Page 138 of Swordheart
“Halla…”
No one had ever said her name like that. He looked at her steadily. He was too close to her, surely, as close as he had been when he had kissed her, and she wished that he would do it again.
And then it occurred to her that she was a widow, and it hardly mattered now, and without quite knowing how it happened, she kissed him.
Wait.
What am I doing?
What if he doesn’t…
His lips were warm and tasted like the wine they’d been drinking. Halla reached out aimlessly with her hand, to push him away or pull him closer, she didn’t know. He caught her fingers in his, so she did not get a chance to find out.
Wait, what?
The kiss started tender and undemanding. It didn’t stay that way for very long. His free hand slid up the back of her neck and his mouth opened over hers.
What am I doing we can’t do this Iwantto do this but I can’t this is…this is…
…wonderful.
Heat erupted in her belly and a pulse began to beat between her legs. She could not remember the last time she had felt like this. Or the first time, for that matter.
It was not until he sat down on the bed, pulling her down beside him, that she came to her senses.
“No,” she said, pulling back. “No—we can’t—Ican’t—”
He stopped at once. She thought she’d startled him. His fingers were still interlaced with hers. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I misjudged, clearly. I did not mean to give offense.”
“Offense!” Halla groped for her winecup. “Oh gods! No, not offense. You’re the first person who’s been interested in… well, in a long time. I’m grateful.”
“Grateful?” He looked appalled. “Grateful for what? That I have eyes?”
She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and was so horrified at the thought she might cry that she took a large swallow of wine and choked on it. Sarkis pounded her on the back while she gasped.
“I’ve been rejected before,” he said, once she could breathe again. “You don’t need to drown yourself to convince me.”
“No!” Oh gods, he had it all wrong. She shook her head violently. “No, no. I’m not rejecting—it isn’t you.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that one before, too. Truly, lady, it’s all right.”
Back to lady again, and not Halla. Damn it all.
“No, no! It’s just—my husband—” She put her hands to her forehead. White Rat help her, she was blushing. “I mean, he’s dead.”
“I’m aware, yes.” A line formed between Sarkis’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You loved him very much, then?”
“What? Oh gods, no!”
Her vehemence seemed to have astonished him. He stared at her, clearly baffled, and then she saw something dark and chill rise in the back of his eyes.
“Did he teach you pain?” he asked softly. “I’ll kill him.”
“He’s already dead.”
“Do you think that will stop me? Give the word and I’ll hunt him across the great god’s hells and tear his soul out through his bowels.”
“That should not be necessary.” She couldn’t help it, she was amused despite herself. The notion of that poor, weak little man deliberately hurting anyone, let alone doing anything that would enrage Sarkis. “Oh dear.” One shouldn’t stifle a giggle over one’s dead husband, but here she was. “No, he wasn’t cruel. Truly. The worst he did was leave me alone with his mother. And I had to kill the goats.”
