The Shining Falcon

«Just trying to orient myself.» Fifty versts, eh? A long distance afoot, a short one by wing. That wind really had carried him a long way from Kirtesk!

Finist came back to himself with a start. «Oh, but I'm being selfish. I didn't mean to keep you here. Please, go about your own business. I promise," he added with a little smile, «I'll be good.»

Her answering grin was so unexpectedly sweet and bright with mischief that a startled Finist felt his heart sing in response. Oh, don't be foolish, he told himself, and determinedly shut his eyes, quieted his thoughts, and forced himself back into healing sleep.

* * *

At first, Maria admitted to herself, she'd almost been ready to hate him, this stranger who'd rudely thrust himself into the established order of things. But how good it had been to see someone new!

Vasilissa didn't think so. Poor Lissa, so sure that because Finn came out of the forest, he has to be something demonic.

What he was, was plain, no denying it. But for all that plainness, there was a charm to the man. When he wasn't railing at her for keeping him in bed or making him drink his soup, that was. No—she had to admit it—he had a certain charm even then.

If only she knew who he really was. If only she knew—

Oh, this was stupid! Just because the man was polite, and pleasant, and the only one who actually seemed to listen to her, she was acting like some little ninny of a girl. He would be well in no time, and then he'd be on his way again, and that would be the end of that.

Enough of this! Finist scolded himself. Maria was a sweet young woman and a kind nurse, and that was all.

True, they'd found they shared a love of music. True, they'd found they shared a love of the old tales, too. They'd even discovered in each other some of the same wry sense of humor. But Maria had never shown the slightest interest in him as anything other than an invalid. And he had no intention of making a fool of himself. Why, the woman wasn't even pretty!

Not conventionally pretty.

Not anything as blandly dull as pretty…

Nonsense!

Yet there was no denying her eyes were lovely, whether warm with concern or flickering with annoyance as they were right now for refusing to let her hand feed him any more soup. And her lips had such a charming curve to them. Indeed, the longer he gazed at them, the more he found himself wondering just what it would be like to taste their sweetness, to hold that warmly rounded body in his arms…

Hastily he turned away, embarrassed. This was his hostess, and he mustn't even think of abusing her hospitality. Scrambling for something safe to say, he came out with:

«Is that a gusla I see? Do you play?»

«A bit.» Maria raised a wry eyebrow. «Trying to distract me from the soup?»

He shook his head, grinning, and saw her look away as though trying not to laugh. «Very well.» Her voice was studiously level. «I'll try to pick out a tune or two, if you promise to finish the soup on your own.»

«Agreed.»

Maria bent intently over the little gusla, pretending to be very concerned with the exact tuning of its strings. She didn't dare look up at Finn, not just yet. She wasn't quite sure what had happened, or why, but as she'd stood over him, some little devil deep within her had suddenly made her very much aware of him, not as a patient, but as a man, had made her aware of the clean male scent of him, of the lines of that lean, elegant body… Boyar's daughter that she was, she'd never known more than the hastiest, most chaste of male kisses, but she wasn't naive, either. And in that confusing moment of awareness, she'd found herself wondering what it would be like to lie in a man's embrace, in his embrace.

Hot with embarrassment, she hadn't known what to do or say. And he must have been aware of it. Of course he'd been aware. Gentleman that he was, he'd given her the excuse of the gusla to give her time to get herself back under control. Gratefully she strummed the shining metal strings, trying to lose herself in the music—only to realize, horrified, that she was playing a love song.

«I think I hear my sister calling," Maria said hastily, scrambling to her feet. «I'd better go.»

«No, wait!»

«I'm sorry, I'll be back later. But right now, I really must leave!»

Once she was out of the room, Maria stopped, shaking her head ruefully. That had been a truly ridiculous performance. She would go back in there, and this time she would remember that she was his nurse, nothing more than that.

* * *

Soon enough the day came when Finist could stand without falling over and walk about the farmyard without panting after every step. He stood soaking up the strength of the warm sunlight, and told himself he had imposed here long enough. Surely he was strong enough by now to leave, strong enough even to fly all that long way back to his own lands.