

"Oh, yes, Brynjolf. That is a promise."

Soon the two of them were settled on their logs, the atmosphere much lighter, the fire much warmer, and their bodies much closer.

"I need to tell you about something, Brynjolf. And I'm not sure how to start."

He raised his eyebrows and sat upright. "And what is that, lass?" Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and stifled a yawn. "No, let me guess - you hate my stew."

"No, no," she said, smiling. "Your stew is actually quite good. About Whiterun..." Natasja stopped. Looking into those concerned green eyes, she faltered. "I… I have a pretty nice house and we can stay there," she said looking away. "But more importantly, I am the Thane of Whiterun."

"The Thane of Whiterun?" he repeated, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. "Well, that's impressive."

"Whiterun was good to me, for a time. As I told you before, there are many things you don't know or understand about me. I'm… different than most."

"I'm starting to believe you now." The admission pleased him and boosted his curiosity. "Tell me about your time there. Any friends or family?"

"Well, Lydia was my housecarl. That's partly why she came with me to Riften."

"I see. So she became your friend as well. That is to say, you seemed close."

"Somewhat. She reminded me of my sister, Cora," she paused, taking a deep breath, "back when we lived in Ivarstead."

"Is your sister still there?"

"I don't know where she is. She may dead, for all I know," she said, feeling a bit braver. Her gaze went to the lake, distant and misty. "I was a few years older than Cora when we were orphaned. For a time, people took us in, fed us, but as we grew older, it was necessary to flee to safer havens, to protect my sister from… men with few, or no, morals. Along the way, I lost her to a family I thought would care for us. The man of the house turned out to be less than kind though. Hmph. He was no man."

Her face darkened when she'd talked about her sister. The sadness that followed when she told him about her loss made him reach for her, but she pulled back.

"Cora was so pretty, quiet and shy. I was… loud, clumsy, and marred with scars, and I fought back for her, hurt him when I could. I guess he didn't have the balls to kill me, so he drugged me and put me on a wagon bound for Solitude. I spent half a year trying to get back to that farm, and when I finally got there, it was burned to the ground. I dug up more information, followed leads based on her description, searching in vain for another year, just… wandering, trying to stay alive long enough to find her."

He sat quietly and listened to her every word, not interrupting her once.

"One day I set foot in the wrong place and was deemed a Stormcloak rebel. I wound up a prisoner headed for the executioner's block in Helgen. I escaped with the help of a man from Riverwood, and a dragon, if you can imagine that, and then eventually headed for Whiterun."

"Sweet Divines," he whispered. For a moment, he swore the wind was knocked out of him. He was surprised by her admission, by her sudden vulnerability. It softened his hesitant feelings toward her. He pulled her close and comforted her, and this time, she let him hold her tighter. "I had no idea, lass."

"I have few tears left to shed now. But please don't pity me, Brynjolf."

"I'm not. I'm only amazed you survived."

"No more than me," she said with a curious smile. "Anyway, when I first saw Lydia in Whiterun, I had to make sure she became my housecarl and not some oaf's plaything. She was so bitter though, and she hated her station in life. I tried my best to develop a relationship with her, a sisterhood of sorts, but… it wasn't meant to be. She was loyal to the end though. Unlike myself."

"Now, lass, that's not fair of you to say. What happened at Goldenglow was rotten luck."

Her face drained white and tears formed in her eyes, but they didn't spill. "I left her to die, Brynjolf. Left her body to be taken by scavengers." She poked at the fire before tossing the stick into the flames, crackling embers flying into the air violently. "Like a coward."

Brynjolf felt a chill run down his spine. "I like to think I would have drawn my blade across Ana's throat to keep her from that end, but could I have in reality? I don't know." He looked away, hoping his own shame didn't show. "Sometimes, we have no other choice but to run, Natasja." Her head shot up, and wide-eyed, she looked at him. "I'm sorry, did I offend?"

"You said my name."

"Aye, and a lovely name it is. It suits you."

The heat from the fire didn't burn nearly as much as the flush creeping across her face. "Well, that's enough about me for now. I'm going to have a dip in the lake before it gets too dark. You might do the same," she said, wrinkling her nose.

He wanted to change the mood as well, and he took the necessary steps to prevent the negativity from escalating. "Are you saying I smell?" He squinted, a small smile turning up his lips.

"Worse than Hammersteed."

His expression turned teasing. "Last one in is a rotten egg!"

She launched from her log and ran toward the lake, stripping off her armor down to her underclothes, and then skimming her hands along the skin of her pale and muscular body. Scars, some old and some new, marred her from shoulder to toe, but they didn't take away from the beauty of her form, only adding to the history Brynjolf imagined as he watched her, knowing he was obviously going to be the rotten egg.

When he finally stood up, he shucked his armor and ran with a speed usually reserved for sprinting away from the Riften guards. As Natasja dipped a toe into the water, she peeked over her shoulder and saw him approaching, all shoulders and chest, with muscles rippling like the small waves on the water she stood in. She felt her own body tighten at the sight, liquid heat beginning to flood her veins. Aware she was gaping at him, she offered a half-smile before diving under the water. When she surfaced, he was there in front of her, rivulets of water sliding down his cheeks.

"Bryn! Gods, you're fast!"

"You were under longer than you realize."

"I know exactly how long I was under." She threw her arms back and floated in the waist deep water, her barely covered breasts bobbing on the surface.

It took everything he had in him not to scoop her up and have his way with her back on shore. Thankfully, the chilly water kept the evidence of his attraction at bay. "It must have snowed early in the hills. This water is a bit cold for me," he said, splashing her face.

"And you call yourself a Nord," she teased. On a whim, she stood and reached out to touch him. She let her hand linger, running it down his arm soothingly, and he didn't rebuff her. She embraced him then, wrapping her arms around his chest, her head nestled into his neck, seeking comfort and peace. She felt him breathe out as he snaked his arms about her waist and pulled her closer for a brief squeeze.

When they loosened their hold on each other, she touched his face, gently guiding it towards her own, and then planted a sweet kiss on his parted lips.

"I see it in your eyes, Brynjolf. You see something you like, beyond a budding master thief."

"You are a stubborn, stubborn woman." He caught her hand and held it. Slowly, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, not taking his eyes from hers. "Let's get back to the fire and explore this… new development."

"My stubbornness has been mentioned by you more than once," she said as he led her to shore. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not usually. I can appreciate the quality since it is one we share."

A smile stretched across her face. "Then I'm glad it doesn't count against me."

"Not at all," he said, the water splashing around them until they reached the fire.

Brynjolf tossed a large blanket at her and took one for himself. Once she was wrapped up tightly, he laid out their bedrolls and motioned to her to sit by the fire. Together, they watched it slowly burn, both waiting for the other to start. After a minute, Natasja could not remain silent any longer.

"You've seen how I protect myself, so you must know that if I die, it will be because of my own slip-up and not because of you."

"It's more than that, lass. I can give you a dozen reasons for my reluctance." He took her hand in his. "I won't lie and say I haven't grown fond of you these last weeks. But… if it were to become more, if we… It's a dangerous path to tread, lass."

"No more so than any other risk we take every day," she said, poking his arm playfully.

"This could be the biggest mistake of our lives."

"Or it could be the smartest thing we've ever done. You're so fond of telling everyone how short life is. We may never see our next birthdays, Brynjolf. Why can't you just enjoy life's pleasures? Think of how satisfying it would be to have a warm body next to yours at night, a friend to confide in, a partner to pass the time with."

"I already have those things, lass. Why complicate it with… emotions?"

"You know as well as I do that at times, the road is long and dark, and the mountains unscalable. But we keep walking because we're human, and we don't always make perfect choices. We take two steps forward and one step back, but it doesn't really matter. All that really matters is being on the right road."

Not only was he thinking about her constantly, but he was beginning to believe her because he wanted to. Because his awakening feelings for her weren't giving him any other choice. And he worried about her too. "Believing that might prove dangerous, for both of us."

"Bryn-" she started to protest, but he held his hand up to stop her.

"Then make a promise to me," he said. "And if you keep it, I'll consider what you've said."

"Oh, come on, Brynjolf. We're not haggling over the price of a few potatoes."

Brynjolf's expression was hard and unrelenting. "Here are my terms," he said, taking a deep breath. "You promise to tell me one long story about yourself every day until we're back in Riften, and I will… react accordingly, with an open mind."

They sat for a moment, Natasja smiling warily at him, and she was trying to come up with something clever to say, but it never came. She nodded.

"Is that a yes?" he asked when he could breathe again.

"That's a yes," she responded with a grin, her enthusiasm making him smile in spite of himself.

"Good." It was his turn to poke her back. "And another thing… You spout the same foolishness I've heard from Delvin's lips. You haven't fallen for his drivel, have you?"

"Of course I have. Delvin is an inspiration to me," she said with a wink, although Brynjolf had a feeling she wasn't completely lying.

"Don't ever tell him that! His ego is large enough for two men."

"But yours isn't." She met his gaze with promise in her deep blue eyes. "I can count on one hand the men I've met whom I've trusted. And you're there, right on this finger," she said holding up her pointer, then she slowly held one finger out at a time and ticked them off. "And this one… and this one…."

"Ah, you humble me, lass," he murmured as he reached out to draw a finger across her cheek. "I swear you are a temptress, as Delvin said, maybe a witch out to entrap me."

"I am neither a witch nor a temptress. I am only myself."

"And a rare creature you are."

Her smile was beautiful as she reached up and traced his face with the tips of her fingers. "If you truly wish to remain just friends, I will respect your decision." She allowed him to take her into his arms, yet held her head back to stare into his eyes. "But it won't come to that."

"Stubborn and cocky. Those things alone can get you killed."

"So can a woman scorned."

"You are incorrigible," he said, smiling. "You could stay up all night and yammer on, can't you?" She let go a chuckle of sorts, and he sighed, leaning down slowly and brushing his lips across hers. "We'd better get some sleep. I'll keep one eye open and my dagger in hand while you rest." As if I could sleep right now, he thought, finding he could not deny the affect she had on him, and the temptation was making it increasingly more difficult to resist her.

She rolled off the log and onto her bedroll. "I am tired. Will you… sleep next to me?"

"Aye." The dying fire did little to warm him, so he curled up against her, absorbing her warmth. She's right about having a warm body near. "But hands off, lass," he ordered sternly, albeit with a smile.

"Killjoy," she whispered. His taste was still on her on her lips, and pleasure mingled with agony as he pressed into her back. "You smell better now, Bryn."

"Smell better and feel better."

She released a throaty moan, which reached deep inside him and tore at his resolve. She wasn't a classic beauty, oozing charm and softness, and she wasn't a lean and graceful duelist who moved like a well-honed assassin. Gods knew what else she had gone through that had changed her into the quarrelsome warrior she was now. But in spite of all that, she was on the verge of making him forget every scrap of common sense he possessed. For all his thoughts to push her away, his hand was still resting on her arm, stroking her soothingly.

"You're cheating now you know," she whispered.

"I am." Strong fingers lingered on her shoulder, stroking it, sending her mind whirling.

"Honesty. Another trait we share."

"Excuse me, but have you seen Natasja?"

Without thinking, she snarled, "Shut up," then softened her approach. "Please, Bryn, I can't… stop touching me."

She felt the low rumble of his laugh against her back. "Not just yet."

"Evil man…."

He traced a finger down a long and narrow puffy scar on her arm.

"… a sabre cat claw." He moved lower, down to her forearm where a smooth circular scar lay. "…a burning coin, applied very slowly and very painfully." Brynjolf had to control the wince she would feel if he drew away. She simply yawned, impassive, her breathing deeper now. He rested his fingers on the back of her hand, his arm wrapped around her, and on his palm, he felt the roughness that encircled her wrist. "… Shackles did that... matches my other wrist…so tired… g'night… Bryn."

He snuggled closer and sighed, a whisper coming from his lips. "Sweet dreams, lass."

He didn't see the smile cross her face, but when she squeezed his hand before succumbing to sleep, he felt goose bumps rise on his own flesh.

Until tomorrow, my fair temptress.

A/N: Hugs and thanks to massivelyattacked for giving this a beta read for me while my friend and regular beta, BiffMcLaughlin, is busy with RL. That sneaky Delvin… I really want to call him Devlin. And hugs to Biff and Zute for their support and infinite encouragement.

I just love all the alerts, comments, and visitors this story has been receiving. Thank you so much, readers. Keep it coming! Also, if you want to throw me any suggestions for the story development, I'm all ears. I have a good idea where it's going, but nothing is set in stone.