Page 48 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

“What is it?” he said. “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, tears of frustration burning behind my eyes. “No, you didn’t. You did nothing wrong. I just need…I need to stand up.”

He helped me do so, then stood too, then sat back on the bale of hay, obviously and endearingly unsure of himself. He cleared his throat. I tried very hard not to stare at the obvious evidence of hisdesire.

“Should I leave?” he asked at last. When I didn’t answer, his expression of concern softened. “It’s all right, Farrin. I can leave right now. I’m sorry if I—”

“No, don’t be sorry.” I spat the words, then turned away from him and hugged myself. I was so furious and mortified that I couldn’t say anything for a moment, and I couldn’t leave, and I couldn’t face him. I could only stand there and burn, needing him desperately yet afraid of the thing I needed, though I didn’t understand why.

“I’ve never…” I started, then lost my voice. I tried again. “I mean, I’m not…”

Ryder said nothing, waiting for me to say whatever it was I needed to say, only I didn’tknowwhat I needed to say. All my words were stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said at last, so gently that I had to look at him. I had to make him understand, even if it killed me.

I turned around, my arms still crossed over my chest. “I’m not a virgin,” I announced. At first, that was all I could say.

He waited, and waited, and then said patiently, “All right. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

The sound of his big gentle voice, and the sight of him sitting there on the bale of hay with his long legs and his beard that needed a trim, gave me a spot of courage. I took two quick steps toward him. I unfolded my arms and held them stiffly at my sides..

“I’m not a virgin, but I’ve only done this twice. This.” I gestured between us. “Whatever this is. And I’ve donemorethan this only once.”

Ryder nodded but said nothing.

“I’m not good with my body,” I said quietly. “Gemma is. Gareth is. Other people are. Not me. I don’t even like looking at myself in the mirror. Gods.” I laughed, feeling slightly hysterical. “I can’t believeI’m telling you this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do, because—” I made a frustrated sound; I wouldnotallow more tears, not after I’d already embarrassed myself more than enough for one day. I took a breath and blurted out, “Because I want you. It doesn’t make any sense, but I do. I thought of you last night, and I…it felt good.” My cheeks were burning. I looked very hard at the floor. “And I’ve never felt that way before. So clearly…” I gestured between us again, laughing a little, because the situation felt so absurd. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“I do,” he said solemnly. “And Farrin…” He breathed in and out slowly. “I’m honored.”

My eyes burned. I blinked hard, willing the feeling to pass.

“But you don’t have to force yourself to do anything, ever,” he went on, “no matter what sorts of handsome bearded men you might like to think of while alone in your bed.”

His voice held a smile; I glanced up and saw a slight sparkle in his eyes, and I laughed and covered my face. “Oh gods. I’m sorry. This is…” I waved at him. “You’re Ryder Bask, for gods’ sake.”

“And you’re Farrin Ashbourne,” he replied. His mischievous smile gentled. “Do you want to punch things some more? Or should I walk you back to your greenway?”

I stood there for a moment, forcing myself to feel all the nervy tendrils of uncertainty shivering throughout my body. In the quiet, with only the snuffling horses nearby, my thoughts began to settle.

“I can walk myself home,” I said slowly, “but before I go, would you kiss me again?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

I nodded, made myself look at him. “I do. I’m sorry for the…” I waved at myself. “I’m sorry.”

He rose and came to me, took my face gently in his hands. “Neverapologize to me for that.”

I let my eyes drift closed, relishing the feeling of him so close to me, the earthy, sweaty scent of him. “Never apologize for what?”

“For knowing your body and yourself,” he replied, “and for telling me what you don’t want, and what you do.”

Then he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me—unbearably soft, unthinkably sweet, each touch of his lips a tender brush of skin against skin. I melted into him, my eyes still closed, as his lips feathered across my cheeks, my jaw, and down my neck to the hollow of my throat. His hands slid into my hair, so slow and gentle that my skin broke out into goose bumps.

He noticed and laughed gently against my collarbones. “Quite the compliment,” he murmured. The soft rumble of his voice left me unable to stand on my own. I leaned into him, and he seemed to sense what I needed in that moment; he drew me to his chest and held me, tucked his head over mine, and with my ear pressed against him, I could hear the wild pounding of his heart and felt a sudden fierce tenderness. I pulled back a little and touched his face, traced the lines of his jaw beneath his beard, marveling at him. He closed his eyes and turned to kiss my palm, my fingers.

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