Page 186 of Forcing Fate

“Of course.”

I took the blade with a nervous but steady hand. He trusted me. The least I could do for the man was shave a small spot on his cheek. His warm fingers wrapped around my wrist, bringing my hand to his cheek. After a deep breath, I pressed the blade to his skin. I applied gentle pressure and pulled it across his face.

I inched away with a smile, admiring my work. “There, I—Oh no!” I winced as a spot of red appeared.

“You cut me.”

“I didn’t mean to! I—really! Do you have a rag?”

I looked around and back at the small drop of blood. Panicked, and obviously not thinking clearly, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to the small cut. Licking the blood away, I wrinkled my nose at the taste of the soap, then sat back. It’s what I would have done if I had a cut.

If I had a cut.

Not on someone else.

He stared at me, and I slapped my hands over my face. I had done more than enough to hide today. Rafe gently pried my hands down. I looked at the spot where blood no longer stained his cheek.

“Thank you.”

I stumbled back on my rear, at his words or losing my balance, I wasn’t sure. He held my hands, bracing my weight against my fall. Once stable, he released me and stood, heading to the spring. I watched him, attempting to wrap my mind around the fact that this was happening.

He placed his pack on the ground and grabbed his belt. He pulled it through the buckle, one bit at a time. “I’m sure it’s not modest to watch.”

I cursed and spun, turning my back on him.

His chuckle taunted me. “Not that I’m a good judge of modesty.”

“Do you have any family?” I asked quickly.

Anything to get us off this topic.

Anything.

There was silence, besides the rustling of garments, then the sound of water lapping against the stones, followed by a low groan. A groan that heated my skin and something deep in my belly clenched in response.

“No,” he answered.

“Not even a brother or sister?” I pressed.

It was odd to be like me, an only child. Parents often had several children, as the chances of them surviving to adulthood were poor.

“No.”

I sighed and crossed my legs, reaching back to redo the braid at the nape of my neck. The ripples and splashes of him moving about the water were far too familiar for my liking. I didn’t feel like I had the right to this much of his trust.

“You’ve not told me of my father,” I said, tying off the short braid.

The sounds of splashing eased, going still. “What do you wish to know?” His voice took on a guarded tone.

“How did he die?” I asked.

All heated sensations fizzled out and died with that question. I was beyond mourning my loss, but the sudden shift in tension made it seem like something between my father and Rafe was unresolved.

“I was seventeen-winters,” Rafe started with a sigh. “I blew through training and they sent me to the front. I was young and foolhardy. I knew a blade, I knew of the enemy, but I lacked experience. I didn’t know the enemy.

“Gareth looked out for me—as much as I resented it. He was always there to take the blame or catch my falls. He was a good man. I was sent to assist another company trapped by Hunters. Gareth was assigned to me.

“He told me not to charge in, that it looked like an ambush. My men were better trained, better equipped. I thought I could handle it. I charged and made it out alive.” He paused, and silence reigned.

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