Wren’s eyes narrowed. “Believe me, when I kill you, you’ll know it wasn’t an accident.”
“I’m terribly comforted. Still, ladies first.”
Marguerite had a pretty good idea that Davith was starting a fight with Wren so she’d pay attention to him and not the edge, so she bit down her instinct to rise to Wren’s defense and began
inching along the wall herself. Shane hadn’t lied. If anything, he’d understated the case. There were spots where the path seemed to be held in place entirely by tufts of grass that had taken root in the rock crevices. In one or two places, there was barely six inches of path remaining at all.
“If mules are using this, it must be safe,” Marguerite muttered, following Davith following Wren following Shane.
“Being safe for mules doesn’t mean safe for humans,” Davith said over his shoulder.
“Aren’t we smarter than mules?”
He snorted loudly. “Sweetheart, I don’t think I’ve known more than a dozen people in my life who were smarter than a mule.”
“Oh look, something we agree on,” Wren said.
“I thought you didn’t like horses,” said Marguerite.
“I like horses fine. Horses don’t like berserkers. Mules are…” She frowned, obviously trying to think of a comparison. “Half of them won’t come near us for love or money, and the other half go out of their way to let you know that they aren’t impressed.”
“I’ve known women like that,” Davith said.
Fortunately, another treacherous switchback cut off Wren’s reply. Shane reached down with both hands and pulled Marguerite up onto the next level. For a moment their bodies were pressed full-length against each other. They both hesitated a moment too long, and then Shane hastily stepped back, and Marguerite stood aside to let Wren and Davith pass.
“You remember how I told you once not to bed him?” Davith murmured, letting the other two get farther ahead and out of immediate earshot.
Marguerite flapped her hand toward his face, as if he were a mosquito she could swat away. “You may have said something of the sort. It was none of your business then, and it still isn’t.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Davith, apparently unconcerned about whether or not it was his business. “You should definitely bed him at the soonest opportunity. In fact, once we hit the next wide spot in the trail, I’ll happily turn my back and engage the other one in small talk.”
She swatted at him again, narrowly missing his nose. He dropped back a step. Marguerite concentrated on her footing. Occasionally she’d glance up to see Shane’s broad back, still reassuringly far ahead.
She wasn’t going to ask.
She wasn’t.
It was none of his business.
Goddammit.
“Fine,” she hissed, twisting to glare at Davith. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Sweetheart, there’s so much unrelieved sexual tension between you two that I’m surprised your clothes don’t ignite. Bed him and be done with it before you grind your teeth into splinters.”
Marguerite realized that she had been grinding her teeth and deliberately unclenched her jaw. “It’s
not like that,” she muttered.
“The hell it isn’t.”
She grunted. A minute later she realized that it had been a pretty good version of a Shane-grunt, and had to unclench her jaw again.
“Cheer up,” said Davith. “It could always be worse.”
She grunted again. It was a lovely noncommittal noise that did not indicate either interest or agreement, and furthermore did not give the other person anything to work with. She was starting to see why Shane liked it so much.
Unfortunately it didn’t work on Davith. “Sure it could. You could have been dragged out of your nice cushy job sleeping with beautiful women and made into a fugitive, all because you had a moment of ill-considered mercy. Instead you get to skip along this trail that would give a mountain goat heartburn without a care in the world, other than your libido.”
“I am not skipping,” said Marguerite, planting her feet with extreme caution and reminding herself that if she took a swing at Davith, he would very likely plunge to his death. That would be bad.
Probably.
In theory, anyway.
“And at least the weather’s nice,” said Davith, gazing up at the mountain sky and the high white clouds.
Two hours later, it began to rain.
“YOU JUST HAD to say something about the weather,” Marguerite growled at Davith.
“I didn’t expect it to blow up so fast.”
“Flatlander,” said Wren. The four had taken temporary shelter under a large overhanging boulder, which meant that they were only getting rained on when the wind gusted. Unfortunately, since they were on the side of a mountain, this was approximately every ten seconds. “Weather changes fast in the mountains and you can’t see it coming.”
“At least it isn’t snow?” he said hopefully.
“Snow would be easier,” Shane said. Marguerite was pretty sure that he was standing partly in the rain, using his bulk to shield the other three. It was all very noble and self-sacrificing and faintly annoying. It was also keeping her dry, or at least, less wet.
“Easier?” said Davith, in disbelief.
Both Wren and Shane nodded. Wren added, “You don’t get wet as quickly. Being soaked through will kill you much faster than having snowflakes on your head.”
“Aren’t there…I dunno, avalanches and things, though?”
“There are…” Shane began.
“There, see? I don’t want to get knocked off the trail by an avalanche.”
“…but there are also mudslides,” the paladin finished.
Davith threw his hands in the air, narrowly missing Marguerite’s nose. “You know, given that I’m technically a prisoner, I should not have to be the optimist here!”
Shane and Marguerite grunted simultaneously, exchanged looks—his surprised, hers rueful—and then Shane gave about a tenth of a smile, clearly involuntarily, and looked hurriedly away.
“This isn’t letting up,” Wren said, after about twenty minutes. Shane nodded. Water dripped off the end of his nose.
“You’ve got more experience in this kind of territory than I do,” said Marguerite. “What’s our best plan?”
Wren sighed. “I hate to say it, but the longer we stand here in the rain, the colder we’re going to get. At least if we’re walking, we’ll be a little warmer, and we may find a better stopping point.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “In my country, there would be a shelter eventually, but I don’t know if we can count on that here. But even a hollow out of the wind would be preferable to this.”
“Right,” said Marguerite. “You heard the lady. Let’s go.”
Shane set out with Marguerite behind him. She glanced back to see Davith and Wren waging a small psychological battle over who would bring up the rear. Wren won, probably because she had an axe and Davith didn’t.
It was cold. It was wet. The trail didn’t melt away underneath them, which was about the best that you could give it. Marguerite kept her eyes on Shane’s back and realized that she was definitely, truly miserable because she wasn’t even ogling his backside.