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“Firstly,” he said, “I think it’s unnecessary for men to be that large.”
Reggie snorted, and turned, letting the tent flap fall shut behind him. It turned the light beyond the canvas into a soft blur, bringing forth the gold of his hair, the blue of his eyes, the dark streaks of dirt and dried sweat that framed the scar on his throat, as lovely as every other part of him to Connor. That scar meant he’d been through an ordeal, and come out on the other side. Scars were far lovelier than perfection, in his eyes.
“Jealous?”
“Hardly.” Connor hooked an arm behind his head, and let his legs fall open a little wider, so his breeches clung to the shape of his soft cock in front. “I think I’m more than adequate, and I think you’d agree.”
Reggie put on a pretentious tone, and scoffed, but Connor didn’t miss the dusting of pink along his cheekbones. He tugged off his boots, lined them up along the wall with Connor’s, and padded across the crushed grass in his wool stockings to join him on the bedroll. Where once he might have hesitated, or fidgeted about it, he now lied down straight away, on his back beside Connor, hands linked over his stomach. It was a small bedroll, and so they overlapped by necessity. Connor hooked their ankles together.
Reggie said, “I think those two could break a man in half.” He didn’t sound exactly frightened by the idea.
“And what about a woman?” Connor said. “The leader – the oh-so-charming Leif – and his second in command – clearly a relative, to look at them–”
“Cousins, he said.”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t listening all that carefully. I was too busy being horrified by the very obvious and animal way they were sniffing after our lady.”
Reggie half-rolled, and pushed up onto his elbow so he could shoot Connor a lifted-brow look. “Ourlady?”
“She’s our commander, isn’t she? In this situation, she’s our lady and we’re her loyal subjects.”
The brows stayed lifted. “And you’re thinking of her in purely professional terms now, are you?”
Connor was well-aware that he was not what anyone would call a reassuring man. He could put someone at ease in bed, but out of it, he didn’t tend to inspire confidence. It seemed he said something at every turn to get Reggie’s back up – though some of that, he thought, was just Reggie himself, his old wounds and traumas; he would have bristled beneath anyone’s touch.
Still, Connorwantedto get it right. He found he didn’tlike itwhen his words sent Reggie off into a whirl of self-doubt.
He met the cautious blue gaze now and said, firmly, “I have only ever regarded Amelia as an ally, a friend, and, now that she’s the possessor of five drakes, my superior in the command tent.”
“Where do library seductions fit into that?”
“Into me being drunk, and sad, and lonely, and wanting a bit of cold comfort. Had I knownyouwere willing…” The souring of Reggie’s face told him he was venturing down the wrong path, yet again, so he swerved back to course.
He reached to cup Reggie’s jaw, smoothed a thumb along the fine-grained skin of his cheek. “War makes idiots of all men, and I wasn’t exactly brilliant to begin with.”
“Agreed.”
Connor pinched his cheek, earned a smile, and then went back to stroking it, his touch as soft as his voice when he said, “But I’m very clear-headed when it comes to you, sweetheart. Rest assured my gaze isn’t straying anywhere else. How could it?”
Reggie blinked, and Connor had the pleasure of watching his pupils expand to drink in the compliment.
He had no idea where this thing between them was going, if it could go anywhere at all. Either of them could die tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. But he was lovely, and warm – and fierce, and brave, and hurting, and he did, it turned out, when he leaned down to kiss Connor, leaning into the support of his hand, taste like wine. That was enough for now.
17
“On your left – yourleft,” Náli barked, and slashed with his long, slender sword.
Oliver barely managed to get his own blade up in time and gritted his teeth against the resounding clang of steel meeting steel. He was getting better at blocking – he didn’t miss, now – but could still only splutter a protest when Náli did a little swivel with his blade, and disarmed him with an effortless flick of his wrist. Oliver watched his sword go sailing through the air and land with a soft plop in the snow.
At least Náli was graceful enough not to crow with triumph this time.
Oliver propped his hands on his hips and attempted to get his breath back. “Howdo you keep doing that?”
Mattias, observing from a log, hopped up and went to fetch the sword. Oliver didn’t like being waited on like that – by Náli’s man no less – but he was exhausted at this point.
When he wiped the sweat from his brow, his palm came away far wetter than it should have, given the coldness of the dawn. He frowned, and tried to work the shakiness from his fingers through a couple of wrist stretches.
“A little bit of practice,” Náli said, smug, flipping his bright hair over his shoulder. “A little bit of natural talent.”
