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"Bram, why do you always call me a lady? I'm not one."
He tripped over a particularly large tree root and Lace held back a snicker. She caught his arm though, before he could fall on his face, which she thought made up for her natural reaction to laugh.
"Ah," he said nervously. "You are woman, and typically the appropriate way to address a... a woman is 'Lady' or 'Madame' and you're far too young for me to reasonably call you madame."
"How old do you think I am, Bram?"
He gave her a sly grin, as if he'd caught her in some attempt to trick him. He'd not though, Lace was sincerely curious.
"You'll not find me answering that, Lady Harding. I also know it's entirely unwise to guess a woman's age."
She rolled her eyes a little, catching his arm again when he started to stray toward what looked like swampy ground. Bram gave her a grateful look, then resumed staring at the forest floor to watch his step.
A moment passed before she picked up the thread again.
"You could just call me Lace. I'd like that more."
He stopped mid-stride, turning on a heel. Lace was the one off track now, stepping back to see what had caught him off guard. She expected to find a snake in their path or one of those nasty, poison-spitting spiders. Instead, Bram looked at her with serious contemplation across his kind features. His brows came together in a little show of doubt.
"You would. Like it more?"
"Well yes, of course. I thought we were on more familiar ground by now. Lady Harding sounds nice and proper, and it was flattering, but I'm just Lace. I've already started calling you Bram. I hope that's okay. That's okay, right?"
"Oh, more than, Lad-- Lace." He grinned after catching himself from saying the wrong thing.
A little flare of interest warmed her chest. He had a very handsome smile and nose, and lips, if she was being honest. His mossy green eyes weren't bad to look at either.
"Okay, then that's settled," she chirped, highly aware of how high her voice sounded. She stepped forward, toward the Inquisition camp where they were expecting her. To report in. To execute the hundred little tasks that needed doing.
"Lace," he called, as if summoning her back to his side. Her name was so sweet coming out of his mouth with that Starkhaven accent gliding along the letters, wrapping them in warmth.
"Yeah?" she asked innocently, looking back to where he still stood.
"We may be on familiar enough terms with one another to use given names, but I'd like to learn a great deal more about you, if you'll permit me."
It was her turn to blush and stumble.
"I-- I'd like that too."