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And he didn’t stop until Tarley lost sight of them beyond the firelight and the shadows of a dark forest beyond. She heard a scuffle, a succession of thuds and grunts, crashing in the underbrush, and the crack of wood. Then it was silent.
Her heart thudded, echoing in her ears. “Ollie?” she called out and took a step toward the shadows.
Gan hadn’t been overly large, and under normal circumstances, she was sure Ollie would have the upper hand, but he was injured. Gan had a knife. Her imagination raced. What if Gan had hit Ollie? Stabbed him? What if Gan was coming back to claim her. She glanced at the forest and considered hiding, but what if Ollie was lying in the shadow dying again, his ribs crushed, his lungs bleeding.
She took a step toward where they’d disappeared. “Ollie?” she repeated, only she whispered it this time, terrified that Ollie was gone, and knowing suddenly, she didn’t want him gone. She hadn’t really wanted it, and that realization made tears burn her eyes.
She didn’t want to be alone.
A shadow moved through the forest toward her and into the clearing. The light didn’t need to touch his face for her to know it was Ollie.
“Ollie!” She ran across the clearing and launched herself at him.
He grunted in pain.
She stepped back. “You’re hurt?” Her hands were all over him, feeling, pushing at his shirt, but he grabbed her wrists.
“I’m okay.”
Tarley stilled, looking up at him. “I was afraid something happened to you.”
“Fuck, Tarley.” He grasped her face between his hands. “You happened to me,” he said and pressed his lips to hers.
12
The hurt and anger from their fight had burned away the moment he’d entered camp to a stranger saying he would turn Tarley in for coin, as if she were nothing more than a farm animal who’d wandered into the woods. His heart twisted with dark anger at the threat.
Lachlan had heard the discourse about Kaloma, of course. Sitting in on his father’s royal council meetings made it impossible not to. Though he’d honestly wondered why it mattered, since it didn’t affect Jast. Now he wondered if the “Kaloma Problem,” as Lord Arting had referenced, was so much bigger. Arting’s lands extended to the border between Jast and Kaloma, and the noble had lamented the intermittent refugees crossing over. Lachlan’s father had extended full asylum, but Arting had been less than happy about it, citing the financial burden placed at his feet.
“And what if it were your daughter, Arting?” his father had snapped. “Your wife? Mother? Sister?”
Arting had bristled.
Lachlan’s father had added, “The problem is that it shouldn’t matter if it were your family. The problem in Kaloma is sanctioned abuse, and that is on each of us to care. Jast can’t stand idly by on this any longer, not now that we have an opportunity to act.”
Suddenly, having heard the stranger’s threat against Tarley, clarity had moved through Lachlan like a sand wash against his insides as he connected the dots. Was this why his father had pushed so hard for this treaty?
When Gan had admitted he would hurt a woman—force her—he’d lost it. Disarming Gan and then speaking to that idiot with his fist had been satisfying. But he knew it didn’t solve the overall problem.
As he’d walked back into camp, having tossed Gan in the water, Tarley’s relief at seeing him, which had begun the moment he’d returned from cleaning the fish, grabbed hold of his angry heart and twisted it back into place. Then it filled with heat, swelling inside his chest with longing.
And he’d kissed her.
Gods, he’d kissed her.
She’d kissed him back.
Her lips soft and addicting. Her breathy moan when he’d wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. The sensation of her hands gripping his arms, holding onto him for support.
Then she stepped away, ending the kiss and blushing. And in typical Tarley fashion, got efficiently busy.
Now, they sat side by side sharing the only fish remaining.
She’d kissed him back.Lachlan glanced at her again, his thoughts hanging up on that fact.
“Here,” Tarley said, holding the fish toward him.
He glanced at her mouth.Tarley had kissed him back.
