“The medallion could not have saved me,” I whispered. “Nothing could have.”
“Do you want to forget me?” she asked softly.
I shook my head, but now I could not look at her.
She took my wrist and pulled me to her, the water rippling with movement.
At first, I thought she was trying to see the wounds despite my evasion, and I moved clumsily against her. “I don’t—” I said. But she smothered my apologies with her lips.
Shock ran through me. That sweet, soft, luscious mouth. Warm and opened to mine. How many nights had I laid beside her in the candlelight and watched the curve of her lips? Suddenly I realized this was not a dream. Not an illusion. Ifelther. Her tongue slipped into my mouth. Her hands held me—one lightly on my hip and the other still circling my wrist.
I pushed back into her kiss, pouring every bit of longing, every unshed tear, and the months of being parted from her into the way my mouth moved over hers. The mist swirled around us and the rain gently pattered on our bare shoulders.
We kissed each other like it was the unfinished conversation of years. She twisted her fingers in my dark hair and pulled me, mouth still on mine, deeper into the water. Everything was dark and warm and her body naked and slick. We swam like a pair of naiads, sleek and tangled, surfacing with no thought but to find our way back together.
The mist shrouded our pleasure as we crawled onto the shallow rocks, eager and quick, silencing each other’s moans with our kisses. But for all the time I’d seen her perform in the brothel, I had never seen the look of hot desire in that hazy blue gaze. I had never seen her throat so exposed and heard her plead my name in a whisper. I had never buried my fingers deep into the softest, wettest pocket of the universe. “Dacia,” I whimpered from the way the pleasure wrung out my body. I lowered us both to the rocks and her creamy thighs fell open for my mouth.
Our bodies found their way together, without thought, without performance, with nothing but the memory of every night we had slept beside each other and stayed apart. It was the first time since leaving the nuns I’d had felt another body for the sheer pleasure of it. My bare breasts rested against the steam-warmed rocks and the knife cuts on my thighs were just a memory, far away and a long time ago. Her hands came to my head, brushing my hair back with a tenderness and care that belied the way she shook and tried to pin me between her shakingthighs. I kept going until I had to reach up and cover her mouth with my own to silence her. Her cries fell into more consuming kisses.
A branch snapped in the forest, shattering whatever spell had fallen around us. We bolted upright, startled, red-cheeked, with our hair sticking to each other’s damp skin like long spiderwebs weaving us together.
The dream had ended.
“Who’s there?” Dacia called.
No one answered. But the rain had stopped, and the moment had passed. I pulled away, pushing my hair back from hers as I looked for my borrowed cloak.
“No,” Dacia said firmly and pulled me back. She kissed me again—hard—and it was then that I sensed, not just the pleasure of her, but the connection, the barest hint of that golden thread that was sewn into the very being of things and knitted me to her. But before I could really grasp it, she ended the kiss. Without asking, she turned me around and inspected my legs. Her finger lightly touched the edges of the symbols. “What is this?” she hissed in horror, her face going as pale as Tobin’s.
“I don’t remember,” I said, thankful she could not see my face. She knew me too well.
She must have known I lied, but she did not repeat the question.
“I really do think the Bandit of Molsheim can help in the village,” she said as we hastily dressed. “The green-eyed one. If we convince him. Can you help me?”
I took her cloak and wrapped it over my shoulders. “What do you mean help? We should have run. You run, at least; I’ll distract them. I can escape after.”
“I’m not going to run. The girls are terrified. No one is safe.”
I didn’t answer. I knew she cared for the girls, but I only wished she would run. And my heart ached at the thought that we were about to be parted again.
Jon whistled, and a moment later appeared through the trees.
Unbothered, Dacia crisply informed him of the care of my wounds.
“I’ll be fine,” I said as we got back on the horses. The pools had washed away much of the pain and burning, and though the cuts still bled, it was slow. My skin hummed with the scent and taste and feel of Dacia. I licked my lips and could still taste her, and it sent an erotic pulse through my entire body.
Back at the camp, after the blindfolds were once again removed, the green-eyed man met us at a cook fire, a bottle of wine and a tin of a wild honey in his hands.
“You accuse us of being spies,” Dacia said as she lifted my shift and crouched to apply both to my legs. “What if we become spies for you?”
I wanted to kick Dacia as she splashed the wine onto my wounds.
Jon snorted. But Tobin’s green eyes flashed in a way I knew meant he was listening.
“Does the Baron frequent the brothels?” Tobin asked.
“No,” Dacia admitted. “But his soldiers do.”
