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Liam brings her flowers from his garden. Huge, heavy blooms, drooping their stalks under their own weight, peppermint and caramel and licorice. The soil in the Dairy Islands is rocky and arid, but he has turned his small ranger magics to the little plot of land he tends to coax life from the handful of seeds he brought with him from Candia.
He always presents them to her with a sheepish grin, the bouquet held together with rough cheesetwine borrowed from the stables. Technically anything he gives her is a courting gift, and his blooms feel like more a treasure to her than any jewel or gown Stilton ever gave her.
Her quarters are full to bursting, vases on every surface, and when a bunch starts to die she knows her maids secretly take them off to be dried in the heat of the kitchen. It's considered a lucky charm for love, to have a posy of dried flowers from the Duchess hanging on your wall or tucked beneath your mattress. Even more lucky to be given a fresh bouquet from Liam's garden. He loves to see love blossom, will offer his garden to any who ask for his aid in wooing. It takes courage for many to speak to him, a nineteen year old lord already grizzled with war, so it shows the depths of your devotion to a beloved to have asked for his help.
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The wind rages outside; storm season is upon the Islands. Primsy is tucked against Liam's chest on the low settee in her greeting room, a fire roars in the hearth. He watches the careful slide of her fingers over her embroidery, the hypnotic rhythm as her needle flashes in and out of the milk-silk. There's a bit of a draft from where the door is open to the hall, a condition of Primsy's nurse and chaperone being out of the room. Matilda is a formidable woman but a kind one as well, and had laid out her offer of conditions for her leaving them to some privacy before either had begun to word a question.
They've taken advantage of the lack of watchful eyes to sit so close together, to trade a few sweet kisses before settling into easy quiet. There's only the popping of the fire, the rush of the weather outside, and the steady thud of Liam's own heartbeat to be heard in the room. Primsy is a warm weight against his side and the silk of her dress is soft against the palm he has pressed to her upper arm.
One of Primsy's milk-kittens twitches from where it's sleeping in the crease between where Liam's leg is pressed against the volumes of Primsy's skirts. He doesn't know for the life of him which one it is, the entire litter were indistinguishable calicos, but he scritches at her little head gently as she wakes and stretches with an enormous yawn. Primsy's needle pauses and she pets at the kitten for a moment before returning to her work.
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They tiptoe out the side door of the castle, giggling and hushing each other as they rush down the stone stairs towards the beach. Dawn is just breaking over the milky seas and the beach is swept clean, with the grainy ripples still intact from where the tide has receded. Liam holds a picnic basket and Primsy's hand as they go. There is sure to be a hell-raising when Primsy's ladies find her missing, but Liam left a note and a small purse of gold on Matilda's bedside table to ease the consequences.
He spreads the blanket as she peels off her shoes, and after a quick glance to him, her stockings as well. She went without petticoats to be able to move more easily, and he can see that he did up the buttons on the back of her dress incorrectly, just one or two off from alignment. How her ladies manage to do it correctly every day is truly beyond him. Liam kicks his own shoes and socks off and buries his toes in the sand, leans back on his elbows on the blanket. From the basket - packed the previous evening by one of the cooks for a well-placed bribe of gold and the promise of a fresh bouquet for his sweetheart in the castle guard - comes a flask of sweet cherry juice, a loaf of crusty bread, blackberry jam and apricot preserves, and a small pot of honeyed butter.
Primsy makes up a slice for each of them on a delicate white napkin. Liam watches the gentle breeze tousle her headscarf, traces over her look of concentration as she spreads jam just to the very edge of the bread. She bites the tip of her tongue when she focuses, and her brown eyes crinkle with her smile when she catches him watching her.