CHAPTER TWO #4
As a matter of course, Evylin had often left clothing and personal items scattered about her room. But she decided not to inform Deckard of that habit.
Tucking some of her damp, towel-dried hair behind her ear, Evylin scanned him. “And you chose to do this instead of bathe because . . . ?”
He shut the now-stocked wardrobe and smiled at her. “Because I wanted to have the room ready for your return so you could drink your tea and take your nap without worrying about cleaning up.”
Though that was the last thing Evylin would have worried about, she found the sentiment charming.
“Now, come,” Deckard said, taking her hand. “If I timed it right, the tea should be perfect.”
Letting him seat her at the table by the stove, Evylin watched as Deckard went about pouring her tea. “That’s usually the woman’s job, you know,” she teased.
He grinned. “Perhaps I like doing things for you. How do you take it?”
The unwelcome realization that they didn’t know one another well enough to possess this basic information came back as Evylin blinked at the teacup in his hand. “Oh, uh—with cream and sugar.”
“Really?” Deckard hesitated, then added the accoutrements.
Evylin rolled her eyes at his condescension. “Not all of us are so brave as to drink it black,” she said, remembering how he took his tea from his stay with her family in Whickam Village. Perhaps she did know him better than she thought.
Deckard chuckled, setting the cup before her. “Yes, well, we mere mortals have to prove our bravery to you Warriors somehow.”
“Says the Mage who single-handedly saved our lives.”
He gave her a reproachful look as he went about tidying the bathing supplies she’d left by the settee. “If you’re referring to our escape from Renaul, I very clearly couldn’t have done that without Isla, Emmaas, and Jarrad’s help.”
“Agree to disagree. Jonn,” she leveled him with a pointed stare, “you don’t have to clean up after me.”
“I know,” he promised. “As I said, I like to take care of you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Evie,” he raised his brow, grinning, “I don’t mind.”
Doubtful, Evylin let him carry on, sipping her tea as he draped her towel over the changing screen with precision. Then he tucked her dirty clothing into the basket for the chambermaid to pick up in the morning.
Once he was done, Deckard gathered his own bathing supplies.
Evylin realized she was staring but didn’t care to stop.
He was always so graceful, so controlled in his movements, almost like he was born to be royalty rather than a farmer’s son.
In the dim afternoon light, his hair looked more brown than usual, highlighting his more Ephrian features.
While he could never be considered broad, he still bore a brawn thanks to his hard work as a soldier.
She knew just how deceptive that trim figure of his was, hiding his strength.
Tapping her fingers against the porcelain teacup, Evylin considered how she might forestall his bath and convince him to linger for a few minutes.
They still had four hours until the meeting.
Plenty of time for them to enjoy one another’s intimate company, for him to bathe, and for her to still get her nap.
A smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t think the convincing would be all that hard to accomplish.
With a fresh towel and a new set of clothes draped over one arm, Deckard met Evylin’s stare, but evidently, he didn’t notice the lasciviousness within it as he asked, “Have you amused yourself?”
“Pardon?”
He stepped closer, tapping the dimple in her cheek. “You’re smiling.”
“Mm, yes. I was having some rather entertaining thoughts.”
“Oh? Might you share them with me?”
Evylin bit her bottom lip, suddenly embarrassed under his attentive gaze. “I was thinking about you,” she said into her teacup.
“And you find me amusing?” he asked, sounding pleased.
Somehow, Evylin found enough courage to look back up at him and whisper, “In the most diverting way.”
Deckard’s brow lifted in surprise, catching her suggestive intonation. “I see,” he murmured, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip. “In that case, I feel I must advise you to be careful, Mrs. Deckard. You’re liable to give a man inappropriate notions with such a speech.”
Evylin tipped her chin up at him. “That’s rather the intent. And it’s Private Deckard, sir. I’d ask you to address me properly.”
“Well, then, Private,” he bent forward, hand on the arm of her chair, his face only inches from hers, “I must beg your forgiveness.”
His lips touched hers then in a gentle, affectionate kiss.
It appeared to be his only intent as he began to pull back, but then it turned into a second, heartier kiss that sent a wave of tingles through Evylin’s veins.
A spike of magic egged her on, drawing her to reach for him when a small splash of tea spilled over onto her hand.
Evylin jerked back, righting the cup. She intended only to set it on the table behind her, but then Deckard stepped away, a soft chuckle slipping out of him.
“I think,” he muttered, “that was good timing.”
“I don’t,” Evylin murmured.
“Mm.” Deckard stared at her, lips pressed together as though fighting an internal battle. Then he heaved a labored breath. “I’m going to bathe.”
Evylin opened her mouth to suggest he wait, but no words came out.
Deckard must have understood her intention anyway because he smiled tenderly at her. “Finish your tea,” he said. “When I come back, we’ll continue this . . . conversation, shall we?”
Without hesitation, Evylin nodded vehemently.
“Excellent,” Deckard said, turning and walking out of the room.
Evylin propped her elbow on the chair arm and dropped her head into her hand.
Why did she feel like such an inept schoolgirl around him now?
They were married. They were in love. They’d consummated their union two nights ago, removing all boundaries between them.
And yet, the thought of taking him to her bed once more made her tongue thicken and her words flee. Was that normal?
A nervous laugh escaped her. She shook the thoughts off and sipped her tea in the empty room.
Her anxieties wouldn’t matter, she knew.
Once they started, things would take their natural course as they had at Renaul’s.
She might begin with insecurity, but she’d end up in the blissful comfort of her husband’s embrace.
Smiling at the thought, Evylin let her mind wander to other things as she finished her tea.
The Alliance meeting would start in four hours.
She wondered what the hearing would entail.
A recounting of their travel, Auden had said, and a request for additional support and members.
Would the Alliance approve that request?
If so, would they send Vayden and Isla with them alone, or would other members join their cause?
Still unsure how she felt about more Alliance members joining their band, Evylin set her empty cup on the table.
She drifted to the bed, leaning back against the pillows.
Though she liked the Calders, she wasn’t sure she was ready to have more devout members around, spoiling their fun little band.
It seemed that every day brought new reasons to continually disrupt the troop they’d once been, trained by Hewitt as part of the Ephrian Army.
And what if they determined they didn’t support the Alliance?
They knew so little about the organization.
It worried Evylin that they might discover some unsavory monarch at the helm or a cause they were unwilling to champion.
The Administration they were meeting with appeared to be part of the governing force, but what did that even mean?
Was this the same group of individuals who’d decided to wheedle the Ephrian soldiers into working for them?
Their penchant for secrets and manipulation made her all the more uncomfortable.
But then, Deckard’s promise to serve them bothered her too.
What if they discovered the Alliance wasn’t worthy of their help? What if they were cruel and tyrannical like King Blount? Or insipid and selfish like King Ephren? Would Deckard uphold his promise then? Or would he break it, to hell with whatever consequences came?
Evylin took a deep breath, staring out the window as she stretched her legs across the bed.
And yet, what if the Alliance was true and noble?
What if the Calders were right? What if this plan to return Allund to its original state, to the nation of Allore’s calling, was pure and righteous?
Deckard would certainly hold up his end of the bargain in that case.
But would that include their own Bonding?
Playing with the buttons on her blouse, Evylin considered the idea. Could she be happy with that life? Life as Deckard’s Warrior, Bonded to him, body and soul.
A smirk tugged at her lips. Yes, she could be very happy with that life. A hundred years with Deckard would never be enough. She’d settle for two centuries quite cheerfully.
Evylin’s thoughts devolved over the next several minutes. Deckard would return soon, coming to claim his continued “conversation.” She rolled onto her side, imagining him lying beside her, kissing her, touching her . . . and then promptly fell asleep.