Trust In Love: A Love Mark Romance

by Linda Kage

  It was one of the most treasured experiences of my life.

  22

  Nicolette

  I woke the next morning to the sound of a campfire snapping and the scent of meat cooking on a spit. My stomach clenched, desiring food.

  Feeling deliciously rested and worked over nicely, I smiled and stretched before sitting up and shoving my hair out of my face, scanning the camp for Farrow. He stood at the horses, fully dressed for a day of riding and tied the last of our saddle bags into place.

  As if sensing my gaze, he glanced over.

  Remorse flashed in his eyes.

  Dropping his hands from his task, he turned to me, his expression smoothing out flat and blank. “We need to get back on the road. We’ve lost a full day of travel.”

  Disappointment echoed through me.

  “Okay.” Nodding, I pushed to my feet and padded toward him. “But the aphrodisiac?” I asked, even though I already knew.

  “Gone,” he said, his eyes darkening.

  “So, now you finally regret it?” I guessed dully, stopping in front of him. Now that he was back in his own frame of mind, of course he regretted tupping me. “You regret being with me?”

  “No.” His gaze softened as he clutched my face in his hands and looked at me intently as if trying to show me with his eyes what he was really feeling, even though all he needed to do was stop blocking me and let me feel it for myself. Except he refused.

  “I’ll never regret it,” he promised a bit more forcefully.

  “But we aren’t going to do it again. Are we?”

  My gaze lowered to his lap, and I swear his trousers tented under my attention, except he stepped back and turned away before I could be certain.

  “We need to get going,” he said with authority.

  Right. “Your mother,” I remembered.

  If she died now before we made it to her, I’d blame myself. I didn’t want to do that, so I hurried through breakfast. Afterward, I prepared for travel and climbed onto Caramel, startled when Farrow appeared at my side to help me up.

  “Thank you,” I told him, not quite able to smile when I glanced down from the horse-top and saw his turbulent countenance. “We’ll save her,” I assured him. “I have faith.”

  He didn’t speak, clearly not sharing my trust in our destiny, but he nodded and climbed onto Mint.

  We rode through most of the morning in relative silence. At one point, I patted my bare wrists and gasped. “I think the mages stole my jewelry. I don’t recall seeing my wrist guards in my bags when I was changing this morning.”

  “Oh,” Farrow rumbled, his voice rough from lack of talking. “I saw them in mine.” He opened a flap on the pack hanging from the side of Mint’s shoulder. After digging his hand in for a while, he pulled one of the guards free. “I believe your necklace and hairpin are in here, too.”

  “Excellent.” I rode closer to accept the jewelry as he passed everything over, one item at a time. “Though I wonder why they put them in with your things.”

  He shrugged and squinted off into the horizon through the trees as if to ascertain the time. “More room over here, maybe,” he guessed before adding, “We should reach the Cull late this afternoon. Make sure I check on your tattoo before we board the ferry. I might need to touch up the coverage.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, easily. “Is the ferry usually crowded with people?”

  “Depends,” he said. “We may be the only riders for a spell, or there could be dozens. Some may join or disembark later at other stops.”

  “I’ve never been on a ferry,” I blurted, feeling as if I should say more.

  My nerves had been eating at me since morning, which shouldn’t be surprising. I’d spent the entirety of yesterday being more intimate with this man than I’d ever been with anyone. Yet today, he could barely look me in the eye. I didn’t want that to crush my soul, but it kind of did anyway.

  I wanted him to love me because he loved me, dammit, not because some aphrodisiac had forced him to.

  And he probably wanted the same assurance: real affection from me, not something forced from my mark.

  Oh! In a flash, I suddenly understood exactly how he probably felt every time I tried to tell him the mark had chosen him, and he adamantly denied its validity.

  “I’ve never been on a ferry either,” he said, just as I randomly asked, “Do you want me to remove my mark?”

  He startled. “What?”

  “What?” We both spoke together the next time as he repeated the word more forcefully.

  “Really?” I asked a moment later. “You’ve never been on a ferry either? Well, that makes me feel—”

  “What’re you talking about, remove your mark?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but there must be some way to get them off. Cut out that section of tattooed skin maybe, or—”

  “Like hell you’ll mutilate yourself like that,” he exploded angrily. “It would hurt like a son of a bitch.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. “But if it’s what you need for me to do to prove to you that I love you regardless of the mark, then I’m willing.”

  “You—” His throat worked through a difficult-looking swallow. Then his voice went hoarse. “That’s the first time you’ve said that to me on this journey.”

  “What?” A crinkle worked between my brows. “That I love you? Of course, I’ve said it before.” I thought the words constantly. I was sure I’d have mentioned them aloud at some point or another. “I mean…” I squinted, trying to remember. But I couldn’t, so I tilted my head, curious. “Are you quite certain I haven’t said it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Positive. You said it the night we met, right after you freed me from the chains. But not once since then, not since you left Donnelly with me.”

  “Really? How odd. Well...” Moving past that, I said, “I do. I’ve always loved you. From the beginning. And every day, it grows and changes. Every new thing I learn about you only makes me love you more, in different ways. Even the things I find irritating, like the fact that you can’t just let scorpions have poor grammar or that you refused to lie with me for so long under some misguided notion that you’re actually protecting me, or the way you only whistle when you relieve yourself.”

  His frame jerked in surprise, so I explained, “It’s most frustrating. I think you do it to drown out the sound of the urine, but you create such a fetching tune. I want to listen to more, except bam, you finish your task in moments and the whistle is gone. And yet I still love you, even though you deny me your musical whistle, because even your most distressing qualities only help me know and understand you better.”

  He blinked at me, stunned mute.

  “So, there you have it.” I splayed out a hand after a moment of silence. “I love you.”

  Concern marred his expression, and he opened his mouth. I knew he would dispute my claim—which was another irritating quality of his I was willing to look past—so I cut in with, “And please don’t start on all that you’ll-hate-me bullshit again. I love you. Right now, right here. And even if you end up being right—which you won’t—it won’t negate how I feel for you at this exact moment.”

  Something that looked suspiciously like hope flooded his features. His cheeks colored and he heaved in air, nodding mutely as he processed my claim.

  “No one’s ever said it to me before you,” he finally replied, his voice low and humbled.

  My brow furrowed. “Not even your mother?” I asked. “Nor your sister, Sable?”

  He seemed suddenly so young and innocent. “If they did love me, it was an unspoken thing. But I—”

  I shifted my horse closer to his. “Yes?”

  He lifted his gaze to me, his eyes full of gratitude and yearning. “I find I like hearing it aloud.”

  “Then I’ll endeavor to say it out in the open more often.”

  Farrow didn’t answer. He didn’t offer me the same claim, but I was willing to wait.

  I knew he had to be get
ting close, even if he wasn’t quite there yet. What he did do, however, was trot on ahead of me and begin to whistle softly under his breath. I grinned, deciding that was close enough for now.

  We didn’t pause for lunch but ate on horseback, only taking brief respites for chamber pot breaks and to give the horses small rests. At one point, we saw other riders heading toward us, moving slower than we were.

  Farrow immediately reached for his hatchet, but I held up a hand.

  “Easy,” I cautioned. “They might not want any more trouble than we do.”

  He nodded and lowered the hatchet to his side, out of sight, but remained tense. To be on the safe side, I slid my own hand into my saddle bags and wrapped my fingers around the cold, cot, or whatever freaking name it had been given.

  Seriously, what had Indigo—Oh! Right. A Colt. That was it.

  The other group—two women and a man with a small child—entered a clearing in the trees at the same moment we did. They seemed surprised to see us, but the man tipped his hat to Farrow, and both parties kept riding directly past each other. I made eye contact with the little girl in pigtails and waved at her, delighted when she shyly waved back.

  As soon as the others had passed and Farrow and I were once again alone, I pulled out the Colt and held it up proudly. “I finally remembered,” I announced. “It’s a Colt. A Colt thirty-two pocket pistol, model 1903.”

  Farrow burst out laughing. Then he shook his head and sent me an amused glance. “Has forgetting the name of that thing bothered you this entire time?”

  “Yes! It’s been driving me crazy,” I burst out. “I hate forgetting what something’s called. And I do it constantly.”

  “I forgot the word for wheat flour once,” he admitted. “My sister arched that one eyebrow she always lifts when she’s confused and wants to hide it, and she looked at me as if I’d lost my mind before she told me I needed a nap.”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth when my amusement made me snort. “Is Sable older or younger than you?” I could never tell from the way he talked about her.

  He went suddenly somber. Then he cleared his throat and offered me a tense smile. “Younger,” he said. Pain filled his eyes as the smile turned nostalgic. “She’s a dozen years younger, yet she acts like the older sibling most of the time.”

  “You love her very much,” I decided, watching his face. “Don’t you?”

  His lashes fluttered. “Yes. Very much.”

  Jealousy rolled over me. I wished he could admit the same thing to me. But it was too soon, I knew. Love didn’t come at the same speed for everyone. I could be patient for his.

  As rash and impetuous as I was, this I could wait for, because it’d be worth it.

  He would come to love me, too; I was certain of that. If it took me the rest of my life, I’d get him to love me enough to admit it. I knew there were feelings in him—strong feelings for me—but just not enough to be all-consuming yet, I guess.

  But someday...

  “How is your Colt a model 1903, anyway?” he asked suddenly, scowling in confusion. “If there were 1,902 made before it, why have I never heard of one of them before?”

  “Maybe it’s for the year it was made,” I said.

  He paused. “For the what, now?”

  With a chuckle, I started in on that tale, sharing with him everything Indigo had ever shared with me about the alternate dimension that possessed books, planes, and motorcycles, and how they documented their time.

  “Seriously?” he murmured in awe once I was done. “A flying carriage? Why has no mage yet whipped up something like that here? I’m suddenly quite disappointed in all the magical people in the Outer Realms.”

  I laughed. “Indeed. And I’m sure a motorcycle could come in handy quite nicely right now. From the way Indy talked, they move so fast we would’ve made it to your mother in half a day instead of nearly the fortnight it’s taking us now.”

  Falling suddenly somber, Farrow crinkled his brow in consternation before he murmured, “Aye. That would be nice.”

  I knew he was thinking about her now, worrying about her health and hoping we made it to her in time.

  I opened my mouth to offer some hope and reassurance, only to pause and tip my head to the side when a sound caught my ear. “Do you hear that?”

  Farrow paused as well, tugging Mint to a halt. A moment later, his eyes widened. “The river,” he said.

  I gasped. “We’ve reached it? Already?”

  He nodded, anticipation shimmering in his gaze. “If the current’s strong, we could reach Blayton by tomorrow.”

  His mind was already with his ailing mother, I could tell. He spurred his horse forward and raced toward the sound of rushing waters. I followed, thrilled that we were finally making headway on our journey. It felt as if we’d been traveling forever. But if things went well, his mother could be healed completely by tomorrow evening.

  This was amazing.

  I galloped after my mate, shrieking with joy and delighted that his dream was finally coming true. In front of me, he slowed, however, allowing me to catch up.

  “I forgot to check your tattoo,” he said, suddenly pulling us up short, out of breath as if he’d been the one running, not the horse.

  So we took a few minutes to dismount and freshen up, where he applied more concealer, and I smoothed out a piece of his hair that was sticking up.

  His eyes nearly glowed with anticipation. He looked more invigorated than I’d ever seen him. Plus, studying the intent features of his face as he focused on my temple reminded me of the expression he got right before he came.

  And just like that, I could feel him inside me again, lodged against that spot that drove me crazy, the spot he liked to torture because he knew it was so sensitive for me.

  I couldn’t help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to his mouth just as he finished hiding my tattoo.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “You take such good care of me. That’s another reason I love you.”

  His eyes darkened, and he caught my shoulder, kissing me back, desperately, as if he were kissing me for the last time. Then he dropped his fingers and stepped away.

  “We should go.”

  Up ahead, I heard voices and activity. So we climbed back into our saddles and headed that way. When we reached the break in the trees, an opening appeared, revealing a confluence, where one river, running south, joined in with the Cull that broke off to go east.

  There, a crowd gathered around a small wooden cottage. Two large flat barges made of wooden logs with wooden railings on either side sat in the water by the shore and were tethered with thick ropes that tied off to the side of the lodge, one marked with a sign to let riders know it was traveling south, toward Pinsky, and the other preparing to travel the Cull, toward Blayton.

  Farrow sidled up next to me and lowered his voice. “From here on out, stay close. Don’t leave my side.” When he met my eye, he sent me a stern frown. “We’ve gotten lucky so far, but not everyone would be so kind if your identity was revealed.”

  I arched my brows. “You call getting shot with an arrow by five ruffians lucky?”

  His lips slipped into a smirk. “Aye.” With a wink, he added, “And kind too.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. He slapped the flank of my horse and sent it darting forward, only to laugh as he appeared next to me, catching up, and playfully snagging Caramel’s reins so he could control both horses.

  As soon as we reached the ferry station, however, we sobered enough to tie off the horses and approach the lodge to pay the admission fee. Farrow dished out enough coin to cover both our tickets as well as two extra spaces for the horses.

  When we turned away to approach the crowd gathering around the Cull ferry, he took my hand, drawing me close. Most of the parties waiting to board seemed like families with only a few men traveling alone. Two such men caught my attention when they parted slightly from the horde, their gazes intent on Farrow.

  They dressed a bit like
all the royal guards I’d seen that had come from High Cliff with Allera and Urban and Indigo when they’d first arrived in Donnelly for Brentley’s marriage. Except they wore Far Shore colors, and the Far Shore crest sat on their silver breast plates. Eyes narrowing when they shifted their focus to me, they seemed to tense as if preparing to attack.

  “Farrow.” I squeezed his hand.

  He’d been glancing the other way, scanning the crowd, but when he swung back to me and watched the slight tipping of my head as I motioned toward the men, he turned his gaze to them and immediately fell still, nearly breaking my fingers with how hard he tightened his grip.

  “Fuck.”

  Fear flooded from him. It was pretty much the first emotion I’d felt from him since the desert. It made my own anxieties leap.

  “You know them,” I said.

  He nodded once, never tearing his hard gaze from the men.

  “Go to the horses,” he instructed, his voice firm. “Get the Colt ready and wait there. I’ll be right back.”

  “But…” I shook my head, stunned by the command. “You told me not to leave your side.”

  “Well, now I’m telling you to wait by the horses.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he ordered, “And whatever happens, stay as far away from those two as you can get. Never trust them. Do you hear me?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Good. Now, go.”

  I huffed as he stalked away, straight toward the very men he’d warned me never to go near myself.

  “Seriously?” I muttered, scowling after him. If they were so dangerous, why was he strolling right up to them, then?

  Not following his ridiculous demand, I watched as his back muscles strained against the confines of his coat when he stopped before them. He fisted his hands down at his sides and widened his stance. He was ready to fight if necessary.

  Whatever he told them, they didn’t seem to like. They each peered past him, over his shoulder, and directly at me. When one tried to step around him as if to head in my direction, Farrow dodged into his path and placed a staying hand on the center of his chest. He spoke again, and his words did not meet with their approval. They started to motion just as aggressively as he was, ready to brawl.