on his heels and grinned at her. Giving up its useless struggle, the trout lay on the brown grass, gasping for breath. Sandor rubbed some warmth back into his hand and flexed his stiff fingers.
“’Tis a goodly fish but methinks two would be better. I pray your patience a little longer, Tonia. In the meantime do not let this fine fellow slither back into the water or he will swim away and warn his friends.”
Her gaze fixed on the fish, Tonia bobbed her head. With another charm on his tongue, Sandor again put his hand in the water. The wait seemed longer, only because his fingers were so cold. Soon enough a second trout, not as large as the first but rounder in the middle, swam up the stream. Sandor’s fingers waved in the current. Unlike the first fish, this one was more cautious, touching several of Sandor’s fingers with its mouth as if trying to taste him. His shoulders ached from holding his uncomfortable posture, but he could not pull back now—not with Tonia watching him so intently. He willed the fish to swim over his hand just as the first one had.
Instead,the perverse creature swam upstream. Sandor didn’t move. Years of tickling fish had taught him the necessary patience required. Sure enough, the trout’s curiosity overcame its prudence. It turned round and drifted back toward Sandor’s hand. This time it swam closer to his fingers. Sandor lightly brushed it. The fish wiggled away. Sandor didn’t flinch but continued to wave his fingers. Once again the fish edged closer and brushed itself against him. Sandor almost chuckled aloud. The trout drifted over his palm, He touched its underside with his thumb. The fish rubbed against his other fingers. Sandor decided to seize his chance now before his skittish quarry grew tired of the game. He flipped his quivering prey out of the water and tossed it on the ground on the far side of the first catch.
Tonia clapped her approval. “Well done! ’Tis the most wondrous sight that I have ever seen. My cousin Kitt would be very envious of your skill, Master Fisherman.”
Sandor dried his hand on his thigh while he basked in her praise. His heart swelled as she continued to smile at him and compliment his prowess. He much preferred that Tonia call him a fisherman rather than an executioner. He hooked his fingers through the gills of his two prizes, then helped her rise with his free hand.
“We will cross the bridge,” he told her as he scooped up most of their gathered sticks. “Then we will eat. Do you know how to clean a fish?” he asked, suspecting that such a fine lady would not.
She stared at the trout, bit her lip and then shook her head. “I must plead ignorance. My lady mother taught me how to distill medicines from plants and how to make wine and beer, but not how to cook.”
Sandorshook his head with a rueful smile. “Among my people, even little girls know how to bake bread.”
She gave him an injured look, though her eyes sparkled with a glint of mischief. “I suppose they also know how to roast stolen chickens.”
Sandor chuckled. “Wandering hens are the most toothsome.”
They picked their way over the bridge’s treacherous planking and walked up the hillside to the spot Tonia had chosen for her gravesite. The sun now stood at its zenith in the azure sky. Sandor dropped the firewood onto the bare earth of the grave. Building a fire here would warm the dirt, making it easier to dig, though his heart grew heavy at the thought. Delighting in the pleasure of their stroll, he had almost forgotten his primary duty. Cousin Demeo had already been in the Tower for nearly a week. Sandor must complete his grim task by this evening so that he could leave by the morrow’s first light. He glanced at Tonia. She had seemed so happy while they were in the woods, but the sight of her grave had banished her laughter. When she caught him looking at her, she gave him a little smile then pointed to the bundle of windfall sticks.
“Methinks you will never
“’Tis a goodly fish but methinks two would be better. I pray your patience a little longer, Tonia. In the meantime do not let this fine fellow slither back into the water or he will swim away and warn his friends.”
Her gaze fixed on the fish, Tonia bobbed her head. With another charm on his tongue, Sandor again put his hand in the water. The wait seemed longer, only because his fingers were so cold. Soon enough a second trout, not as large as the first but rounder in the middle, swam up the stream. Sandor’s fingers waved in the current. Unlike the first fish, this one was more cautious, touching several of Sandor’s fingers with its mouth as if trying to taste him. His shoulders ached from holding his uncomfortable posture, but he could not pull back now—not with Tonia watching him so intently. He willed the fish to swim over his hand just as the first one had.
Instead,the perverse creature swam upstream. Sandor didn’t move. Years of tickling fish had taught him the necessary patience required. Sure enough, the trout’s curiosity overcame its prudence. It turned round and drifted back toward Sandor’s hand. This time it swam closer to his fingers. Sandor lightly brushed it. The fish wiggled away. Sandor didn’t flinch but continued to wave his fingers. Once again the fish edged closer and brushed itself against him. Sandor almost chuckled aloud. The trout drifted over his palm, He touched its underside with his thumb. The fish rubbed against his other fingers. Sandor decided to seize his chance now before his skittish quarry grew tired of the game. He flipped his quivering prey out of the water and tossed it on the ground on the far side of the first catch.
Tonia clapped her approval. “Well done! ’Tis the most wondrous sight that I have ever seen. My cousin Kitt would be very envious of your skill, Master Fisherman.”
Sandor dried his hand on his thigh while he basked in her praise. His heart swelled as she continued to smile at him and compliment his prowess. He much preferred that Tonia call him a fisherman rather than an executioner. He hooked his fingers through the gills of his two prizes, then helped her rise with his free hand.
“We will cross the bridge,” he told her as he scooped up most of their gathered sticks. “Then we will eat. Do you know how to clean a fish?” he asked, suspecting that such a fine lady would not.
She stared at the trout, bit her lip and then shook her head. “I must plead ignorance. My lady mother taught me how to distill medicines from plants and how to make wine and beer, but not how to cook.”
Sandorshook his head with a rueful smile. “Among my people, even little girls know how to bake bread.”
She gave him an injured look, though her eyes sparkled with a glint of mischief. “I suppose they also know how to roast stolen chickens.”
Sandor chuckled. “Wandering hens are the most toothsome.”
They picked their way over the bridge’s treacherous planking and walked up the hillside to the spot Tonia had chosen for her gravesite. The sun now stood at its zenith in the azure sky. Sandor dropped the firewood onto the bare earth of the grave. Building a fire here would warm the dirt, making it easier to dig, though his heart grew heavy at the thought. Delighting in the pleasure of their stroll, he had almost forgotten his primary duty. Cousin Demeo had already been in the Tower for nearly a week. Sandor must complete his grim task by this evening so that he could leave by the morrow’s first light. He glanced at Tonia. She had seemed so happy while they were in the woods, but the sight of her grave had banished her laughter. When she caught him looking at her, she gave him a little smile then pointed to the bundle of windfall sticks.
“Methinks you will never
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