The barn still shook with fiddles and stamping feet when Joseph pressed a tankard into her hand. The pewter was sticky, rim dented from other mouths, but his grin made refusal impossible.
'Drink,' he urged, curls damp with sweat.
Katelijne lifted it, bracing for sweetness like her father's wine. Instead the ale bit sharp, sour on her tongue, fizzing down her throat until she coughed. Joseph laughed, steadying the mug before she spilled it.
'Better than pearls, isn't it?' he teased.
Her lips curved, surprised at herself. She drank again — smaller this time — and warmth spread through her chest. The barn blurred, laughter thickening, torches smearing into golden streaks. For a moment she swayed, uncertain whether it was the ale or the music still echoing in her blood.
Joseph's hand brushed her arm, grounding her. 'Easy. You'll be drunk before you've begun.'
She laughed, light-headed, cheeks still hot from the dance. All around them the crowd roared for another reel, skirts flashing, boots stamping so hard the floor quivered. The crush of bodies, the smoke, the noise pressed in close — thrilling and overwhelming all at once.
Her heart fluttered like a bird trapped in her ribs. She leaned nearer to Joseph, raising her voice above the din. 'It's too much. I need air.'
Joseph caught her meaning at once. He tilted his head toward the open doors, where cold night poured in past the torches. Without letting go of her hand, he guided her through the crush — weaving past spinning couples, ducking beneath a lifted elbow, slipping between barrels stacked high with mugs.
The air hit her like a plunge into river water: sharp, bracing, alive. She drew a breath that seemed to scour her lungs clean of smoke. Outside, the barn's roar spilled into the night, muffled now, as if the heavy timbers themselves swallowed half the sound.
Beyond the trampled mud of the yard, the fields stretched black under a scatter of stars. She could smell the river on the wind — damp reeds, frozen earth, the faint iron tang of water.
'Better?' Joseph asked softly. His grin was still there, but gentler now, as if he knew the tumult had pressed too close.
She nodded, though the ale still hummed in her veins, making the stars seem to quiver. 'Better.'
He squeezed her hand, then gestured toward a narrow path where lanterns bobbed faint in the distance. 'Come. The river's just there. Fewer elbows.'
She hesitated, glancing back at the barn — its torches blazing, its music still tumbling wild. Then she followed, skirts whispering over the frozen ruts, her heart beating faster with every step.
The path dipped, crunching with frost, until the land opened to the Scheldt's edge. The river slid dark and heavy, its surface glinting faintly under the stars. A strip of moonlight caught the ripples, cold but steady, like silver drawn across black silk.
They found a fallen log near the bank, half-frozen, crusted with old moss. Joseph brushed it with his sleeve before motioning her down. She sat, pulling her borrowed cloak tighter, though warmth still lingered in her face from the barn's crush.
Joseph dropped beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a moment neither spoke. Only the rush of the water filled the silence, and the faint carry of fiddles from the barn behind them.
At last he said, softly, 'I never thought I'd see you here. Not you, in motley rags, with straw on your hem.'
She let out a laugh, quick and nervous. 'Neither did I.' She held out her sleeve, patched and worn thin. 'Isabelle must think me mad, letting her dress me so.'
'Mad?' Joseph's grin curved, boyish again. 'No. Brave.' His eyes caught hers, serious beneath the teasing. 'Braver than I've ever been.'
Her chest tightened. To hide it, she tipped her head back to the stars. The ale hummed through her veins, loosening her tongue. 'It feels strange. Like I've stepped into another life. One I shouldn't even touch.'
'Maybe it's the truer one,' Joseph said quietly. 'The one where you can laugh without care who's watching.'
The words sank deep. She drew a long breath, the air cold enough to sting. Then, almost without thinking, she let her head rest against his shoulder.
He stilled, then shifted so she fit there more easily. His shoulder was warm, steady, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and hay. Her pulse slowed, caught in the rhythm of his breathing.
'If anyone saw—' she began, but he cut her off with a low chuckle.
'They won't. And if they did, they'd think us just another foolish pair drunk on Carnival. Nothing more.'
She smiled faintly, though her throat ached. 'And if it were more?'
His hand found hers, tentative at first, then firmer. His thumb brushed across her knuckles. 'Then let it be more. Just for tonight.'
The river rolled on, dark and endless. She felt the words sink into her bones, heavier than the water, lighter than the stars.
Joseph laughed softly, a sound that carried warmth even against the night. 'Imagine it, Katelijne. If you ran with me. If tomorrow you left pearls and ledgers and all of Antwerp's pomp behind, and came on the road instead. We'd make you a mask, a bright one. You'd tumble and dance. Pietje would sit on your shoulder and squawk at the crowds. You'd be freer than you've ever been.'
She laughed, startled, the sound bubbling into the night. 'I'd be dreadful at tumbling.'
'Then you'd juggle turnips. Or sing bawdy songs until the aldermen blushed.' His grin widened, reckless with imagining. 'And I'd stand beside you, and for once it would be me proud to be at your side.'
Her laughter softened into something quieter, caught at the edges with longing. 'It sounds foolish.'
'It is foolish.' He turned his face toward her, close enough that she felt his breath. 'But folly's not always a curse.'
Their eyes met, and for a moment the world was only river, night, and the warmth of his hand around hers.
Katelijne tipped her head back, the stars above blurring faintly. The ale still hummed in her veins, loosening her tongue. 'So then,' she said with mock solemnity, 'if I ran away with you, what would I be? Another player in motley? Or shall I carry your parrot on my shoulder while you bow and strut?'
Joseph laughed, loud enough to startle a pair of ducks from the reeds. 'Pietje would mutiny at once. He'd not share the stage with you.'
'Then I'll juggle,' she declared, swaying a little as she lifted an imaginary ball in one hand. 'Apples, onions — whatever Willem throws at me. The people will roar with delight: see the merchant's daughter make a fool of herself!'
Joseph grinned, catching her hand mid-gesture, steadying it before she toppled. 'Careful, Katelijne. You're too good at this. One more jest and I'll have Rik composing verses about you, and Joos demanding you take half my lines.'
She giggled, the sound bubbling free. It felt dangerous, ridiculous, and wonderful, sitting by the Scheldt's dark water, her hand caught in his. 'Then you'd best keep me a secret. Else the troupe will cast me as Lent herself, with a fish on a stick and a frown fit to sour milk.'
Joseph leaned closer, eyes dancing. 'You'd be terrible as Lent. Too much fire in you. The crowd would never believe it.'
'And you,' she countered, pressing her temple briefly to his shoulder, 'you'd be Carnival. Loud, foolish, and drunk before the play even began.'
'Drunk on you, maybe.' The words slipped out before he could stop them, half a laugh, half truth. His cheeks warmed, but he didn't take them back.
Katelijne froze, then laughed too — softer this time, her smile crooked, tender. 'You're insufferable,' she whispered.
'A fool's privilege,' he said, squeezing her hand.
They sat there for a while, laughter fading into a quiet that was no less warm. The river lapped, the fiddles faint behind them, and the world felt briefly like it belonged only to the two of them.
The music from the barn drifted faintly across the fields, muffled now by distance. Here at the riverbank the world was softer — reeds hissing in the breeze, water glinting faintly under the torches' dying glow. Katelijne leaned against Joseph's shoulder, warmth and ale mingling in her blood until her body felt loose, unguarded.
She lifted her face to him. The torchlight caught the damp curls at his temple, the line of his jaw. Something wild tugged at her chest. Before she could think better of it, she reached up, fingers brushing his cheek.
His breath caught. She laughed — soft, startled at herself — and then her mouth was on his. The kiss was clumsy at first, half-breathed, half-daring. But when he answered, when his hands came to her waist and pulled her close, heat roared through her like fire catching dry straw.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressed to his as if she could pour herself into him and never come apart. She gasped against his lips, shocking herself with the need that rose so quickly, so fiercely.
Joseph's hand slid to the small of her back, holding her firm, and for a moment she thought she would fall headlong into it — into him, into this.
But then he broke away, breath ragged. His forehead pressed to hers, his hands still gripping her as though to steady them both.
'Not here,' he said, voice hoarse. 'Not like this.'
She blinked at him, dazed, lips tingling, pulse wild. 'I—' She faltered, swallowing hard. 'I didn't know I could… want…' Her cheeks burned hotter than the ale.
His thumb brushed her cheek, tender even in his restraint. 'So do I. More than you know. But not here. Not tonight.'
Her throat tightened. She wanted to protest, to beg the moment back, but his gaze held hers, steady and unyielding. And in that steadiness she found her breath again.
'You stop,' she whispered, a tremor of relief beneath her words.
Joseph gave a crooked smile, though his chest still heaved. 'Because someone must.'
The barn's music surged again, fiddles sharp in the night air, pulling them both back to themselves. Slowly, reluctantly, he let her go, though his hand lingered against hers until the last possible moment.
Katelijne drew her cloak tighter, her lips still tingling, her body still humming with desire. She was shaken — not by Joseph's refusal, but by how fiercely she had wanted him, how easily she might have lost herself.
The river kept its silence. Behind them, Carnival roared on.