‘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 returni
ng 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.
Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640) Page 64