Page 30 of The Iron Dagger
He unlocked his door and stepped into the room, locking it behind him again. He hated how Hara always seemed to come out on top of their little spats. Either he was apologizing, which he rarely did on principle, or he had an uncharacteristic change of heart that appeased her. It seemed unbalanced for him to keep having to fit himself to accommodate what she wanted in some inexplicable need to please her. It made him feel desperate and pathetic to be beholden to anyone, much less a hedgewitch.
The bath was waiting for him, and he stripped out of the hideous clothing of his disguise and climbed into the cramped tub. He sluiced tepid water over his chest and face, sorely wishing for the modern amenities of the palace in Perule. As he began washing his hair with a block of soap, he heard a soft splashing, and he froze in his actions.
On the other side of the thin wall, Hara was bathing, too. He paused in his own washing to listen, and before he could stop himself he was imagining her hair tumbling down her back as she loosened it. The water splashing over her shoulders and breasts, her skin glistening with flickering warmth in the light of the fire . . .
As soon as he realized what he was doing, he furiously dunked his head in the tub and began to scrub out the soap. Isthis what he had been reduced to? Listening to an unsuspecting woman taking a bath like he was some slavering lecher? The only way he could be more pathetic would be if he pressed his ear to the wall.
Gideon stood from the bath and took up the length of linen the maid had left. He toweled himself dry, then cleaned his teeth with powder and went to the bed. In all that time, the semi-hard tension in his groin had not abated. As he lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the wet sounds from her room made a seductive backdrop to the softly crackling fire in the grate. Despite the long day in the saddle, he couldn’t remember being less tired.
Finally, he heard her give a soft sigh as she rose from the bath, the loud splashing fading into quiet. He imagined her rising from the water like a goddess, the long legs he had glimpsed through her shift filling in the blanks of his imagination.
He closed his eyes as his hand drifted below the sheets, grasping himself. If he was a lecher for listening, he may as well do the thing properly. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was relief. And the relief was splendid and intoxicating as the scent of her hair and the feel of her arse rocking against him in the saddle for hours each day worked their way to the surface of his mind.
He hated the sway she had over him. Hated her messy braids and woolen homespun. Hated the way she held him when he told her of his lost men. Hated how she was always right and unshakeable. Hated that another man made her laugh and warmed her bed.
Gideon imagined her beneath the fair-haired man, her catlike eyes desperate and needy as her lover fucked her—on her back, bent over, in his lap. A hundred images flitted through his mind until it washewho gripped her thighs and made her back arch, he who made her keen with pleasure.
Fury fed his strokes, and in almost no time he was loosing his release, weeks of frustrated longing spilling forth at last. He bit his lip to fight the groan that accompanied the copious mess on his stomach, physical evidence of the yearning he tried so hard to deny. It was all for her and she would never know, sequestered on the other side of the wall.
If it was shameful, he didn’t care. That night, he slept hard and deep.
Angharad
The next morning, Gideon was in a quiet but cheerful mood, smiling warmly at her and helping her into the saddle with a good natured, “Steady? Comfortable? Good,” before climbing into the saddle himself.
Having grown accustomed to his haughty and ill-tempered demeanor, she was somewhat disarmed by the flash of his smile and the pleasant swoop in her stomach that followed. If he made an effort to be pleasant, he could almost be mistaken for a gentleman.
As they journeyed farther north, the hilly green lands of Norwen became misty spruce forests. The distant mountains she had seen from her cottage towered all around them now. She craned her neck trying to see the tops of the trees and peaks disappearing into the clouds. Occasionally, there would be a break in the mist and she would catch glimpses of the snow-capped peaks to the north. Montag lay somewhere tucked between them.
The underbrush was different as well, and Hara was itching to dismount and study the feathery ferns and tender spring seedlings. Then something caught her eye.
“Stop!” she shouted, causing Gideon to jerk the reins in surprise.
“What the devil? Don’t go shouting like that!” he said in a cross voice as Hara slipped from the back of the stilled horse. She paid him no mind as she went to the delicately curled shoots that sprung from fern leaves. The fern bracken was very young and tender, and she took out her small paring knife to eagerly gather the vegetable.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s fern bracken. I haven’t tasted this since I was a child,” she said, snipping more shoots. “It’s poisonous raw, but if I soak it in salt water and blanch it, it’s delicious.”
“You nearly put my heart out for a vegetable?” he said, placing his fists on his hips.
Hara wasn’t paying attention, for she had noticed an odd, wavy fleshed mushroom. A leap of joy went up in her stomach. “Look, morels!”
“More edible poison?”
“Have you never tasted morels?” she asked, turning to him. He shook his head, stony faced. “Oh, Gideon. You’ve lived a life devoid of pleasure.”
His lips twitched in a smile at that. “That’s a high compliment to some mushrooms.”
“Just wait. When we stop at an inn, I’ll ask the cook to fry them with some butter for you.” She turned back to the undergrowth and pushed aside leaves, hoping to find more.
“How long will you be?” he asked, but he did not sound impatient.
“Not very long. Just long enough to gather a meal’s worth. There, Seraphine,” she said, letting the squirming cat out of her satchel. It made more room for her newfound treasure. Seraphine sniffed at some leaves before her tail slinked into the underbrush, and Hara crouched onto her hands and knees. Then a pair of strong hands were beside hers and wide shoulders nudged against her.
“Show me what they look like,” said Gideon. A flutter of pleasure rippled through her stomach, and she pulled a morel from her satchel to show him the distinctive grooves.
“Look under the fallen tree here—they tend to grow near them. This area must get good, warm sunshine in the mornings,” she said, noticing that the sun had crested the peak of the mountain already and they were cast in shadow. They must be on the east side of the mountain. “They usually do not grow this early in the year.”
