The light of the late-afternoon sun slanted through the trees, plunging the path before them into a golden twilight. Even now, the ground was getting dark, the thick underbrush greedily drinking up the last warm rays of the day, and with each passing minute, Barney’s steps became more uncertain. He was no stranger to nighttime tramps through the woods, but he’d never had anyone with him, then—no one whose safety depended on solid footing, no one who was just learning the shape and feel of the forest. So, he reached beside him and took Valancy’s hand, and together they trekked a bit farther, slowly, carefully, until the light grew purple and soft and only the silver dust of moonbeams filtered through the boughs above.
“Well, looks like this is as far as we’re going for a while,” Barney said calmly. “The woods get tricky at night—harder to navigate, harder to walk. Don’t want to risk either of us getting injured.”
“That’s quite reasonable,” said Valancy, seemingly as unperturbed by the situation as he was. “In that case, what do we do?”
“We make ourselves comfortable.” He released her hand and crashed through the brush to the base of a fir tree, where he gathered armfuls of fallen branches. He knelt and parted the bracken and arrayed the branches on the ground, then bent the bracken over them, pressing hard to keep them down, to make a soft, cozy spot on which he and Valancy could sleep.
He could feel her eyes on him as he worked, but she never asked what he was doing. Her implicit trust in him warmed his heart, and he returned to her with a smile.
“It might not be luxurious,” he said, nodding to the makeshift bed, “but I promise you, it is comfortable.”
“Since when have I asked for luxury?” Valancy grinned. “I love this so much more. It is real in a way that gilded bedposts and silken sheets can never hope to be. It is of nature, of life, of perfect peace and freedom. I think I shall sleep like a baby on this bed.”
“Let’s find out, then.” Barney took her hand and led her to the downed bracken, as tenderly and solemnly as if it were their marriage bed. Valancy lowered herself onto the bracken with a sigh, which quickly became a laugh.
“Oh, this is perfect—perfect!” she said. “So cool and fragrant. Why didn’t you tell me of these forest beds before?”
Barney lay down beside her. “And have you clamoring for a new one each night? No, forest beds cannot be described, nor can they be planned. For their beauty lies in their spontaneity, in the remnants of the day that made them a necessity.” He looked at the irregular patches of sky between the boughs, at the stars twinkling down at them in almost conspiratorial amusement, and slipped his hand over Valancy's.
They did not immediately fall asleep. After all, they were not tired, but had simply been overtaken by darkness. So, they lay there, side-by-side, fingers entwined, and talked softly until there was nothing left to say, then listened to the music of the night forest playing about them: the breeze rustling through the boughs, the calls of night birds, the footfalls of small nocturnal animals in the underbrush.
And somewhere in all of this, their hands began to wander, as if pulled along by the stars above, over arm and shoulder and jaw, until they were in each other's full embrace, lips pressed against one another's in slow, delicious kisses. Barney broke away first, thrilling to the little gasp that escaped Valancy as he planted a trail of light kisses down the side of her neck, along her collarbone, and finally, to that delightful little spot at the base of her throat. She laughed then, as she always did when he kissed her there—that was his main motivation for seeking out that spot, to draw forth that laugh that filled his ears and his heart and made him feel, in a sense, new again, unburdened by disappointment or cynicism. He laughed with her, then skimmed his mouth along the length of her throat to capture her lips again.
He could not tell what possessed her, what spirit of the woods or of the night, but in the midst of their languorous lovemaking, she pressed against him, gently at first—then, of a sudden, with a strength he did not expect of her, she rolled him over onto his back, and leaned away to peer at him.
It was his turn to gasp, in surprise, then in wonder at the vision before him. In the mottled light of a bough-fractured moonbeam, Valancy had become a thing of beauty, a creature of the woods, wild and sweet, mischief glinting in her eyes, her smile soft and inviting. He reached up and cupped her cheek with his hand. She leaned into his touch with a sigh, then turned to kiss his palm. A white-hot bolt shot down his spine, and he couldn't suppress a shiver. He continued to caress her, and as he traced her lips with his thumb, she parted them slightly and took the tip of his thumb into her mouth, pulling lightly.
Where the devil had she learned to do that? Barney drew a shuddering breath, his veins filling with fire. He groaned out her name, and, with an impish grin, Valancy nodded, understanding exactly what he meant.
They did not waste time with every button and lace and fastening, only those that allowed them to move aside what was necessary. He watched her the whole time, his silver-limned goddess, enthralled by the myriad expressions playing across her face. And when she flung her head back, moonlight gleaming along the white expanse of her throat, and let loose a cry that seemed to belong so naturally to the night forest—at once feral and charming and sweet as wild honey—he lost himself to her.
When he returned to his body, his heart hammering in his chest, he found her collapsed against him, sighing contentedly and tracing designs of her own making with her fingertip on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and buried his face in her hair with a breathless laugh.
"Moonlight," he whispered, when at last he had found his voice, "you never cease to amaze me. Who are you, really? At times, it's hard to believe you're even real."
"I am," she replied, a hint of melancholy in her voice. "I am all too real."
He was silent for a moment; what could he say to that? Even at the height of ecstasy, the pall of death hung over her—no, not tonight. If only for a night, if only for one night at a time, he would make her forget. He ran his fingers through her hair and grinned. "Lucky for me, then," he said, pretending to miss her implication. "I'd hate to wake up from something so sweet."
With a quiet laugh, she nestled herself in his arms. Together, they watched the stars and listened to the forest. Then, in a voice growing thick with sleep, Valancy murmured, "The cats will surely wonder where we've gone."
"You think they mind?"
"Oh, yes. Banjo will greet us with a dour expression—"
"—and not come near for a few days," Barney chuckled. "He knows how to hold a grudge, does Banjo. A curmudgeonly old soul. But Good Luck—"
"Luck will greet us as a long-lost friend. And he will not stray far for a few days. So, I believe the balance of affection will remain unchanged between them." Valancy yawned. "I never imagined I could ever be so happy."
"Well, they are very special cats."
She tapped his chest. "Goose. I meant with you."
He smiled and watched her close her eyes. Happy, with him! He never dared dream he could make anyone happy, not after the events of his youth. But here in his arms was proof—living, breathing, exquisite proof that somewhere beneath the isolation and cynicism and aliases, there was a part of Barney Snaith to be valued. He couldn't quite believe it himself, but Valancy was nothing if not honest—sometimes, brutally so—so he had to trust her judgment, had to trust in whatever she saw in him, and had to deliver that to her in whichever way he could, as often as he could, in the time that she had left.
As Valancy's breathing became slow and even, Barney became aware of an odd sensation in his chest. A warm fullness, pressing outward against his ribcage, bubbling up into his throat as unprovoked laughter, guiding his hands and his mind with a softness of which he had never thought himself capable. This couldn't be—surely, it couldn't—but whatever it was, he enjoyed it, and he lay with the feeling, savoring it, until sleep stole upon him in that forest night, on a fragrant bed of bracken and fir.