It was after the evening meal when Rhain found her in the cellars of the inn. He should have looked here first when she ran off, but he hadn’t known what to say, or what to do.
Then as he searched for her, Allen and Nicholas intercepted him to report Reynold’s whereabouts.
Reynold was either within York’s walls or at least nearby. He’d been seen. Nearby enough that Rhain shouldn’t be pursuing a woman, or worrying about her tears and anguish.
Certainly he shouldn’t be standing next to her in public gardens, or searching for her in her rooms where Reynold’s men could easily note his actions.
But dinner had come and gone, and Helissent never returned to her room. Though he needed to be circumspect, he wouldn’t leave things as they did in the garden. He could be dead by tonight.
At least for now, it was private in the cellar. Helissent hadn’t noticed when he opened the door. He could gather his thoughts and words. The correct words he should have said before.
Yet, he still didn’t know what to say; couldn’t grasp why she ran. So he watched her walking with her hand trailing along the ale barrels like she was counting them. Then lifting her nose to scent the drying herbs. Another step, her hand slowing so that she was almost embracing the rounds of cheese.
She should have been reveling in the supplies here and the opportunity to continue her baking.
But he knew she wasn’t taking inventory, wasn’t thinking about all she could cook or serve with such bounty. When she did that, she hummed that song and was boundless in energy.
Now she almost shuffled, lost in thought; she didn’t turn when the door closed behind him. Didn’t realize the light in the cellar had brightened, then dimmed.
He noticed the light revealing her features, the darkness shadowing them. So like the inn. The left side of her face illuminated to show her exquisite beauty; he’d soon see her other side that weakened him. But that wasn’t what made him stop.
It was the tear tracks down her face. He knew he should turn away then, that he had no right to be here, had told her he wasn’t the man for her.
But there was nothing that could tear him away now. Not until he knew she was happy. Tell her she could sell the sweet-salt he gave her and use the coins he’d hidden amongst her things. Tell her she could have another life altogether. Just…not with him.
‘There were more supplies in Tickhill’s cellars, no?’ he said.
* * *
Helissent whirled around, almost stumbled into a barrel before righting herself. Standing tall, she shook from the sudden jump through her body at Rhain’s voice. Rhain who stood inside the doorway.
‘You scared me.’
‘If you expected to be left alone, you shouldn’t have come to an empty cellar at the end of the night.’
Rhain shoved the hood off his head until the lit torches cast him in shadows and light.
Her shadow man, who said something mocking, but his tone meant something else.
She quickly brushed her cheeks, though it was most likely too late. He was too keen not to notice details like her crying. Maudlin. Pity. She, who had no right to any of it, and yet, something inside her couldn’t seem to stop. It was him, the mercenaries, the exposure to York. It had changed her somehow, showed her how life could be different. Or she thought it could. Until the garden and Rhain’s rejection.
Which was why she was in the wine cellar avoiding everyone. ‘Do you need something? I thought I left the others well versed.’
Rhain took the few stairs down to her level. His head brushed the top of the ceiling until he stepped past the eaves.
‘Everything was brought to the tables. Piled high and more beautiful than at Tickhill.’
‘But it doesn’t taste good. Something was wrong with the fried apples?’
He shook his head. ‘Not if Mathys licking his fingers was any indication.’
He took another step closer. There was nowhere she could go. The barrels and shelves lined both walls under the arched ceiling. It was a small path down the center. Just enough to walk to the end and back again. She couldn’t walk past him. He took up too much space.
‘Then why are you here? Why aren’t you eating?’
‘You’re not there dining with me.’
She didn’t understand this man at all. They’d agreed he’d take her to York. He’d done that. Then he’d said all that about wanting to kiss her, but stopped because of her scars. There was no reason he was here.
She wanted York because she wanted to get lost here. Rhain and the mercenaries weren’t letting her get lost.
She should be happy, surrounded by supplies, by food and the chance to try some of the recipes from Tickhill.
Instead she had come here to the cellars. To the cold and dark that was the closest she could find to the caves. To escape and soothe the sudden sense of inexplicable loss as she peered through the doors and spotted the mercenaries eating her food.
It was reasonable for them to eat where they wanted to, but knowing they were leaving, she wasn’t prepared to see them again. Especially not after Rhain’s rejection.
Why wasn’t Rhain leaving her alone?
‘I’m trying to make a life here. That means I’m serving food, not dining with the customers.’
His brows drew in. ‘Why the tears?’
‘Dust.’
‘It is…dusty here.’
He didn’t need to believe her. ‘This is my home now. I’ll have to get used to it.’
‘So this inn is where you intend to stay?’
‘They are kind and willing to give me a chance.’
She wished she could turn then, to pause and absorb her sudden thoughts. Instead, she hoped the flickering light from the torch hid some of her quickly boiling emotions.
‘I just realized I should thank you for the innkeepers giving me a chance,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
Maybe it wasn’t strange she saw all the mercenaries eating at this particular establishment. Rhain probably said something to the innkeepers and paid them to take her. He’d wanted her to stay at Tickhill, but she hadn’t. Maybe he was concerned she’d wouldn’t stay in York.
‘Did you say something to them? Pay them to take me? Of course you did.’ She waved and her hand bumped a barrel. ‘All of this wouldn’t be possible without you.’ He hadn’t just given her a safe journey, he’d provided a means for her to be taken in, to provide for herself.
She thought she had proven herself today. Now she was beginning to realize it was too easy. It shouldn’t have been that effortless with her scars. Nothing was effortless with her shame.
She’d never wanted pity from him. She wanted respect. He was so cutting to her that day in the village when she requested to go with them. She thought she’d earned the right to be with them, by making those cakes, by cooking their food, by helping.
Then behind her back, Rhain paid for a room and forced the innkeeper to give her work.
It wasn’t only the underhanded part of it, though that stung. It was a direct insult to the only skill she had, to the only aspect of her that wasn’t simmered in shame: her cooking, her honey cakes.
Those were hers despite the scars, her failure and cowardice. She had thought she’d earned a little bit of something out of this life she had been saved to live in. But here was Rhain, telling her—
‘I paid for your room, but I didn’t pay them for your job, but God knows I do owe you.’
She did take a step back then as if she could escape him, as if there was somewhere she could go. ‘Is all of this…is this because you feel sorry for me?’
His eyes widened. ‘No.’
‘Then what did you mean, you owe me?’ Her tears threatened again and the burden of holding them back was as heavy as a filled cauldron. She shook under their weight.
‘You wouldn’t have been there that night, if I hadn’t asked you for the cakes. You wouldn’t have been in the dark heading home from the kitchens when those men…when Rudd—’
‘This is pity!’
‘Where are my words!’ His hand swiped by the dagger at his waist. ‘Helissent, I don’t pity you. Despite what I just said, that’s not the reason I agreed to your travelling with us, why I gave you the sweet-salt. It’s not the reason why I’m here.’
She couldn’t feel relief at his words. ‘Then why?’
‘Isn’t it apparent? For you. Just you, not your cakes or your food, not for any reason other than you ran from me in the garden and I had to find you.’
Her heart battering against the sides of her chest whipped and bloomed. ‘What are you saying?’
‘What I should have said in the garden. What I never should say to you.’ He stepped closer. ‘You ran because you thought I didn’t want to kiss you. That I don’t want more of you.’
His heated eyes raked over her body, feasted on her lips, her cheeks. She felt every movement like a caress. ‘But that’s the furthest from the truth. I want to kiss you, so much. It is hard to be around you and not want you.’
‘Even with—’
‘Are you talking about your scars?’ he interrupted. ‘Your scars make it all the worse. Your scars weaken me.’
Ice slid down her spine. ‘Like those men?’
‘Never like that.’ He released his breath. ‘For years, I haven’t wanted to kiss a woman. With you I don’t want to stop. Your scars, the way they occurred. How you acquired them. How could you not know? My God, Helissent, I am in awe of you.’
In the garden, he had stopped kissing her. She had thought it was because of her scars. If not that, then because he knew of her shame. Now he was telling her it was for something else.
But his words made no sense. He was perfect; she was not. She’d told him of her failure to save her sister, yet he said he was in awe. Tears brimmed again and this time she couldn’t carry their burden and let them fall.
He cupped the left side of her face, tenderly stroked his calloused thumb against the softness of her skin, and brushed away the tears.
‘Nature gave this to you. Your pale coloring with just a hint of pink underneath. The curl of your lashes, the color of your eyes and hair that change with the light.
‘But this side of you,’ he continued as he released her jaw and ran the back of his fingers along her right cheek. ‘This side you gave to yourself.’
Her scars. Because she failed to save her sister from the flames. Her cowardice because she wanted the flames to take her as well until John and Anne saved her. ‘For my stupidity.’
‘Because of your bravery.’ His eyes skittered across her features, as if he couldn’t take in every flaw, every imperfection fast enough.
‘How could you not realize it? Your scars are your most beautiful side,’ he whispered. In the flickering torchlight, she knew he could see every broken vein, every purple, burned ridge.
‘It is the right side of your face that brings me to my knees. Your scars remind me how little I deserve you, but are also a beacon. A temptation I am failing to withstand.’
She didn’t understand. She knew she didn’t understand because he was telling her she lived a different life than the one she knew.
No, not only telling her, but showing her. Ever since they left the village the mercenaries had treated her like she was one of them. Here in York she was treated like everyone else. It was stunning that she could be accepted for her outward appearance.
But if so, if so… Rhain had stepped back from kissing her. He had rejected her. If it wasn’t for her appearance, then it had to be for her shame. But he was somehow telling her that, too, wasn’t the reason.
She shook her head. ‘Why? How?’
He dipped his head, looked straight into her eyes; she was helpless against the amber light flaring in them.
‘You ran into a burning building to save your family,’ he whispered. ‘You risked your own life to save those whom you loved. Your scars are what you earned with your courage. Your courage—’
Her shame. His touch, his words were undoing her. He found her beautiful because he thought her courageous. ‘I was terrified.’
‘Of course you were, but you went anyway.’
He held so much beauty. The torch’s light made a halo of his blond hair, like a golden angel. ‘They…died. I almost died.’
But she’d lived even when she shouldn’t have. Because when she tripped and trapped her sister, she broke her promise to her mother. Because when she realized what she’d done, she stayed in the flames. Rhain’s acceptance of her appearance, of her failure to rescue her sister, was too much to believe.
Sudden. As though she was in an oven slowly burning and someone was dousing the flames. He was dousing the flames that she’d been living in most of her life.
She hadn’t known any other way to be, yet she was beginning to believe there could be another way. She was the same ingredients, but Rhain was showing her a different way of making herself.
‘You don’t believe me.’ He palmed the sides of her neck, his thumbs stroking her jawline, lifting her eyes to his. ‘Is that why you ran?’
She shakily nodded her head. Partly. Partly. He claimed she had courage, but she couldn’t quite tell him the rest of that day, which was another indication of her cowardice.
‘Never run from me.’
* * *
It felt like his palms encased her, enfolded her, protected her. She closed her eyes then. ‘Please don’t.’
But her words had no strength to them. No structure. Not enough to support her old beliefs.
‘I’ll show you. I’ll make you believe,’ he said, stroking her jaw with his thumbs, leaning down until his forehead touched hers. ‘Though it is I who doesn’t deserve you. To touch you like this; to be this close to you.’
It wasn’t true. How could it be true when he looked the way he did, and came from where he did, and gave her protection and kindness? But this close, she felt those words against her skin, saw that he believed them in his own eyes.
And to make sure she understood, he kept saying them until she felt as though they stirred and sunk under her skin, down to her heart, into her soul.
‘How could you not know your worth?’ he said. ‘How could you not know the truth of my words?’ He lifted his head, his palms now moving along her collarbones to her shoulders and back up.
‘You’re torturing me. I’m shaking, trembling because of who you are, because of how you look here, now. Because I’m all too aware that we’re alone and that no one will interrupt us.’
She knew he could see her doubts. She couldn’t hide them. Not with his words whipping against her insides, not with the flared intent of his amber eyes in the torchlight. Like heat and honey. Like warmth and wonder.
‘I want to kiss you, Helissent, and I’m within a breath of showing you.’
Trailing his fingers along her scarred and puckered jaw line, his fingers skimmed as they did his dagger’s hilt. As though he was caressing something precious, as though she was a delicacy that would melt.
‘Soft, so soft.’
Was she? She’d never thought of herself this way. From his expression, from his words, she was beginning to believe. His eyes followed the path of his fingers as he reached her chin and stilled his hand.
Held her firm as the roughened tip of his thumb rubbed on her lower lip. Just as it did in the gardens, her lip grew sensitive. Parched until she ran the tip of her tongue to moisten it. His eyes sharpened to that point, his hand stilled.
Then his thumb played with her lip again, rougher this time, more intent, as if he demanded her to do it again.
So she did.
This time when her tongue came out he pushed his thumb into its path so it wasn’t her lips she wetted or tasted, but him.
Quickly she closed her lips and he made a disappointed sound.
‘Do you know what you’re showing me?’
She only knew how she felt. Anticipation, a giddy freedom, a heavy need and want. Ingredients stirring and folding within her.
‘I’m going to kiss you. I’ve warned you.’
‘You’ve already kissed me.’
His lips curved. ‘Not as I want to; not as I’m going to. If you want to stop, you need to leave, now.’
She was incapable of moving. He smelled of warmed leather, the acrid bite of steel. But it was the lavender and sage from the gardens that enticed her more. The fact she knew he’d eaten her fried apples from the taste lingering on his thumb.
His thumb continued to stroke both her lips and anticipation heated her like coals to ovens already burning with fire.
She felt like fire, only greedy for more. After one taste of him, after seeing the surprise and feeling the hitch in his breath, she wanted to do it again.
This time, she wasn’t tentative about it. She wanted to taste the flavors and the textures of what he offered.
When he caressed, she swiped her tongue against his thumb.
And it was delicious.
With a choked sound, he yanked his hand away and grasped the nape of her neck.
The movement pulled her towards him, her hands rested on his chest.
His gaze heated need. That studying gaze she was familiar with and one she was just now recognizing.
‘Do you feel that?’ he said.
She felt too much.
‘My heart is beating faster.’
Her fingers curved against the soft weave of his fine blue tunic. Underneath her hands were the planes of muscles and the heat of his skin. His caught breath expanding his lungs and pushing against her. The thump of his heart hard, insistent. Like his amber gaze.
‘That’s for you. That’s what you do to me.’ Against his chest, he cradled her hands in one of his. ‘You wanted more in the garden. I couldn’t go further. It had nothing to do with your scars and all to do with what I want with you.’
She glanced up, held his eyes briefly before returning her gaze to their hands and his heart that changed beat at that moment.
This want couldn’t be right. She was just now accepting her appearance, but she still carried her shame. Shame of broken promises she’d told him about, and a cowardice she didn’t. ‘The flames. My scars.’
‘Hadn’t I explained to you enough in the garden how I shouldn’t be the man to kiss you? That I don’t deserve you?’
He was stunning, perfect. Strong jaw, hard cheekbones, perfectly sculpted lips. It was she who didn’t deserve him.
‘No, I can see you can’t. Even in your silence, you demand and give a man no choice.’
His stance was wide, strong, like he could stand for hours, but it was also strung with some tension. An imperceptible movement almost like a shiver or shudder she felt flowing through his body.
She recognized it only because of the way her own body felt, both suddenly strong and yet somehow weak. A tension that heated its way just under her skin until she wanted to rub her hands against her arms to ease the prickling, to stop her own shivers.
‘Though it may damn me, I’ll show you.’ His lips curved to a tease. A mockery, but also a truth. ‘Maybe we can do this if we pretend, can you do that?’
She shook her head. Any play in her had been consumed in the flames.
‘You can, you must. You’ve already taken us here, at least try for the rest, Helissent. I must go just a bit further than this for your sake, for mine. Time, Fate, my flawed birth won’t allow me to prove anything else to you. What you deserve to know, what you should know by now. How could you not know? So for now no more words that we don’t deserve. Let’s pretend we do.’
‘That we deser—?’
His lips pressed on to her opened ones, warm, firm, brief, silencing the denial she intended to say.
Then he lifted up, his gaze taking in her response. She felt her response. Wide eyes. Parted lips. Surprise.
‘Are we—?’
This kiss at the corner of her mouth, lingering. A taste of him, his scent. The way he held his breath before he pulled away to gage her response.
‘Are you—?’ she started to ask.
He kissed those words away, too. Another corner kiss, but now with a slick slide of his tongue along her lower lip before giving the opposite corner a kiss.
When he pulled away, this time she focused on his reactions. The gleam in his eyes not coming from the amber, but from the black depths in the center. His golden skin flushed, his eyes heavy lidded.
Was he waiting for her to speak again? Or was he waiting for her not to, so they could pretend?
‘I…’
Another soft firm press. This time in the center, a coaxing heat to his lips, a bit harder, a flick of tongue. Then he pulled away.
Pretending, but she wanted another game. If he wanted to kiss away her words, she would just keep talking.
‘Think—’
Another press, one she expected, so she pressed back.
A sound of approval from him. ‘We—’
Releasing her hands trapped by him and curving them to his shoulders, she molded her body against his.
Shadows from his eyelashes fanned as he looked to her lips, then to her eyes.
She only had one word now. ‘Should.’
Another swoop of his lips, longer, coaxing hers open until she did, until his tongue tangled with hers.
She gasped and he took advantage of it. More heated kisses as she kissed him back. Her hands moving restlessly along his shoulders.
His grip at the base of her nape grew hot, damp, but never did he touch her elsewhere. Just his lips, which grew greedy as they pressed more, tasted more, felt more.
Still he didn’t move, didn’t get closer. She felt the need for closer.
Instead he pulled away, his eyes sweeping over every feature. ‘So sweet, God, you’re so sweet.’
When he moved to step away, to end the kiss, she gripped his tunic.
His body shot with tension. Wary. His brows drawn, his body defiant.
‘More?’ he rasped before kissing along her jaw, down her throat, his hands hovering over her hips as her restless hands roamed his shoulders, his nape. Tunnelled through his hair when he gave quick flicks of his tongue.
She gasped. He released an answering sound, half-tortured, half-deprecating laugh. All need.
She was on fire, as though she pressed herself into the flames of her ovens. His smell, the reckless heated amber color in his eyes, his hair mashed by her fingers.
More kisses along the other side of her neck up along her jaw, his direction towards her mouth.
‘More,’ she said.
He jerked away. Startled, she released her hands.
His eyes searched hers, a crease between his brows as if in pain.
Underneath their breaths, she heard the creak of the inn settling for the night, the dimming of voices and heavy boots against the floorboards. Smelled the drying herbs, the saltiness of cheese, the soaked wood of ale barrels.
His face was taut, his lips full and shone like he drank of that ale. Her own mouth grew dry, thirstier for more of his kisses.
When her eyes finally reached his, she was aware of nothing except him, him, him. Just heat, hot flowing, swirling in gold.
‘You should be in your room,’ he said. ‘Where it’s safe.’
It felt safe in the cellars with him holding her. It felt right.
‘I should go,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’
He didn’t move, and neither did she.
It wasn’t his words she listened to, but the tone of them. His low, and rough, as if they were scraped out of him. As if he shouldn’t be saying them.
Desire and need battered against her insides as she listened only to the persuasive hunger behind his words. ‘Why? We’re pretending.’
‘We’ve shared enough kisses.’
‘I want more.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t pretend any more or I may just believe. You need to be kept safe. If I go further, it’ll be all for naught. Everything for naught.’
Everything felt for naught. Everything except her emotions that poured out of her and seemed to be spilling on him, too.
He seemed undone, like her. Held by something only he understood. But she didn’t.
He wanted her. Despite her scars—no, he said because of them. He knew her family died, while she lived, and still he kissed her.
Yet he said he wanted them to pretend, that he didn’t deserve her. He wasn’t rejecting her, he was holding back. Excitement rushed up her spine. Uncertainty dousing it, but not enough to stop her hope for more.
Whatever was between them was like a scale, precariously balanced. She knew of scales, how a pinch too much of one ingredient could irrevocably ruin a dish.
But whatever was between them felt substantial and heavy. His kisses tipped her more to one side than the other. They were off balance and she wanted more.
She stepped away, pulled off the leather tie holding her hair until it fell loose about her.
He closed his eyes. ‘You know now, don’t you? It’s why you’re—’
She only knew her body felt tight like it had by the stream. Now with his kisses, she wanted to relieve it. She had to balance the scale. She unlaced the first lace of her gown. ‘Know what?’
‘You believe me now, when I say how much I desire you.’
That’s how this began, but if she did admit to believing, he would stop, and this recipe needed more ingredients.
‘Not enough. I need more,’ she said.
His eyes shot open and took in her determination. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We can’t.’
‘We’re not.’ She reached the lower laces and began to pull them apart. ‘This is merely pretending.’
His eyes lowered, took in her clumsy fingers. She watched his throat move as he swallowed.
Gone was the mockery and the assurance. There was only heated vulnerability and a moment suspended.
‘I can’t pretend any more,’ he said.
‘Just a little more.’ Tip the scale, a couple of grains, a couple of kisses. Dollops of honey, and she wanted his touch. The laces undone, she let go of the gown and it fell to her feet. She stood in her chemise. The fabric fine, but not sheer. She was still fully clothed, but didn’t feel it as Rhain took in her loose hair and bared feet.
Trepidation shook her body as anticipation beat her heart. Underneath the chemise were the worst of her scars.
He looked wildly around the room. ‘Here, Helissent? Here you want me to see you, to touch you?’
She could think of no better spot. The cellar, brimming with life-giving food, with combinations of ingredients she’d never tasted before, with recipes just waiting for her to discover. ‘Yes, here. Yes.’
A low rumble deep in his chest. Then suddenly, his elegant hands were on her arms, the press of his body against her own, a step back, for balance.
She found none. Only the security of the wall behind her back and the certainty that Rhain was holding her up.
Holding, a moment’s pause as if he, too, was surprised he was suddenly there, then he groaned and his lips slammed on to hers.
No more teasing kisses. Only his taste, his smell. Acutely aware of hands rubbing along her arms, of the press of his chest, the strength of thighs against hers. Of his mouth, his tongue, his kisses demanding more, devouring, wanting, longing.
Her hands going between them, feeling the thumping of his heart, the hitching rise of breath in his lungs. She felt…she felt… How could she feel so much?
* * *
Craving more of her kisses, more of the feel of her in his arms, Rhain undid his belt and threw it aside and toed off his boots.
Helissent stood trembling before him. Her unbound hair cascaded over one shoulder, an errant lock across her right cheek. The torch’s light couldn’t capture the colors. But he could see enough of the tumultuous waves and his fingers ached to know how each strand felt. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, but dark with desire and determination.
She was so beautiful to him and held still as he carefully lifted the chemise off her body and laid it on the ground.
Bared, her shoulders arched back, her chin jutting out. As if despite his words, he might reject her.
He could never reject her. He wanted to fall down on his knees and worship her. The grace and strength of each limb, the full curve of her breasts, the tips rosy and waiting for his touch, for his kisses.
Her entire skin was wrapped in jagged ribbons of scars, some white, a few very dark and deep. All testament to her true worth and beauty.
But now, here, he wanted only to feel her skin, to taste every inch of her. Explore and bring her pleasure. Nothing was about the past and he’d never needed a woman more.
‘You humble me,’ he said through the tightening in his voice.
* * *
Every limb shook, every nerve inside her quivered. Her hair from her scalp to down her arms and legs felt as though they were all trying to escape.
In some way, despite his actions, a part of her still expected pity or horror. She got none of that.
Instead Rhain’s eyes darted as if he couldn’t take in her features fast enough.
As if he wanted her. Truly wanted her. It was staggering.
‘Do you believe me now? How I can’t pretend. Look, Helissent, look how I desire you.’ He lowered his eyes to his breeches and hers followed his. Followed to what he could not hide. His need, his desire for her, blatant not only in the tension and hardness of his body, but in the flush across his cheeks, the heaviness of his lids, the softness to his lips.
She felt the flush of sweat at the small of her back and around her hairline. He was showing her more than acceptance. Could she believe this? ‘I don’t understand how you could want me.’
He opened his eyes. Shuddered. ‘You’re not sweet, Helissent, not at all. You torture a man with your demands. I have no reserves when it comes to you. I’ve done all I can to show you, now you tell me it isn’t enough. Since you give me no choice, I’ll make you feel it.’
‘How, when I look like this? How, when I thought no one else would?’
‘I could not want a woman more. No, I could not want you more.’
‘But what side of me?’
He padded her gowns, lifted and laid her down. ‘There are no sides to you. Is that all you see when you look at yourself? If so, you could do the same things with me… Find parts unpleasing.’
He laid on his side beside her. There could be no parts unpleasing about him. He was perfect. Everything about him was perfect.
‘I have scars and bruises,’ he said, splaying his fingers and, pushing up the sleeves of his tunic.
Nicks, cuts, healed over by golden skin. ‘But they aren’t…you.’
‘Are your scars you?’
He didn’t know of her cowardice. ‘Mine are deep. Sometimes I feel as though they’ve gouged my soul.’
His breath escaped. ‘Your soul is pure, Helissent. So pure, my blackened deeds and tainted heart shouldn’t be here. But your words demand I show you, that I touch you more.’ Sitting up, he shucked off his tunic. Not an ounce of hair covering him like she’d seen with others. Just more of that golden skin and lean muscles. Each line so symmetrically formed, she could level cakes with them.
‘You laugh?’ he said.
Was she laughing? ‘I was thinking of baking.’
‘Baking.’ His voice was deadpan.
She knew she had to explain. ‘I often think of baking when I look at you.’
He glanced down at his bare chest. ‘I should be insulted if you think I look like a cake. If Nicholas ever knew, I’d never hear the end of it.’
She did laugh then. ‘It’s your coloring. I can’t help it. Your hair is the color of lavender honey in spring. Your eyes the color of a winter’s batch carved from the beeswax.’
His body eased beside her, his head resting on his hand, his eyes warm. ‘Coming from you, these are compliments. Anything else inspire you?’
She wished she could blush then. ‘The texture of your hair.’ She could still feel it between her fingers.
‘What of it?’
‘It’s like the coarsest of rye flours sifted with the richest of butters. And your skin…’ she swallowed ‘…it’s golden like—’
‘Your honey cakes?’ His lips twitched. ‘If you compare me to your honey cakes, I may just boast to my men what you think of me.’
She nodded, both embarrassed and elated he understood, but more than that, he seemed…pleased by her clumsy words.
His eyes darted over her shoulder and his throat moved as he swallowed. As if he had clumsy words to say as well. ‘Then inspect me as you would a cake. Look closer, can you see my flaws?’
Not clumsy words at all, but heated ones. Inspect him? She could barely lie beside him. She vehemently shook her head.
‘Then let me inspect you.’ He traced along her thigh, his fingers almost fitting into the grooves caused by the ceiling pieces that had trapped her sister.
She often did what Rhain was doing. When the muscles underneath felt raw or fatigued. But it wasn’t the same now. In fascination, she watched his fingers skim her leg.
When she looked to his expression, he looked equally fascinated. When his darkened gaze returned to hers, she saw his questions, his innate curiosity.
‘You can’t feel here, can you?’
He could tell? She shook her head.
‘How about here?’ He skimmed his fingers along where her scars looked like broken spiders’ webs.
‘Some,’ she whispered, intent on watching him, his expressions, his look of wonder. Watched his hand which trailed over her hip and along her torso. She felt the slight brush of his knuckles against her inner arm, but along that side just under her breasts. Nothing.
‘Not there.’ The scars were too deep. She remembered the pain of those well.
His brow furrowed as if puzzled. So she watched his fingers to determine what piqued his curiosity as he traced from skin that could feel to places that felt nothing. Back and forth.
‘How about here?’ He traced one finger along the jagged bits of her, the softened, flattened scars before the smoothness of her natural skin. There wasn’t a perfect line from where she could feel and where she could not, but he seemed to want to know the parts.
‘I can’t feel. Not everywhere.’
He looked up then, his amber eyes lit as if by fire. ‘I can’t understand it.’
His tone was baffled. His expression fixed on the gentle swipe of his fingers as if he tried to figure out some complex recipe. As if there was something wrong with her.
Restless, she moved to sit up. He grabbed her hip and pulled her back down. ‘Don’t think that.’
‘You don’t know what I’m thinking.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘That I’m some sort of aberra—’
A kiss, forceful and brief. ‘Wait.’ Swirling amber. Raspy whispered words. ‘Watch me.’
He skimmed his caresses along the twisted skin, over her hip and down her thigh.
There she felt the caresses as inadvertently some of his fingers slid against less scar tissue.
With his hand now on the inside of her calf, he trailed along her unscarred leg and over her hip. Where she could feel, she felt hot. Where she couldn’t, she watched the mesmerizing strokes of his palms, the arcs of his fingers and the heat flared more.
‘Are you looking?’ he said.
She felt and watched and noticed everything. The intimacy of the cold, damp room. The hardness of the floor made soft with their clothes. The room lit by the lone torchlight mounted by the door behind them. How the light highlighted his hair, illuminated the golden tone of his shoulders, encased the flexing muscles of his torso.
He shimmered and comforted her like honey, but he was so much more than that. She wanted to tip the balance of the scales, but these scales were vast, all encompassing. They held so much more than she could ever dream.
‘Helissent,’ he said, his voice holding some taut amusement. ‘Are you thinking of baking again or are you watching?’
Unable to tell him all the words she wanted to say, she answered, ‘Both’.
He let out a soft breath. ‘It’s not you I find I cannot understand. It’s me. I don’t understand because when I touch you, I feel everything. Like here.’ He pressed his hand against the faintly puckered and twisted part of her. The part that was most pieced together. ‘And here.’ His hand low on her belly, where there were no scars. His warm palm radiating heat, his spread fingers creating an insistent pressure inside her.
‘I feel everything. Everywhere.’
She shook her head. His fingers weren’t scarred. Why wouldn’t he feel everything?
‘Now it’s your turn not to understand. Let me show you.’
He did it again to her, now watching her eyes, watching her reactions. His hand trailing the same path, but fingers widening, pressing more as if he couldn’t help it.
‘I feel the soft textures of your skin under my fingertips, your tremors vibrating against my palms. I see your flushing along your chest, your neck. How it contrasts with the colors along here.’ He traced with a fingertip between her breasts to her navel. ‘How your scars changed your color to this soft violet that reminds me of the dawn. But I feel your skin elsewhere, too. Watch me.’
He shifted, and knelt between her legs. With both hands he caressed from her ankles to her inner knee and around the outside of her thighs. He rested his hands against her hips, feathered his fingers along her waist.
Then he did it again. This time watching her, this time, she saw his gaze heat, then heat again. His lips curve, the look of wonder darkening. Darkening again until she could only sense the amber in his eyes like a fire behind that lit her.
She shivered.
His lips curved like he saw something more that pleased him. ‘You felt it elsewhere, yes? Not just from my hands, not just from your skin. But here in the thumping of your heart, in the flutters just under your skin, in the hitch of your breath.’
She did feel those things and more. She was being touched after years and years of nothing, and now it was almost too much.
‘I understand,’ she whispered, as his eyes searched hers, and he gave a rueful look.
‘Yes, but not nearly enough,’ he answered as his hands swept stronger lingering strokes.
Until she felt a want far past the sweep of his hands on her thighs and hips. Beyond the glide of his fingertips on her belly.
She quivered. ‘I understand,’ she said more forcibly.
‘Not yet.’
When he lowered his head, when he cupped an ankle and drew it to his mouth for his kisses, for his tongue. She wasn’t prepared for the flare of heat, like being speared with pleasure.
‘No, no, stay,’ he coaxed when she tried to escape. ‘You have unsurpassed legs, Helissent. Is this what baking gave you? This strength, these lines?’ He kissed her calves, caressed along her thighs. His kisses trailing higher the way his hands went.
Her left leg suffused with pleasure, he began on the other. ‘Do you have any idea how many times I imagine your bare legs? Your height against mine?’
He kept kissing and stroking until she ached with need. She couldn’t stand it when he gave the first delicate swipe of his tongue behind her knee, when he wedged himself between her legs to caress further, to kiss higher…
‘Rhain!’
He gave a humorless laugh. ‘Do you know how often I’ve imagined this?’ he murmured against her skin. ‘It’s my turn to make demands, to give you no choice.’ His fingers fluttered to the very core of her.
Images of him with the pommel of his dagger, the caressing strokes of his palm. All of it she felt now against her skin.
‘So sweet,’ he whispered. ‘So ready for my touch, for my tongue. To taste you now…’
She gasped, her back arching. His hands at her hips anchoring her as pleasure overcame her.
* * *
Rhain knelt between Helissent’s legs and knew he’d never be the same. None of it was pretend. All of it real.
So beautiful. Her body gathering in her breath, her neck and cheeks flushed with desire. A sheen to her skin that he brought there. Her eyes closed, her neck still arched.
The flames had taken away her modesty, and he’d reveled in her open responses. Every kiss, every touch, every taste glorious. Responsive as no woman had ever been.
Soon she would open her eyes and see what she had brought him, too. His body shaking, his breeches pulled taut. The sharp pain welcomed now because he could focus on it instead of her softness.
She humbled him, but now, all too acutely, cold reality crept in. He was unworthy of her. Unworthy in every way, both inside and out. He should have been a knight, noble, who didn’t cave to his needs. He should have left her alone in the cellar.
So weak when it came to her, but he must find whatever strength he had left and walk away.
Surely, she would know now her capability of bringing a man to his knees. That she was worthy of love and desire, surely now she would let him leave.
A curve to her lips, she murmured as she sat up and he schooled his features.
‘The inn is completely quiet,’ he said. ‘You could go undetected to your room.’
‘Aren’t we…?’ She pulled her knees to her chest, and looked forcibly at him. ‘I know what happens with men and women. I know there’s more.’
He’d hated himself in the past. Felt shame his brother carried a burden that was never his.
He was the one, who was vile, and tainted on the inside. Each burning pulse of Devil’s blood through his heart a reminder of his past, of how he could never truly have her.
She smiled at him, a glow to her skin, to her eyes. An inviting warmth. She was happy, and he wanted more with her.
From the firm line of her jaw, and her piercing eyes, she wasn’t going to let him simply walk away as he needed to. As she needed him to.
So he’d have to do more than merely leave. He’d have to take away some of her happiness. To do so, he’d lie to her. A mercenary lies all the time; this should be no different.
She was different.
He couldn’t do it. How could he be cruel when they shared so much? Cold sweat sheened and ice flowed under his heated skin. He turned the craving for her inward until it pained him. He needed to suffer. Outwardly, he needed to pretend that he could leave her.
After all they’d shared, he must lie to her to keep her safe…from him.
‘This was all pretend, remember?’ he said.
‘I…no, it was real. I know it was.’
He shrugged. ‘Because I gave you pleasure? You’re only one of the many women I’ve lain with. I gave them all pleasure.’
She frowned. He stood, his body racked with need, with want for her. He watched her eyes stare blatantly at his need.
‘But you didn’t lie with me. I didn’t get to touch you or—’
Each word she gave slashed his insides, all phrases he said burned his throat. He wanted her touch, wanted so much more. But she was determined, and he needed to keep her safe, from Reynold, from him. So he forced his words out, like they were knives. ‘Why would I want that?’ He almost sneered at her scarred hand.
Then he yanked on his tunic. Shocked he could get it over the knives he’d buried in his own heart. Wrapped his belt around him, tightening it until it felt like a noose around his neck. His shoes he merely picked up. His body suddenly too weak as if the bits of leather and lace were boulders ready to crush him.
He wanted to be crushed and hung and stabbed as Helissent then said, ‘So all those words about my scars. All your…kisses, and touch, what were they?’
‘You know how curious I am. I wondered what your skin felt like, how it would respond. And you satisfied that curiosity.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I am no different than those men Rudd introduced you to.’
She gasped then, her eyes sheening in the flickering light. Her shoulders jutted back, her chin raised as if he’d rejected her.
He had to reject her. He couldn’t stay here. He wanted to show her what she meant and he made it all worse. She made it worse by asking for more.
He clenched his eyes—no, this wasn’t about her. It was all his fault. She didn’t know how much worse it could be if he made love to her.
Kissing, touching and tasting her wasn’t the first mistake he’d made in the heat of a moment. He’d done that in London and it cost him his life.
He wouldn’t stay and be the cost of hers.
When he got to the door, he stopped to see her one last time. Even sitting vulnerable and exposed, she looked steadily at him. He still couldn’t tell the color of her eyes. And as his gaze lingered, he could barely grasp the emotion behind them.
Then he closed the door, knowing that all that waited for him was disappointment, regrets and death. Maybe he could beg Reynold to torture him before his death. He deserved far worse.
* * *
Helissent sat for only a few moments after Rhain left. The cold dampness of the room amplified now though the torch flared brighter with the closing of the door.
It was quiet, like those caves behind Agnes’s hut. Earlier this evening, she’d sought sanctuary here, but no longer did the room feel comforting.
It was good she didn’t need comfort any more. Quickly standing to dress, Helissent felt a lightness and a determination she had never felt before.
With Rhain’s last words, she should have felt hurt, but couldn’t. Not when he’d given her a gift no one else had ever given.
He had made her believe with his touch and kisses that she deserved more than her shame. Just as the innkeepers showed her love, just as she carried on because of that, she would find a way for Rhain now. Despite what he said, the cruelty of his sneer. When he looked back at her, she saw the truth in his eyes.
It was him that needed comfort. He said those words because…oh, she didn’t know why, but she knew she didn’t believe a word he said in the end.
She loved him. Of that she was certain. He needed her and she’d been willing to give herself to him.
He needed peace, needed the warmth she gave him. What she didn’t know was why. She desperately wanted to know why.
He said he didn’t deserve her, but he was wrong. Somehow, some way, it would be her turn to show him.