Shayn glanced at Simone. She was beautiful in the firelight. Always was. He'd never say it out loud, but the play of the flames dancing off her golden hair was nothing short of mesmerizing. He couldn't tear his eyes away, though he'd only intended a brief look in recognition of her return.
Simone's mouth was slightly open as if she'd been about to say something, but after a moment it closed again. What had she been wanting to say to him that she now thought better of? He was intensely curious. Too curious. He really needed to rein all this in. It was too much.
"Goodnight," He said with a quick smile, all but diving into his bedroll and facing away from her.
"...goodnight," She said softly in reply, and he resisted the strong urge to look at her again. Did she sound disappointed? Surprised?
Maybe she'd hoped they would stay awake and talk longer? No, their talking ended in arguments most of the time… or at least, it used to. Not nearly as much anymore.
He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to sleep. There was no need to keep watch with Judah and the giants nearby. Nothing and no one of any danger would dare approach. Simone could sleep soundly under their protection.
He frowned. He'd rather she be under his again. Her look that night when he'd assured her that he was awake, and watching, and wouldn't let anything happen to her…
That was the thing with Simone. Looks. Her words were sharp, but her eyes? Deep. They conveyed so much more than her lips. Especially unguarded. The moment she'd taken her blindfold off and seen him rescuing her from the bandits. The moment he'd told her to go to bed and sleep, because he was protecting her. Even that moment when he'd stopped her runaway horse.
Those unguarded, brief moments where the walls around her face slipped…
She was an undeniably beautiful woman, in a sort of statuesque, alabaster way. Untouchable, prim. But in those unguarded moments, she was vulnerable and exquisite.
He punched the small cushion where he rested his head, willing it to make him fall asleep instead of lingering on thoughts of the woman only a few feet away from him.
In spite of himself, he fell still, reaching out with his ears as he listened for her. Had she lain down yet? Was her breathing deep and even? Perhaps she'd already and easily fallen asleep.
Was it his imagination, or was the ground particularly hard here?
He couldn't very well get up and move his bedroll somewhere else. It would be awkward, and silly, and perhaps even draw Simone's mockery.
Shayn's shoulder was becoming sore. He held himself still anyway, trying his best to simply drift off to sleep without any ruckus whatsoever.
It wasn't working. He finally gave up and flipped onto his other side, facing towards the fire. He grunted softly as he pulled the blanket up again, and his eyes involuntarily wandered…
Straight into Simone's.
She was staring at him. Was her face coloring? She wasn't looking away in embarrassment.
Shayn held her gaze for several interminable moments. It was a strange experience. What was she thinking? Why was she looking at him? Which one of them would finally look away or say something?
"Having trouble sleeping?" Shayn said quietly to break the mounting tension.
"Probably not as much as you," She replied, and he frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You're tossing and turning and grunting as if the ground had personally affronted you and you hope to advise it of your displeasure." A small smile curled onto her lips.
"Perhaps it has," He squinted at her. "Does it feel particularly uncomfortable to you?"
"No," She shook her head against her pillow. "I was just awake wondering how long you could thrash like that before finally settling down."
"I wasn't thrashing!" He protested. "That was…" maybe he hadn't been as still as he'd thought he was. "It's just hard getting comfortable."
It was her turn to frown.
"Haven't you been sleeping on the ground for years? Is that particular spot the worst you've come across? Perhaps you're on a tree root," She moved up to lean on her elbow and examine the area a little better.
"It's nothing specific, just not a good sleeping place," He shrugged, flipping onto his back to look at the sky. That was a lie. The specific thing keeping him from sleeping was the person he was talking to.
To say so would either come across as abominably rude or extremely forward. He grimaced but otherwise maintained his logical demeanor.
"What makes a good sleeping place?" She inquired, not moving.
"Grass, usually. Thick, green grass that pads the dirt and makes it as soft as a featherbed." He sighed. There wasn't much of that in the North. Mostly rocky terrain, some sand.
"That sounds lovely," Simone had a smile in her voice, and he turned his head to look at her again.
She was looking at the stars, as he had been. Her eyes glowed, and the turn of her lips was nothing short of enchanting. Simone must have felt his gaze, for she looked at him again.
"It is. A lot of things about being out in the wild are lovely. And many are not so." He sighed. "Like when the dirt is cold and hard and you can't make it yield and be inviting."
She blinked at him several times, appearing to find more meaning in his words than he'd intended. After a moment, her face became less serious and a little more playful.
"I find it perfectly adequate. Perhaps the ground just likes me better here."
"I wouldn't blame it." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and she stared.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm heavier," He groped about for an excuse. "The ground probably barely feels your weight."
"Hm," She said enigmatically, and he couldn't tell if she believed him or was just playing along so that she didn't nose her way into finding out something she might not want to know. "What's a feather bed like?"
"You never had one?" He squinted at her. "Farmers just save all the feathers when we kill a chicken or goose, and make mattresses out of them."
"Straw. Just straw mattresses for apprentices," She explained. "They're cheaper. Most apprentices came and went, only a few of us stick around for more than a few years."
"So why did you?" He gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and moved up on one elbow to look at her better.
"I had nowhere else to go, at first." She explained, looking into the embers of the fire. "When my father sent me away, there was no other family to take me in. The Treasurer was kind enough to let me apprentice, and I was partly afraid to go anywhere else. Eventually, I became too comfortable in my place to try and leave."
"Did you ever want to?" Shayn pressed. She seemed to be in a sharing mood and he was eager to learn more.
"At times. The life can be monotonous, picking up books, putting them back on shelves, researching what you're told. In another sense it's completely different every day. The places I went to in those pages, the adventures I pictured in all those interesting scenes…" She paused. "I never had any real adventures, but I could read all day and into the night by candlelight and go anywhere I wished. What other adventures offer that sort of stability and safety?"
He contemplated the thought as he watched her face.
"And now that you're having real adventures of your own? Does it change your opinion?" He whispered.
"Yes, and no." She lingered. "Life is far more daunting. The danger is real, but so are the things I see. I don't have to rely on imagination so much, and yet there is more food for it than ever. It can run a bit wild if left unchecked."
"And where does your imagination go when it runs wild?" Shayn asked, fascinated by the thought.
Simone dropped her gaze. Was she blushing? Embarrassed by having such a vivid imagination or by the contents of its daydreams? He leaned forward, more interested than ever to hear her answer.
"Any number of places," She finally answered. "Sometimes…" She paused, as if debating whether to share. He held his breath as she stared into the flames, letting the evening coax more vulnerability out of her. This rare glimpse into her mind was something he didn't want to cut short.
"Sometimes I relive the moments I would change. I imagine I wake up in time to thwart the bandits. Or I had the reflexes to kill the creature that injured Bessie before she got hurt and bolted. Those sorts of things."
Shayn noted with dismay that her imagination seemed to take her through scenarios that removed his heroic rescues from her experiences.