Chapter 24
“Calloused hands are proof that a man is willing to do the work.”
— Nia Quill, An Observation
Maddox’s hand slips from mine as he peers up at the gray clouds, shading his eyes as if expecting the sun to appear at any moment. From the scraggly vegetation surrounding us, I’d venture to say the sun doesn’t reach this desolate place very often.
With my companion distracted by the canyon walls, I take the opportunity to study him in the dull light. His strong arms that held me through the worst night of my life. That cut chest and washboard stomach I snuggled against. The dark green smudge across his left side—
Hold on. “Is that a bruise?” Last night, there hadn’t been enough light to see. My gaze tracks to the right. “Are those scars?” Heavens, they are. They weren’t there when I last saw him in Rosehill. “What happened to you?”
He props his hands at the cut of his hips, staring down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “I met a wolf, but we did not get along.”
If a wolf got close enough to do that much damage, he’s lucky to be alive.
I could’ve lost him.
What am I saying? You cannot lose what you never had.
Maddox goes to step away, pauses, then reaches for my hand again, staying my fears like the twist of a knob stemming a leaky tap.
After I acted so abominably, it’s a wonder that he wants to hold onto me at all.
He urges me forward, and I manage a few steps before my gaze returns to his mottled side. He must be in so much pain, yet he hasn’t once taken a drink from his flask.
How can I live with myself letting his wounds go untended when he’s taken such great care of me?
The answer is simple: I can’t.
Pulling out of his grasp, I fold my arms across my chest, prepared to stand my ground. “You need to heal yourself.”
Darkness flickers across his face. “I am fine.”
“There is nothing fine about that giant bruise across your ribs or the blood dribbling from your hairline all the way down your back.”
“Do not worry about me.”
That might’ve worked last night, but today, I’m not taking no for an answer.
“It’s too late for that, Maddox. I started worrying the moment I found out you weren’t in the castle gardens.
” I point to the somewhat flat boulder next to where he blinks at me through wide eyes.
“Sit there and let me take care of you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he plops down with a huff. I stalk forward, steal his dagger from its sheath, and then slice off a large strip of my dress to use as a dressing for his head.
When I hand back the dagger, his eyes glisten like he’s about to cry. “Your dress—”
“Doesn’t matter.” It’s not like I plan on wearing this to any parties or soirees. “Give me your flask.”
Flask in hand, I unscrew the lid and dribble some water on the silk, then wrap the makeshift bandage around his head, carefully covering the cut at the base of his skull with the damp fabric.
Satisfied with my handywork, I hold out the flask. “Take a drink.”
“There is no need to waste any water on me.”
How can he possibly believe healing himself would be a waste? “You’re no good to me wounded. Please have a drink. For me?”
More hesitation ensues. He might be feeling stubborn, but that’s my middle name. This is a battle of wills I shall not lose.
After another beat, he accepts the flask from my outstretched hand and takes a single sip. Probably not enough to heal whatever is going on with his ribs but hopefully enough to keep him from being in excruciating pain.
When he stands and takes my hand once more, he’s no longer wincing.
Now all we have to do is make it out of here without needing more.
My slippers struggle to find purchase, sliding on the loose stones as the silty soil beneath shifts with our footfalls.
Maddox doesn’t seem to have any trouble managing the loose ground. Me, on the other hand? I’ll be lucky if I don’t turn my ankle again.
Using my free hand, I push back my tangled hair. If the state of my dress is any indication, I must look a fright. Not that Maddox has looked at me long enough to notice. His gaze remains firmly ahead, dark eyes constantly scanning for trouble.
A glittering river appears like a mirage in the distance, water rushing over and around stones as it cuts through the center of the canyon. Finally.
I let go of Maddox and rush toward the shore, giddiness spreading like fizzy bubbles through my chest.
“Where are you going?” he calls.
“For a swim!” I cannot wait to scrub my hair and this dirt from beneath my nails.
He catches up to me before I can take off my second slipper. “You cannot swim here. We must find a place where the current does not move as swiftly.”
That could take forever. Who’s to say we’ll find one at all? For all we know, the entire river might be whitewater. “I’m a strong swimmer, remember?”
“The water will be cold, leaching the energy from your body. You will drown.”
Please. I’m not going to drown. “I’ve gone swimming in the quarry in November and been just fine.”
He folds his arms over his chest like my perfectly logical argument won’t sway him. “It is not safe here.”
My longing only grows as I stare into the river’s murky depths. “Looks perfectly safe to me.”
“You are wrong.”
Heat climbs my throat, spreading across my cheeks. “Fine. I’ll just be dirty forever.”
Am I being irrational? Absolutely. Do I care? Not in the slightest.
Who knows how long we’ll be stuck down here. I’m exhausted and famished and filthy. I might not be able to do a damn thing about the first two, but the last one I could fix with one little dip in the river. But no.
I stuff my foot back into my slipper, grimy bits of sand and dirt coating my toes and all. “Are you happy now?”
“Happy that you are not being reckless.”
Says the man who leapt into a bloody canyon after me. Compared to that, the river might as well be a stroll in the bloody park.
We follow the river as it twists and turns until finally, blessedly, we reach a bend where the shores widen and the water slows in a glassy stretch of brown.
“Is this a good place to swim, all-knowing Unseelie guide?”
His lips twitch. “I prefer ‘O Wise One,’ but to answer your question, yes. We will cross here.” He jerks his chin toward the far bank. “The path we need will be on that bank.”
“What path?” I assumed we were wandering aimlessly, praying for rescue. This is wonderful news.
“The one that leads to Rosehill.”
“Are you sure there’s a path?” I’ve lived in Rosehill my entire life and have never once heard of a way to reach the bottom of The Divide. Then again, I avoided the canyon at all costs, so I suppose his theory isn’t that far-fetched.
“The wolves had to reach your land somehow.”
So we’re walking toward the wolves. Isn’t that wonderful? And he wouldn’t let me swim in a little fast water. Honestly, this man’s priorities are all mixed up.
With the river gliding along the stony shore, I kick off my slippers while Maddox sits and unlaces his leather boots.
“You should remove your dress.”
I glance up, expecting to see a sparkle of mischief in his eyes at the suggestive comment, but find only a serious Maddox watching the river with a furrowed brow.
“I will hold our garments above the water to keep them from getting wet,” he explains.
Wait. Did he say our garments? As in his and mine? “You’re taking off your clothes as well?” I choke.
Still, he does not glance my way. “We will need something dry to wear when we reach the far bank.”
That makes sense, I suppose. It’s not like there are any warm, fluffy towels waiting on the other side.
“Fear not, Nia Quill. I can close my eyes so that I do not look at you disrobed.”
“I don’t mind.” He’s seen me in a drenched gown in the fountain and in my swimming costume.
My bra and knickers aren’t that much more revealing.
What does bother me, however, is the amount of muck caked on my skirts.
I understand the need for warm clothes, but at the moment, I’d rather be clean.
“Would it be possible to wash my dress?”
“Once we reach the other side, I will build a fire. Then you may wash your dress.”
That sounds like a fair compromise. At least he listened to me and took my request into consideration. Nolan probably would’ve rolled his eyes and told me to get over it.
I strip out of my dress and shift. My bra and knickers aren’t the most beautiful, but they’re serviceable enough. This is no different from the day we swam together at the quarry.
Only it is.
Today, I’m no longer trying to mend my relationship with Nolan. I am free and single, and Maddox is finally looking at me. Not just looking but staring with so much fire in his gaze that I might spontaneously combust.
How did I not see his lie about his Unseelie woman for what it was? The man wears every emotion on his face. A face that is turning away from me as he unfastens the buckle on his belt.
Probably for the best. If he kept looking at me like that, there’s no telling what I might’ve done.
I drop my things by his feet and start for the river.
The water laps at my toes, rolling lazily past. Holy hell. I’ve never felt water this cold.
I’m going to be a block of ice by the time I reach the other shore.
Maddox comes up beside me, our clothes bundled together and a pair of dark short pants tight over his thick thighs.
I dare not let my eyes linger for fear of what else I might see.
He adjusts his hold on our garments, passing them from one hand to the other. “We could find another way to cross if you would prefer.”
“Really? Do you have a boat I don’t know about?” I clip, my teeth already starting to chatter.
His lips twitch. “There may be a pass where the river is not so wide.”
Right now, my body needs to be clean more than it needs to be warm.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little cold water.” Biting my lip, I take another step deeper into the frigid depths, making it to my knees before the shivers begin.
Maddox wades into the water behind me, his damp shorts clinging to him in the most lascivious way, especially the unmistakable ridge of his—
I force myself to look forward even as heat climbs my spine. Pools low in my belly.
That’s one way to warm up.
I dive beneath the surface and let the frigid stream steal all the inappropriate thoughts from my mind, swimming until my arms feel like lead weights. Behind me, Maddox holds our clothes aloft, pushing the water aside with only one hand and a steady beat of powerful kicks.
Thank heavens he didn’t let me try to fight the current.
Even here, with the river barely flowing, each stroke steals far too much of my energy, leaving me empty and trembling.
When my arms grow too heavy to continue, I roll over to float on my back, breathing, searching for the will to carry on.
“You are almost there,” Maddox calls.
Doesn’t feel like it. Is it my imagination, or is the shore farther than it was only a moment ago? Tell me the current isn’t pulling me backward.
“Come, Nia Quill. A trout would never let the river win.”
The reminder of our conversation back at the quarry leaves me chuckling. A trout would indeed overcome the current and make it to the other side with a few flicks of its tail.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a tail, only two very tired, very stiff, very cold legs.
I kick my feet and plunge my arms into the water even as my body grows heavier and heavier. A sinking stone.
“Put your legs down.” His voice is nearly lost to the pounding of my heart in my ears and the splash of my flailing limbs.
If I put my legs down, I’ll never be able to lift them again. Maddox appears next to me, not even having the decency to look winded.
“You can touch. You did it.” His smile is all sharp teeth and unbridled charm. The first one I’ve seen since our argument that shouldn’t have been an argument at all but a discussion.
I could’ve calmly asked him to explain himself the moment I realized he wasn’t telling the truth. Asked why he would bother making up a person who doesn’t exist.
As if he can hear the direction of my thoughts, his expression falters, his smile fading.
“We need a fire.” Giving me his back, he stalks the rest of the way to the bank.
He tosses our clothes far enough from the water to keep them dry and then starts scouring the shore for small, dried sticks and bits of driftwood to burn.
The only thing colder than the water is the despair spreading through my chest.
I take off in the opposite direction, water sluicing down my stiff limbs as I search for kindling in my underthings. If Maddox notices my absence, he says nothing.
I might as well not even be here for all the attention he pays me.
Not that I expect him to play the doting suitor when we’re trying to survive, but I miss his simple teasing. His unending questions about how to find love.
I pick up a gnarled piece of driftwood that doesn’t seem too damp.
I reject your friendship.
His proclamation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. After all, I was the one to reject him first.
How can Maddox turn off his feelings so easily?
According to Kerris, the man has been on a mission to win me over ever since we met on Beltane. Now he wants nothing to do with me.
That seems to be the theme of late.
First Nolan . . .
I don’t miss him as much as I probably should. What I yearn for is the life I once dreamed of sharing with him. One where we raised a whole brood of curly-haired little ones running around his cottage’s quaint back garden.
Nolan hasn’t been that person for quite some time.
I’ve been holding onto someone who wasn’t there.
I pick my way back to where Maddox kneels, water rolling down his shoulders and spine as he strikes blade against flint. The man is far more capable than anyone I know. There’s something undeniably attractive about it all.
Even if I had survived the fall on my own, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this. Without Maddox, I’d be dead within a day. “Will you teach me how to make a fire?”
He gathers the bits of moss and then strikes the blade once more. “Did they not teach you in your Seelie school?”
We learned reading, writing, arithmetic, and how to run a home—a Seelie home, anyway. From what little I’ve gathered about the Unseelie way of life, I’d be as useful there as my stolen blue ribbon. “No, but I can embroider and bake an excellent pie.”
The sound of his quiet chuckle warms me all the way to my toes. “The most important skills, then.”
“Exactly.”
Sitting back on his heels, he holds out the dagger and flint as an offering. “Always start small and dry. Otherwise, you will smother the flames before they have a chance to catch.”
That feels like a metaphor for our relationship. Small gestures leading to more.
The flames of my anger stoked by his lie, burning too quickly, until only smoke remained.
I don’t want to be smoke.
I want to be fire and flame, a raging inferno. To consume and be consumed.
Not by just anyone. By this kindhearted Unseelie who loves goats and blueberry pie.
If only I knew how to get back to where we were before he lied and everything fell apart.