Page 92 of The Flame and the Forsaken

Erran brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. “Give me some time with it.”

She stretched a hand up to his face. “Don’t expect an apology about today. But I’m glad I was wrong.”

Erran chuckled. “Is that nay the same thing?”

“I assure you, it is not.” Her face contorted to suppress a grin.

“Well, Iwillapologize, for not talking to you about how I was feeling about coming here again. Truth was I wasn’t looking forward to dredging the past. I hadn’t thought about her at all since you and I...” He sighed. “It brought a lot back for me, and not all good. I’m sorry for not just saying so. I should’ve told you how I felt before we came here.”

She nodded. “We’ll get better at this.”

It hadn’t escaped him that Mariel had yet to say the words herself.I love you.She’d nodded when he’d asked, but it wasn’t the same. Still, it had to be harder for her. Even he could see that. For all she’d confessed to doing, her motivations for her transgressions had been selflessness. Justice. The Rutlands had fattened their coffers at the great expense of others, and were still doing so. Their battles were not the same.

All he could do was give her time.

Nay, it’s not all you can do, but the rest will be much harder.

“Erran?”

He broke his daze. “Aye?”

“I don’t know the way back to our apartments.”

“Oh!” He laughed and linked their hands again. “That eager to jump me, are you?”

“Or to be out of this cursed gown,” she muttered, lifting the sand-covered fabric with a disgusted look.

“Aww.” Erran kissed her again. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Mariel made a raspberry noise.

“Beautiful,” he said again.

She made the sound again, louder.

“Feckin’stunning,” he growled and swept her into his arms. Her euphoric giggle melted him. “Hope you’re not too tired, outlaw.”

Mariel was achingfor the water steaming from the tub. Erran had called for it after she’d said they should consider not sleeping in sand, but it wasn’t even about being clean. She needed the warm embrace after the emotional turmoil of the past days.

She stood naked in front of the long oval mirror rimmed with gold. Her reflection had always been a curious thing to her, for all her indifference to it. She’d come of age young and hadn’t needed to worry about whether her hips were agreeable or whether suitors would be attracted or repelled. But her breasts were her singular insecurity. On an otherwise muscular frame, they were unnecessarily large and served no useful function in her endeavors. But until recently, her aversion had been mostly practical. Every piece of clothing Mariel had ever owned Augustine had had to tailor to make space for them. They perpetually got in the way, especially when she was using her bow. After a long day, her back hurt more than it should have, for her age. But like all burdens she’d borne for years, she’d learned to live with this one too.

She turned left... right, giving them more thought in the past five minutes than the past five years, and wondered whether such eyesores were pleasing to a man like Erran, or some unavoidable obstacle to work around as she’d always seen them. He’d given no sign one way or another. It was not a part of her he’d explored.

She lifted them in her palms, as she often did at the end of the day, relishing the immediate relief from taking the weight off her frame.

The door to the privy room opened. Mariel scrambled for her towel, but Erran lunged forward and steered her hand away. With his foot, he closed the door.

“Why would you hide yourself?” He resecured the towel on the hook and moved around to the back of her. “From me?”

Mariel shook her head at her reflection. She looked the proper fool standing naked, her hands crossed over her chest like a maiden caught unawares by a lake. His watching her worsened the bewildering shame.

One at a time, he peeled her hands away and laid them at her sides. She struggled through a breath, then held it as his hands replaced hers, cupping her breasts in his broad, strong palms. Hands that had touched her everywhere. Everywhere but there.

“My Mariel,” he whispered before dipping down to kiss her neck. “Volemthe.”

“I don’t know that word.” She fought every urge within her to look away. Nothing about her marriage had been easy, but his skill at finding his way past her defenses, of seeing her and knowing her, was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.

“It’s a Vjestik word. It meansI love you.I’ve picked up a few things in my travels.” He brushed her hair to the side and kissed her crown. “I can say it in other languages, if you like.”

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