Part 20 (1/2)
When she finally stopped shuddering, he lowered her feet to the ground. But he didn't step away, and he didn't let go. He just gave her a moment to gather herself, without allowing her to crumple into a boneless heap on the pine needles and dirt. How chivalrous.
His body was still taut with restraint. His breathing was still ragged, his muscles gilded with sweat, his eyes hard and merciless, which he'd never been before, so she was really rather concerned to find both those things now directed at her.
She pushed away. He stepped back. She stumbled only once, over nothing, then righted herself and gave her tunic hem a sharp tug down.
The world looked much the same as it had a few minutes ago. How peculiar.
Had it even taken minutes? she wondered helplessly. Or had he done that to her in mere seconds? It felt like he'd simply breathed on her and she'd come apart for him.
”Wait by the fire pit,” he said curtly. She was dearly weary of curtness.
If I take off my clothes and let you have me, will you smile at me again? is what she wanted to say, which was so pathetic she almost hated herself for it. How weak she'd become in the face of Finian. is what she wanted to say, which was so pathetic she almost hated herself for it. How weak she'd become in the face of Finian.
”I'll not wait by the fire,” she retorted, keeping her eyes slightly averted, her chin slightly aloft. The latter helped to remind her to maintain at least the semblance of dignity. ”I'll be eating some of that game, so I'll help bring it down. I told you before, I was taught to use a weapon.”
His darkness regarded her. She could feel it. ”Ye also told me ye were no good at it.”
She almost laughed. ”I'm not good at so many things, Finian, I cannot let that stop me anymore.” She turned on her heel and walked into the forest. His measured footfalls followed behind.
”In any event, I said I was no good with the bow, bow,” she added, clarifying.
He pointed over her head to the right, where the sunsetting light coming down through the trees was a bit brighter. A clearing must be nearby. He looked down at her. ”Meaning?”
”Meaning,” she said, turning to look in his eyes, which she had not done since he made her world explode into the hot, perfect waves of pleasure still shuddering inside her, ”I am fairly skilled with a blade.”
He paused. ”How do ye get close enough?”
”I don't.” He stood with his hands at his side, bow light in hand, his eyes unwavering on hers. ”I throw it,” she said, and turned away.
”Senna.”
She stopped but didn't turn.
”I'm sorry.”
Oh, sweet Mother. He must have seen the hurt in her eyes. He was addressing it. Could she be more shamed? Perhaps she should just paint the words in her blood, to show how exposed she was. How on earth had that happened? In a matter of days. For shame. For shame, for grief, and the love of G.o.d, what had happened to her?
She nodded, her back still to him, her turn to be curt. There was a small squirrel in the tree before her.
”Did I frighten ye?”
No. I manage that quite well myself. ”'Tis naught. We lost our heads.” ”'Tis naught. We lost our heads.”
”I didn't lose my head.” His low voice rode through the trees and over her shoulders.
”No?”
”Nay.”
”What was that, then?”
A pause. ”That was hardly my head.”
”Indeed.”
She heard him take a deep breath, let it out. ”I think we've to admit, Senna, that touching is a rash and dangerous thing.”
”Exceedingly.”
”We will not anymore.”
She nodded crisply. ”Of course not.”
”And ye've to stop...” His voice faded away.
”Stop what?”
Silence.
She raised her eyebrows at the squirrel.
He gave what sounded like a ragged sigh. ”Senna, ye have to see, I'm at yer mercy.”
She swallowed thickly. ”One could be excused for not seeing it that way. Considering you have a bow and a sword and all sorts of muscles.”
”Aye, well, this is a more difficult matter than swords and bows.”
”Not to you.”
For a moment, he was quiet. ”Aye. To me.”
She inhaled deeply, cool evening air. She let her breath out slowly, as he had, in measured degrees. ”Not to me,” she said, lifting her chin that extra little bit. It so often helped. It failed so miserably.
”Nay?”
”No. I trow, I can hardly recollect what we were speaking about. Can you?”
The invitation to conspiracy came out sharply. Silence stretched out between them like an open range. Her breath sounded loud in her ears. She looked over. The bow hung from his fingertips as he watched her. She could divine nothing of what went on behind his eyes.
”No,” he agreed slowly. ”What were we speaking of?”
”Muscles, itches, I can hardly recall.”
With the casual grace of a predator, he pushed off the tree. She realized she was trembling. Her hands, her legs. He stopped inches away.
”Bows,” he murmured. He swept his palm across her cheek, a swift, gentle touch, then dropped his hand. ”We were speaking of being mean with a bow.”