Trust In Love: A Love Mark Romance

by Linda Kage

  Wanting them clean, I brought them closer and began a vigorous hand-grooming regimen, only to realize the grime was actually dried blood, not dirt or sand.

  With a shiver of revulsion, I scrubbed at them more frantically, chipping my lovely polish in the process.

  I couldn’t be sure if the blood belonged to Farrow or one of the men we had killed, but all the same, it reminded me of the lives we’d taken a mere hour ago.

  Five dead. Because of us.

  And here I’d been, in the water, moaning and wanting sex.

  Shame coursed through my veins. After killing Yasmin, I’d been sick with guilt and terror for years, reliving the horror of what I’d done, unable to move on and live with myself. But now, I’d murdered again, yet I’d already forgotten.

  I know it’d all been in self-defense and they would’ve killed us if we hadn’t killed them first, but I hadn’t even felt a smidgeon of remorse at the time. With Farrow there, it’d felt somehow okay.

  What was wrong with me?

  Was I becoming so desensitized to death that it didn’t even faze me? Or was the presence of my true love somehow helping me process and move on so quickly that I never even felt the normal aftershocks of murder?

  A little shaken by my own blasé reaction, I finished my shower immediately and hurried from the water, no longer in the mood for pleasure.

  After drying and changing into my new dress, I hurried to the place Farrow said he’d be waiting, setting up camp. Now that we were in Far Shore and the terrain was vastly different, he said we’d rest only a couple hours here in the woods today, then start off again by mid-afternoon. From there, we would travel parallel to the main road until we came to the Cull River, where we’d reserve passage on a ferry to take us downstream to Blayton.

  Where his sick mother waited.

  Once I reached our campsite, I found that he’d already taken care of the horses, fashioned a smaller, triangular-shaped tent—one that only had walls, not a roof this time—and was kneeling in front of a fire he’d started.

  I paused for a moment to watch his back as he poked a stick at the logs, nursing the flames to burn brighter. He’d changed as well. No longer in his war gear of a simple leather kilt, sandals with the fur ties crisscrossing up his legs to his knees, and matching wrist guards, he’d garbed himself in brown trousers and a heavy green woolen tunic with dark boots.

  From the back, I would’ve mistaken him for a stranger, save for the fact that my mark recognized him and instantly calmed me with a sense of security.

  I stepped toward him, wanting to kneel beside him and place my hand on his sturdy back, lean my cheek against his shoulder, and gaze into the fire with him. But then I remembered how worried I’d been about my own lacking emotions.

  Wringing my hands, I released a breath. “We just left those men lying where they died.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and then turned as he stood. The man was so handsome it made my stomach knot with need.

  I grasped a portion of my dress’s skirt and worried the cloth between my fingers. I could only ever seem to focus on him whenever he was near. Was this going to make me forget to feel compassion for others, strip me of my humanity, and never worry about the rest of the realm ever again?

  That was kind of distressing.

  “If it’d been us,” he finally said, “they wouldn’t have given us a proper burial either, princess.”

  “But we’re not them,” I argued. “I’d like to think myself better. And I think we should’ve—”

  “What?” He stepped toward me. “Robbed the buzzards of their morning meal?”

  I bit my lip. He had a point. By feeding the birds those corpses, we’d allowed the circle of life to continue so they could be nourished, then fly on and do whatever buzzards did to enrich the land.

  But still.

  “Did it bother you at all that we had to kill them?” I asked timidly.

  He paused in front of me and tipped his head to the side. “Taking life always bothers me, my lady. I wonder if they had family, mouths to feed, children who’ll go fatherless without them, wives who’ll mourn their loss, sick mothers who depended on them for nursing.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they were the type who beat their wives, starved their children, and kicked their ailing parents out into the gutters. Maybe I did the realm a service to rid it of them. We’ll never be sure. Why? What’s bothering you most, princess?”

  “I…” I blushed. “It’s actually a much vainer, more selfish concern than that. I hadn’t wondered about their families at all. I was just worried about myself, and why killing them hadn’t shaken me as much as it did the first time. When I murdered Yasmin.”

  Farrow’s gaze softened with understanding and kindness. “That was your first time. The first time’s always different. And it was with someone you knew personally and were close to. Today, those men were dangerous strangers who were threatening our lives. They made no secret about the fact that they planned to rape and kill you. You aren’t required to mourn their deaths or even regret what we did. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  “Really?” I said in a small, uncertain voice. “Are you sure?” Because I definitely didn’t feel like a good person at the moment. “I haven't lost my humanity yet?”

  “Lost your humanity?” He cracked out an amused laugh. “My lady, you were willing to die to save a horse just a few days ago. No, I wouldn't say you’d lost your humanity at all.”

  I bit my lip. He had a point. “I guess that’s true.”

  “It is. And I’m alive because of what we did. You’re alive. I will not regret the unpleasantness we had to wade through to get here. And neither of us should let it haunt us, either, but rather, we can learn from it and carry on, honoring the world by taking this gift of life we’ve been granted and living it to the fullest from here on out. Doing something good with it.”

  A slow smile spread across my face. His warmth and sincerity told me this was a man of great integrity. Thank God, the mark had helped me find my mate. I never would’ve learned all the wonders he had to offer, otherwise.

  “I like that answer,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and held out a hand. “Good. Then, come, my lady. Since you needed a change in meals, I’ve caught a rabbit and have it roasting over the fire.”

  I fell to a surprised stop. “You…?” When I realized he really did have a small animal skewered on a spit and it was cooking over the open flames, emotion clogged my throat.

  He’d done that for me, because I’d complained about eating too much of the same thing. That felt like the sweetest deed anyone had ever done for me before.

  “After we hide that tattoo, we can see about breaking our fast,” he added, his back to me as he once again crouched down before the fire and poked a stick at it to increase the heat.

  I knelt next to him and watched as he reached out to rotate the spit.

  “Appears to be about half done,” he decided with a satisfied sigh and stopped tending to the fire so he could pick up a leaf full of muddy brown paste.

  I reared back, making a face. It smelled awful. “What is that?” I hoped he didn’t expect me to eat it, because I would refuse.

  Turning to me, he dipped two digits in and scooped up a goop full. “It’s a poultice of things I found out here to apply to your tattoo and conceal it. I couldn’t make anything to match your skin tone, so I went for your hair color.” He lifted his eyes and studied my face a moment before motioning with his chin. “Look that way, will you?”

  His words were soft and encouraging, so I tipped my face to the side. He reached out, and I sucked in a breath at contact.

  “It’s cold.”

  “Welcome to Far Shore,” he said, his eyes glittering with amusement as he smeared the concealer over my tattoo, somehow dispelling the putrid odor as he applied it. “Everything will get increasingly colder the closer we get to the Back Sea. The weather, the people, all of it.”

  It sounded
almost like he was trying to warn me.

  And not just about everyone else. About himself, too.

  I wanted to tell him he wasn’t a cold person. I’d been in his company long enough to know. There wasn’t a ruthless, uncaring, monstrous bone in his body. But it was possible I’d misinterpreted his meaning to begin with, so I cleared my throat. “You seem good at camouflaging skin. Where did you learn such things?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, frowning at his own work as he continued to apply the concealer. Then he made a defeated sound in the back of his throat and briefly met my inquisitive stare.

  “My mother was a lady of the night.” When I sent him an odd look, letting him know I had no idea what that meant, he explained, “She worked in a brothel. Sold the pleasures of her flesh to men for money.”

  My lips parted. “O-oh.”

  Ohhhhh.

  He nodded, focusing his attention back on my tattoo. “Aye. So I grew up watching courtesans making all manner of unsightly spots on their skin disappear. Or sometimes wanting marks to appear, whatever the case. The prettier you were, the more business you got, ergo the more money you made.”

  I gave the explanation consideration. “Makes sense,” I finally decided.

  Farrow pulled his hand away to study me intently. “What? No comment about the fact that I’m a whore’s son?” He arched a challenging, sardonic eyebrow. “Still think I’m your true love, princess?”

  Back straightening with self-righteous indignation, I proclaimed, “Working in such a manner doesn’t automatically make a person wicked. And even if it did, your origins do not affect our match in the least. In fact, did you know the crown prince of High Cliff married a washerwoman because of their marks matching up?”

  He sent me a curious glance. “Really? I did not know that, in fact. So the king was perfectly agreeable to the fact that his heir wanted a—”

  “Of course not.” I rolled my eyes. “He had her killed on site. But Erick brought her back with a kiss and—well, you probably don’t care about all that. The fact remains, regardless of your roots, you still do not scare me away. If that was your intent.”

  “Aye,” he murmured softly, his stare delving into mine as if seeking every truth inside me. “It was.”

  I blinked, surprised he was so willing to admit it. “But why? Why try to sabotage what we could have?”

  “Because beautiful, spunky women don’t just go around pledging their undying devotion to me, that’s why, my lady.” Lifting his arms, he glanced around the forest and let out a harsh laugh. “None of this makes sense. You were supposed to be some spoiled, high-brow princess who cared for nothing but herself and resisted every mile we rode in chains. And I…” His chest heaved as he sucked in a tortured breath. “I wasn’t supposed to like you so fucking much.” Wiping a hand over his face, he cursed to himself. “I keep expecting to turn around and learn this was all just some huge, elaborate lark to test me. Like my father set it all up, just to—”

  “Your father?” I blurted, really confused now.

  “Dammit,” he breathed on a wince and briefly squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again to send me a leery look.

  “You actually know who your father is?” I wouldn’t have thought a woman who worked in a brothel would know who sired any babe she might bear.

  Farrow’s eyes flared a moment before he gave a reluctant nod and dropped his gaze. “He paid for exclusive rights to her for an inordinate amount of time. I was conceived in that range, so there was never any question of who he was.”

  “But why would he test you—”

  “Because he’s an asshole,” Farrow fumed. “A wealthy, soulless monster who only knows how to hurt and ruin. He never cared a whit for my mother, leaving her to grow ill and rot in that—” Hissing out his rage, he panted a moment before, saying. “And I’m done with it. Done with him. I’m completely finished with his mad, destructive antics.”

  Understanding why this must be difficult for him to discuss, I concluded, “So he’s no longer around, waiting at your mother’s bedside for you to return with her cure? There’s only Sable there to nurse her until you return?”

  “Sable?” He seemed momentarily puzzled by my questions, squinting as if trying to make sense of them, but then he bobbed his head slowly and cleared his throat, glancing away as he answered, “No, he’s not with her now. My father isn’t—he’s not a nice man.” The words seemed to choke him as he turned to me, his eyes gleaming with an eerie light as if he needed me to understand more.

  My heart broke. “Is this why you’ve refused to lie with me? Because you’re worried about me discovering your parentage?”

  His throat worked as he swallowed. Then his eyes seemed to cloud with shadows. “No,” he said.

  “Then, why? I know you want me. Sometimes, I swear it’s your arousal, not my own, coursing through my blood. And the way you always react to my touch…” I reached for him, running my hand down his chest.

  With a shuddering groan, he reared back and sent me a harsh, warning look. Holding up a finger, he bunched his jaw but said nothing. Then he sighed and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to take you.” His voice was rough and full of regret. “You don’t know everything.”

  “Then tell me,” I urged. “Tell me whatever it is I need to know to make this okay for you. Because I crave to know the feel of your hands on me like I’ve never craved anything.” Burying my fingers between my legs, I made the skirt of my dress gather awkwardly as I pressed in against myself. “Sometimes I ache here so much that it throbs, longing for you to put your—”

  “Dammit, Nicolette.” Winded, Farrow jerked to his feet and backed away. “Don’t talk that way.”

  “Why? I know you feel it too. You want me. Aren’t you even—” Then I gasped as an idea struck me. Fisting a hand against the base of my throat, I croaked, “Oh God. You’re already with someone. Aren’t you? You’ve a wife.”

  He blinked at me, his eyes glittering hard as if tempted to say one thing, but then he grimaced. “No,” he said, turning away. “No wife. I’ve no one. I just—” Blowing out a lungful, he ran a hand through his hair before whirling back to me, appearing harassed. “Please, Nicolette. Just wait. Wait until we reach Blayton. And then…” He winced but nodded. “If you still want me after that, it would be my great honor to be with you in any way you wished. But not now.” He glanced around the trees. “Not here.”

  I watched him for a moment, wondering what he wasn’t telling me, why he seemed so conflicted and yet sad as if he knew we would never reach Blayton at all.

  But I had faith in the mark. I had faith in him. This man was my perfect match.

  Everything would turn out fine.

  So I reached out and touched his arm. “Okay,” I promised. “I’ll wait.” Then my grin bloomed. “I’ve already waited five years for you. What’s a few more days, right?”

  He seemed vaguely conflicted by that comment. His eyes watered as if in pain, but then he swiped the moisture away and offered me a smile. “Right,” he whispered.

  I nodded too, trying to reassure him and instill some of my own trust into his bloodstream with my return smile. Then I turned my face to the side so he could see the side that held my mark. “So? How does it look?”

  He studied me a moment before cracking his own reluctant smirk. “Like you have a piece of hair stuck to your face.”

  I started to lift my hand, instinctively needing to unstick it, even though I logically knew no hair was there, but Farrow caught my arm. “Careful; you’ll smear it,” he warned softly. “Give it a moment to dry.”

  Then he did the unthinkable. He leaned close and softly blew on my mark to help the concealer dry faster.

  “Oh God,” I moaned, my eyes rolling up into my head at the unbearably erotic contact. His lips were still pursed from blowing as he pulled away. It made my nipples immediately pearl and my womb contract. “I think I just came.”

  “Jesus, Nic,” he rasped, and the f
ingers holding my forearm tightened fractionally. “Must you say such things?”

  “Yes.” I sent him a devilish grin, fully expecting a reprimand for my words, but when our gazes met, he just stared at me, temptation thick in his expression.

  I whispered his name. He heaved out a heavy breath and his fingers shifted, sliding down my arm and over my wrist guards until they touched the back of my hand. Then his caress kept going, winding around to the front until he pressed his palm against mine. There, our fingers laced, and he watched the joining as his thumb glazed over mine.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he admitted quietly. “You make me want the impossible.”

  “Not impossible,” I promised, which only made his eyes flare and his thumb push inside the crevice made between my thumb and index finger, as if he were picturing another part of him entering another part of me.

  I whimpered wantonly, waiting for his next move, certain that if I did anything at all, it would scare him away and he’d pull back. His lashes fluttered and lungs stuttered out air as his grip on me tightened. When he swayed forward, I leaned in to meet him, thinking finally.

  Finally.

  But then a sudden commotion of voices broke through the trees, ruining the moment, and he yanked away, spinning toward the sound.

  Dammit. I was getting very tired of other people interrupting my mini breakthroughs with this man. At this rate, we’d be seventy before he capitulated to my charms.

  Forgetting all about our almost kiss, Farrow held up a hand, bade me to stay put, and then took off jogging toward all the hullabaloo going on north of us to check it out.

  17

  Farrow

  I barely made it out of the camp before Nicolette murmured next to my ear, “Do you think they know we’re here?”

  At the question, I closed my eyes and let out a silent groan.

  Of course. She had followed me. I mean, why ever would she remain behind after I’d specifically asked her to stay put? For her own safety.