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After an hour of accepting presents, two older women came forward and coaxed Lily and Una away from the crowd. The women brought them to a steamy tent that had two large tubs of heated water in the middle. The old women started peeling Una’s and Lily’s dirty clothes off them.
“How do you say I can undress myself in Native American?” Una asked, blushing furiously.
“No idea,” Lily replied. “I think we’re just supposed to go with it.”
The woman gathered up the dirty and torn clothes and left Lily and Una to bathe. The soapy water was fragrant with dried flowers, and Una and Lily gladly scrubbed every inch of their filthy bodies before settling in for a long soak.
When they were dried and wrapped in clean robes, the women led Una one way and Lily another. Lily was taken to one of the larger armored wagons, rather than a tent. She noticed that flowers and fruit had been laid on the steps up to the door. It didn’t seem right to just step over it all. As she was shuttling the gifts one bunch at a time into the carriage she heard Rowan’s voice
behind her.
“You can just leave it,” he told her. “We’ll do that in the morning.”
“Good! I’m so tired,” Lily replied gratefully. She noticed that Rowan’s clothes were different and his hair was wet from a bath. He looked calm and relaxed. His gaze slid up one of her bare legs, still pink and dewy from her long soak.
“Not too tired, I hope,” he said quietly. Lily started up the steps, suddenly shy, and he followed her into the carriage, watching the way her body moved under her loose robe. He closed the iron-studded door and came toward her slowly.
Lily looked down at the heap of melons in her arms and back up at him, feeling ridiculous. “My last armload was all flowers, which would have made me look wildly sexy. But of course you show up when I’m carrying cantaloupes.”
He dropped his head and his shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “My funny Lily,” he said, looking up and smiling warmly at her. He started removing the fruit from her arms one piece at a time.
There was something in his eyes that Lily had never seen before. Lily felt a flood of familiarity from him and understood. This carriage—its furnishings, smells, and its small proportions—were second nature to him. Rowan’s apartment in the city was slick and luxurious. It showcased his impeccable taste and appreciation for beauty, but it wasn’t where his heart resided, and Lily’s world had been foreign to him in every way. Rowan had known since he first arrived there that he didn’t belong. But this little carriage with its homespun quilts and worn cushions was his home. He was surrounded by people he trusted and languages he had spoken as a child. He was safe, and it was okay for him to be his most vulnerable self.
Lily’s arms were finally empty. Nothing stood between them. Rowan’s hands shook a little as he slid them under her robe.
“This is the first time I’ve felt like I’m not going to lose you,” he said, barely touching her as he moved his hands over her body. “I don’t have to let you go.”
“No,” Lily whispered.
He kissed her like they were starting all over again. He didn’t assume he knew what she liked, or allow himself to get caught up in the moment and rush to the finish. He listened to the little sounds she made and paid attention to the pressure of her body against his, and when he did finally pick her up and carry her to the narrow bed, it was because she couldn’t stand on her shaky legs anymore.
The time it took him to get undressed was just long enough for Lily to get nervous. Rowan lay down next to her, gently holding her against his bare skin, waiting for her to be ready for him.
She met his eyes, her cheeks hot, and a fluttering laugh escaped with her words. “I could be terrible at this,” she said.
“Impossible,” he replied.
“I’ve never done it before.”
“Well, I’ve never done it in a bed this small before,” he said, sharing a laugh with her. “It’s okay. I’m nervous, too.”
He took her hand and wrapped it around his willstone with complete trust. Lily could feel what Rowan felt as he climbed on top of her. He was fighting his need so he didn’t hurt her, but he knew no matter how careful he was, he was going to hurt her a little anyway.
Lily was present inside both of their sensations. She felt the contrast of their bodies—his drawn tighter than a bowstring, and hers softening under him. There was so much sensation she had to give it back to him. Her willstones had swung around and were lying on the pillow under her head. Lily guided one of Rowan’s arms under her back until he cupped her willstones in his hand.
She saw his eyes widen with surprise as they shared their union completely with each other.
They slept and woke and loved each other again, giddy and shaking and filled with a happiness that felt like crying. The cantaloupe came in handy around dawn when both of them were so thirsty and depleted Rowan couldn’t wait to find his knife, and broke one open with his hands. He scooped pieces into Lily’s mouth with his fingers and they kissed in between bites, melon juice running everywhere until both of them were a sticky-sweet mess.
They talked, each of them laid bare and needing to share more of themselves until they’d given everything. Rowan talked mostly about his father. Everything here reminded Rowan of River, and Lily was hungry for any part of Rowan that he wanted to give her. Lily lay on her side, her head propped up on her hand, looking down on him.
“What did you call him when you were a boy?” she asked. “Dad or Papa or something else?”
Rowan lay on his back, one of his hands reaching up into her hair. He spread the strands between his fingers, watching the copper highlights catch the early morning sunlight. He smiled softly to himself.
“O doe da,” he answered. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Da.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears. Rowan sat up against the pillows and pulled Lily down on top of him. “I’m sorry. I should stop talking about fathers,” he said. “You just lost yours.”
