she had swooned. What difference did it make? She didn’t
have to be strong all the time. As Nicholas had said, no one
was strong every moment of every day….
„You have juice on the corner of your mouth.“ Nicholas
leaned forward to wipe away the • errant drops with his index
finger. „And you have raspberry lips.“
„So do you,“ Silver said placidly, glancing at his well-
shaped lips dyed red-purple by the same juice that stained her
own. „And you have some on your chin too. You look as if
you’re wearing war paint.“
Nicholas wiped the offending smudge away. „I’m surprised
you’re not complaining that I managed to grab a few handfuls
of your berries to stave off starvation. Do you always eat so
heartily?“
She nodded. „I like to eat. There are so many wonderful
tastes.“ She sighed blissfully. „Do you know that some flowers
have a lovely taste? When I was a little girl, there was a
honeysuckle bush beside the front door of the homestead at
Killara. I used to pull the blossoms and suck the sweetness. I
love to taste delicious things and breathe the scents of the earth
and the flowers.“ She inhaled deeply. „And woodsmoke. Is
there anything more wonderful than the smell of woodsmoke?
Tangy and rich.“
Nicholas gazed at her thoughtfully. Sitting there across the
fire, she was a wild, lovely pagan, completely at home in her
surroundings. She radiated a natural sensuality that formed an
aura of heat that reached out and touched like the warmth of
the fire itself. If she was so responsive to taste and scent, how
much more responsive would she be to touch?
But he didn’t want to think about Silver’s responses
tonight. He promised her a truce that was already proving a
difficult vow to keep. He asked abruptly, „Do you want any
more berries? There are plenty of bushes in that patch
downriver. I would have brought more if I’d had a bucket. All
I had was my handkerchief in which to carry them.“
„Are you angry with me?“ She suddenly looked like a hurt
child. „Did I truly eat more than my share?“ She jumped to her
feet. „Stay here. I’ll get you some more raspberries. Why
didn’t you tell me you were hungry?“
„Silver…“ His frown vanished and he began to laugh. „I’m
not hungry and I’m not angry with you. I was joking before.“
She gazed at him uncertainly. „You’re sure?“
„I’m sure,“ he said a trifle impatiently. „For God’s sake,
can’t you tell the difference?“
„No,“, she said simply. „Not always. I suppose I don’t
really have a very good sense of humor. No one has really
joked with me much.“
Poignant tenderness caused his throat to tighten helplessly.
Her answer caught him off guard and touched him with
unbearable intensity. Christ, why did she have to say things
like that? Wild child, lost child, fighting for acceptance with
every ounce of her being and nothing left over for laughter. „I
was joking,“ he repeated. „Now, sit down and finish your
berries.“
She dropped to the ground, her gaze fixed thoughtfully on
the fire. „Of course, my cousin Patrick sometimes joked with
me. Patrick laughs a lot, but it’s never unkind.“
„And was some of the laughter unkind?“
„At times.“-She lifted her gaze from the flames. „I am a
half-breed.“
The simple words hurt. He couldn’t stand it. He
deliberately shuttered his emotions and smiled carelessly. „So
am I. Serf and boyar.“ He continued lightly. „I never
understood why a pure strain was considered more prestigious
than a mixed. More is surely better.“
„Valentin told me your mother was not of the nobility.“
His lips twisted. „Much to her dismay.“ He shrugged.
„When I was a small child I tried to comfort her by telling her
about the firebird, but she dismissed it as foolishness.“
„The firebird? You called me that once.“
„Did I? I don’t remember. I recall thinking you reminded
me of a firebird the first time I saw you.“ His gaze gravely met
hers. „The firehbird is a half-breed too, Silver. Half diety of
the sun and half mortal bird.“
She smiled tentatively. „A fairy story?“
He nodded. „A fable. There are many stories about the
firebird in Russia.“ He turned away. „Lie down and try to
sleep. This moss won’t make too poor a bed.“
She lay down, curling up and laying her cheek on her arm.
„Tell me about the firebird.“
He gazed into the flames. „I told you, there are many
stories.“
„Tell me your favorite.“
He laughed softly. „My firebird isn’t a god but a goddess.“
„It would be,“ Silver said dryly.
„She was a creature so magnificent, no words could
describe her. Her wings were like flames and her eyes pure
crystal. She ate only golden apples and just one of her feathers
could bring light to midnight darkness and banish the fears of
the night.“
„Beautiful,“ Silver murmured dreamily. „She must have
been beautiful….“
„Yes, she was beautiful, but she was more. She was
magical.“ Silver’s eyes were shining in the firelight like the
shimmering crystal of the firebird, and for a moment he lost
track of what he was saying. Then he pulled his gaze away and
fastened it once again on the flames. „There was a mighty
Cossack warrior who lived in a desolate, barren land. He was
very ambitious and wanted to become a great leader. Then one
day the firebird appeared before him and he climbed on her
back and they soared away in a flare of flaming brilliance,
locked together in a secret world of radiance. The warrior had
never known such excitement and happiness, but in time he
yearned for the victories and glories of the mortal world. So
the firebird returned the warrior to his own land. She told the
warrior she loved him but would not hold him with her magic.
Instead, she gave him her magical blessing that insured he
would receive all he desired, and she flew off toward the sun.“
„Sad,“ Silver murmured sleepily.
„The warrior became a great leader and won riches and
fame. Many maidens wished to mate with him as the years
passed, but he found he couldn’t bring himself to marry. He
continued to prosper but gradually realized a great loneliness
was devouring his soul. Fame and riches meant nothing if he
couldn’t have his firebird. He offered his palace and all his
riches to any man who could lure the firebird back to earth and
capture her. Many men tried to win the prize and capture the
firebird, but to no avail. Finally, in great despair, the warrior
left his fine palace and journeyed back to the canyon where he
had last seen the firebird.“
„Was she there?“
„No, but he found one shining feather that had dropped
from her wing as she flew away from the earth toward the sun.
He picked it up and felt it throb as if it were alive beneath his
fingers. Then he heard the surging of her great wings and the
clouds parted and she landed beside him. She had felt his need
of her when he had grasped the feather and been summoned
back to him.“
„And they flew away together and lived happily ever after,“
Silver finished.
„Perhaps.“
„What do you mean, perhaps?“ Silver covered her lips with
her hand as she yawned. „How else could it end?“
„This is a Russian fable.“ Nicholas’s eyes twinkled.
„Which makes it more complex. There are two endings. In
one, the warrior mounted the back of the firebird and became
her mate forever. In the other ending, the firebird had been so
crazed by her grief that her heart now held only bitterness for