There's a vase of fresh flowers set on the dressing table allocated for me, and Desmond says that Jay left them there. “She's a good girl. My father's thinking of promoting her position but he doesn't want to aggravate the Claymore staff any more than necessary.” He orders food for us, and I accept it gratefully, hungry enough to eat several horses at this point.
“We're going to have to attend the feast with them later,” Desmond says, looking less than pleased at the idea. “It most likely will turn ugly fast. My father's barring Rayse from the meeting. He doesn't think Rayse will be able to hold his tongue long enough without inciting one of the Hartsons to try and crack his skull open.”
“Sounds about right. I want to bash his skull,” I say, and Desmond smiles.
“Me, too.”
My eyes travel up and down Desmond's body, concealed by a black, long sleeved wool sweater and jeans. Casual but comfy wear, but he could be wearing a sack and I'd still find him attractive. But there is one pressing issue.
“Rayse said something to me, the night when I chose to leave. Something that bothers me a lot.”
“What is it?”
If it turns out to be true, I'm not sure if I can deal with the implications. Though how could it not be true? “He said that you've raped women. That I should ask you about it.”
Desmond just stares, his eyes bulging in growing indignation. “Are you serious right now?” he says. “He said that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can tell you for a fact that I never did. I usually raided with my father, and he always had a strict policy of no rape. I never knew why, aside from it being an interesting moral when we were, well, you know – raiding. But it turns out he had a very good reason.” He rubs between his eyebrows with his right-hand knuckles. “I never knew he had a cousin. I never even heard about her. He shared nothing of that incident with any of us.”
“You swear? You never did what Rayse said?”
“I swear. Rayse on the other hand, we've had to hold him back like a rabid dog on a leash several times. He really is just trying to fuck with you.”
I swallow, seeing the sincerity in Desmond's eyes. I can trust him. Much more than I can trust Rayse. Sure we might have had a few rocky patches, but I know Desmond is for real. “Thank goodness. I know it's silly, but that really bothered me.”
Desmond stares at the wall for a moment. “I won't pretend that I'm a saint. I still did my fair share of damage. You wrecking that church though – that was pretty malicious even on your part.”
“Can't say I was thinking too clearly,” I mutter. “It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Get my revenge without actually killing anyone.” I sigh. “My father locked me away, intending to keep me contained until he'd summoned a suitable husband for me. My freedom and reputation was robbed because of what happened. It never would have been if your men had kept quiet about it. Or well, if I never gave into temptation at all.” I then drop my head in my hands. “I could barely even remember the act. Seemed unfair to me for all this to happen out of a drunken fling.”
“My reputation wouldn't be ruined because of it,” Desmond says, and I feel a pat on my back. “I'd be frowned at, sure, but there's a boys-will-be-boys attitude that gets me out of it.”
“Lucky for the boys.” I feel his hand rest directly on my gunshot injury. It no longer hurts or throbs, but there is a stiffness in my muscle there that wasn't present before.
“I'm so sorry about what happened.”
“Don't be. It turned out for the best. I suppose,” I add, because I don't really like the implications of being shot being a good thing. “My father's here, and no one's killed each other yet.”
“That might be a matter of time,” Desmond says. “The tensions are running high. My father's ordered his men, women and servants to contain themselves and treat them as honored guests, but no one's sure if this will actually happen or not. He's also deciding to make it a sober evening. No alcohol. No chance for emotions to flare out of control.”
“Wise,” I say.
“He learned from me.” Desmond's hands rub my back, soothing me into a massage. I sigh in relief, happy to be here and not fretting about anything else. Happy to no longer be in that accursed room with the overly peppy doctor prancing around and writing down notes while muttering to herself. When I was taught by the Rosewind healers to conduct basic medical care, they always stressed the point of being respectful, that healing wasn't a fun craft, but a responsible one. I have a feeling their attitudes might clash when talking to that doctor.
I soon begin to notice the way Desmond is handling me – as if I'm a fragile object made out of glass that might shatter upon the floor. It's endearing at first, but quickly becomes irritating because he's insisting on this the entire time.
“I'm not going to break,” I tell him, when he fusses over whether or not I'm comfortable enough in the bed, and thinks of ordering more pillows and blankets in I'm room until I'm swaddled in them, presumably. “You don't need to be so soft with me.”
“Excuse me if I'm still a little nervous from the fact that you fell a hundred feet or so down a ravine, got shot in the back, and almost died. You weren't the one who got to see yourself in that state, being unconscious and all.”
“I'm not in that state anymore,” I assure him. I want him to see that I'm okay. I want him to know that he doesn't have to worry about me at all. Which is just a part of the flimsy reasoning I give myself so I can lift myself up, and touch his lips with my own. “I promise. I'm alright.” I kiss his lips again, feeling hopeful that I might just be kissing away his worries.
He grips me hard, and his whole body shudders. The hot breath he exhales on me is unbelievably sexy, and my calm mood erupts into arousal, instead.
I almost forgot what he can do to me. His hands slide along my bad, gripping my shoulder blades as he kisses back, mouth moving in rhythm with mine. Heat blazes through my skin and surfaces above it, so that I feel it radiating out of my cheeks, my bones, my soul.
More than ever, I want to give myself to this man. I've waited long enough. No more interruptions. No more irritating people knocking on the door at the last moment, or some super important meeting or another pulling Desmond away from me. No more bursts of despair and running off into the night with shadows and gunshots for company.
Just us. Only us.
“Are you sure?” he whispers hoarsely against the side of my mouth, stopping his frantic kissing for a moment. “You'll tell me if it hurts?”
“I'm sure. I will,” I assure him, gently patting his cheek. He seems satisfied with my response, because a new fervor enters his eyes when he opens them again.
“Then I mean to make good on my promise to you,” he breathes, and those words go straight down my spine and turn my legs to jello. “I mean to make you forget your own name.”
“I'd like to see you try,” I say with a grin. Challenging him. Urging him to do his worst. Strength surges into his limbs at those words, and before I know it, we're together in the bed, clinging to one another, taking our time to take off clothes. The kissing and close contact makes me wish somehow I could just merge with him and become one being, that our skins were no barriers at all, that nothing separated us from each other.