SEVEN
Gideon
When they rode into Mortimer, the next town on his homemade map, their breaths had begun to puff before them in the frosty air.
A cluster of squat buildings in a muddy clearing made up the town, with green staining the stones.
It was as shabby as he remembered, and the inn was no better.
Some men watched them ride up and tie Ruteger to the post.
“You there, could we get some grain and water?”
said Gideon.
“Cost extra,”
one of the men grunted.
Gideon fished out a coin and tossed it to the man.
His purse was becoming disconcertingly light, a sensation he was not accustomed to.
Somewhere in the forest near Angharad’s home, his saddlebags were strapped to his wandering mount, heavy with coin.
If only credit keys worked down south, he thought with frustration, but he pushed the thought aside.
They were only a day’s ride from Montag, and from there, he could wield his influence to cover expenses.
He led Hara into the establishment with a gentle touch at her back.
A damp odor permeated the room, and smoke swirled through the air with every draft.
Some rough looking men sat in a corner and a couple Montag soldiers sat drinking at the hearth.
Gideon was glad to see them, for they were a sign that home was near.
Tomorrow, he would be back where he belonged and he could change into his fine attire, bidding farewell to the poxy disguise for good.
All he had to do was last the night resisting the urge to knock on Hara’s door and take her to bed.
Unless that was what she wanted.
Did the reasons they gave to stay chaste even matter anymore? He did not know, and he was finding himself caring less and less with the passing days.
“I’m going to talk to the cook,”
said Hara.
“Let’s see if they can prepare what we gathered.”
He watched her wander into a side passage, presumably in search of the kitchen. While he waited on the much-anticipated mushrooms, he ordered two rooms and a tankard from the counter. As he slipped the keys into his pocket, a dark mutter from the hearth reached his ears.
“—has to be a wild one,”
said one of the Montag soldiers.
“Bold as anything.”
Gideon’s spine stiffened. Hara did not dress ostentatiously, but the common women of Norwen wore modest white caps in public. Her uncovered hair and talk of foraging would give her away as a witch. Free-roaming magic-folk were treated with more than a little suspicion in the north.
There was a group of witch hunters in Corvus’ court that searched for rogue witches t.
“recruit”. Everyone in Montag knew an untethered witch could not be trusted to their own devices. It was meant to be for their own good—to give them some purpose rather than creating mischief or worse, forming some sort of organized uprising. Thes.
“recruited”
magic-folk were offered places at court according to their abilities. If they were found to be obstinate and refused, Gideon was not sure what happened then. But he knew he did not want to find out.
“Could take her in for questioning,”
said the other soldier.
“You never know with that kind. They’re likely all in league with each other.”
“What about him?”
the other muttered, and Gideon’s neck tingled unpleasantly.
“Who knows. Dressed in such a way he could be one, too. I don’t pay attention to the men,”
he said, and they both guffawed.
“He looks wiry, and she’s a pretty one. Might be a bit of sport.”
“I don’t like tall ones. You can have her,”
said the other.
“But I’ll take my share of the reward.”
The unpleasant prickling along his neck was replaced by a heat so sharp it almost felt cool as it washed under his skin. He didn’t need to hear another word. It was time to put a stop to this.
He slammed down his tankard and wheeled around, taking long strides until he stood before the soldiers. He leaned forward, his fists thudding on the table before them, causing their tankards to jostle and slosh.
“I could hear every word you were saying.”
The men appeared nonplussed by Gideon’s abrupt confrontation. They looked at him with their mouths agape, until slowly their brows furrowed.
“So what if you could?”
said the one with a square jaw. His mouth lifted at the corner in a slight sneer. His eyes raked up and down Gideon’s towering form, assessing him.
“Neither of you will be taking my companion anywhere.”
“We have the authority to recover any stray witch that crosses our path,”
said square jaw. He stood from the table and his companion did the same, his eyes darting between his friend and Gideon.
“You have no authority in Norwen,”
said Gideon.
“Are you planning on crossing the border?”
said the smaller soldier.
“Then we are within our rights to question you.”
Now he was making up laws.
“I repeat, you have no authority,”
said Gideon.
“If you’re going to lie, I’d advise against doing it to your Commander’s son. I am Lord Gideon Falk.”
The soldiers eyed each other, then looked him up and down. Patronizing grins curved their mouths.
Gideon could have gone out to the saddlebags and brought forth the Falk crest from his cloak, but he did not need to prove himself to these imbeciles. He still wore his crested ring; he could simply leave his mark dented into their foreheads.
“Leave, now. Do not bother us, or you’ll find your heads parted from your necks when I return to the capital.”
“You’re nobody. You’re about as important as the sludge on my boots,”
said the thinner of the soldiers.
“You should know that here in the north, all magic-folk are subject to questioning. Never know if they might be an Ilmarinen sympathizer. She’s ours.”
Hara appeared at his side then, worry creasing her brow as her eyes darted from him to the soldiers. He reached for her, and she naturally slid into his side. The soldiers’ gazes snapped to her, and one said.
“Why do you wear no hood, Mistress?”
“What does it matter to you?” she said.
Square-jaw grabbed for her arm, trying to yank her away from Gideon’s grasp.
Gideon reacted like a spark to pitch.
As the man’s fingertips brushed Hara’s sleeve, Gideon drew his fist back and brought it forth to slam into the soldier’s mouth. The man reeled back, not expecting such a visceral reaction, and the thinner soldier gave a shout of surprise.
Before the man could draw his sword—stupidly, Gideon thought, in such close quarters—Gideon had drawn the knife at the soldier’s waist and used it to make a shallow slash across the man’s cheek. The soldier staggered back, his hand coming up to cup the freely weeping wound.
The thickset soldier scrabbled to gain his feet, but Gideon sent a kick his way, and he heard the satisfying crunch of boot meeting nose. While the man howled, a burst of hot pain shattered against Gideon’s mouth. The thinner man had landed a blow before Gideon could block it; it was poorly aimed, but Gideon still tasted blood.
Before he could retaliate, both men staggered to their feet and were stumbling from the inn, bawling out curses and nursing their wounds.
There was hooting and laughter, and Gideon caught his breath, realizing that the rough patrons in the corner of the room had been watching the fight with glee. He felt his heart galloping in his chest, and then he remembered Hara.
She looked up at him with wide eyes, fear and shock playing over her features.
Damn it all.
Before she could say anything, he grabbed her hand and hauled her down the dark corridor and up the rickety stairs in search of their rooms. They needed to get away from prying eyes and, most importantly, away from the inn staff. With any luck, the other patrons would have been too occupied with the wounded soldiers to notice where he and Hara slipped off to.
With jerking hands, he found the key. Gideon opened the door and hastily pushed her inside. The room was dim, the banked fire giving very little light, and the only sense of Hara that he had was her rapid breaths and the sweet scent that worked on him like a drug.
His blood was still rushing loudly in his ears, but now that they were alone, it roared and gathered in his groin, the furious desire to claim her welling up from some animalistic place within him. The violence in his blood, having no more adversaries to unleash against, had transformed into raw desire. And it begged to be sated.
It would have to wait until tonight, after Hara had gone to her bed.
He almost groaned in frustration. She was bound to be shaken and disturbed by his display of brutality. With all her gentle talk of healing and maintaining balance, he didn’t imagine she was pleased with him right now. He had to get himself under control, otherwise he’d find himself grabbing hold of her willowy frame and doing something stupid.
Just as he’d managed to suppress these mad desires, he felt himself being backed against the closed door.
Hara’s arms were circling his waist. Then her hot mouth bloomed out of the darkness and embraced his lips desperately. Pain and pleasure mingled as she pressed against his split lip, but he barely noticed.
He was stunned for a moment as her mouth moved over his, all thoughts blissfully screeching to a halt at the feel of her. Then, in a rush of triumphant heat, his body took over as he clenched her against his chest, one hand snaking to her lower back and the other clutching the hair at the base of her skull. He tipped her head back, opening her throat and mouth to him.
She tasted of sex and heat and woman, a peppery intoxication feeding his desire and making him drunk. He could hold her like this for an age, wrapped and snared, if it wasn’t for the sudden pounding at the door.
“Here, what’s all this noise I heard downstairs? I don’t abide brawls in my establishment,”
boomed an angry voice. Gideon groaned in frustration. Couldn’t the damned innkeeper have waited ten minutes? Didn’t he have guests to console?
At the sound of the voice, Hara hesitated. She broke the kiss, breathing rapidly and loosening her hands from gripping the back of his shirt. He held her fast, whispering.
“Don’t answer him. Come to bed.”
“He might have a key. And you’re injured . . .”
“Nothing feels better than a fuck after a fight under normal circumstances,”
he said. Perhaps her kiss made him reckless, for he couldn’t stop the next words from coming out in a rough whisper.
“But I’ve been aching for you for days, Hara.”
His words were drowned by more booming thuds on the wood of the door. With a harsh breath, he released Hara and swung around, straightening his lopsided shirt and running his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it. Hitching a mild-mannered expression on his face, which he hoped wasn’t too marred by his bleeding lip, he opened the door.
“Good evening,”
he said to the scowling, squat innkeeper. The man made a noise of exasperation.
“I draw the line at spilt blood. Now I’ve got a load of scrubbing to do, so you’d best have a good reason for laying blows on my guests before I kick the both of you out.”
Scrubbing indeed. The grime coating the floors would surely not suffer from a little blood.
“They threatened my wife,”
said Gideon, hastily coming up with a plausible story. He tried to ignore the satisfied possession that roared through his veins at the words.
“I had every right to protect her.”
“Hmph,”
said the man, glancing over Gideon’s shoulder to Hara.
“Hedgewitch, are you? You’re inviting trouble flaunting that around here.”
“Noted,”
said Hara softly. Gideon felt incredibly foolish, forgetting how deeply the prejudice against magic-folk ran in the north, especially in a backwater such as this.
“You’re not welcome here tonight. I don’t trust witches in the best of times, even less when they start brawls. Out,”
barked the innkeeper.
“Surely we can make some sort of arrangement?”
Gideon said, producing some coins from his money pouch. It was getting rather light, indeed.
The innkeeper snatched the coins and grabbed Gideon by the collar.
“Get out. I’ll take the coins as payment for my trouble.”
Gideon considered introducing his fist to the innkeeper’s jaw, but one glance at Hara’s face was enough to convince him that would not be wise. Not unless he wanted the town magistrate and a torch-wielding mob after him next.
“Come on,”
he murmured to her, and they quickly exited the room.
When they emerged from the inn, it was to find Ruteger waiting untethered in the yard with their bags packed. Night had already fallen, and their surroundings were dim with starlight as their breaths rose steaming in the frigid air. Gideon took the reins, and without a word, Hara followed him onto the road.
They walked in silence for a while, and Gideon’s heart returned to a more reasonable rhythm. He frankly did not care where they were going, for his head was still back at the inn, pressed against that door and feeling the burn of pleasure as Hara’s mouth ensnared his. It had lasted for entirely too brief a moment, and so he tried to commit every second down to memory. He hoped that she hadn’t heard his confession that he’d craved her for days.
A sort of frenzy had begun to churn under his skin since this journey began, and perhaps even before that. Gideon felt as though the mildest slight could turn him loose, and he craved a reason. He craved release. He craved bloodshed. He craved.
Though he felt no qualms about violence, he had a great deal of self control which he was particularly proud of. He would say he was slow to anger. Usually. But it felt good to launch his fists at those men, to feel the sting of their blows against him in return. It felt good, and it unnerved him that it should. This was not the way he comported himself. Only an unlucky few got the privilege to trade blows with Gideon Falk. He did not dole out his wrath so cheaply to be wasted on a couple of ignorant soldiers. They hadn’t earned it properly.
So what was the matter with him? The lack of control made Gideon restless and irritable.
A hill on the side of the road gave way to a clearing with a small copse of trees in the center, and they wearily made their way to it. In little time they gathered kindling, and Hara impressed him by producing a few weak sparks from her fingertips to make a fire. Hara let Seraphine roam, and silently, they ate the bread from their packs and the mushrooms they gathered.
Gideon could not seem to stop himself from staring at her, noticing every tilt of her head and flutter of her lashes. Fighting for her made her his in a way that he could not explain. Before they took this journey he vowed that he would protect her, but now it was a promise sealed with blood. He wanted more than anything to have an excuse to touch her, but the fervor that took hold of her at the inn seemed to have diminished.
Then Hara spoke.
“Come, let me take a look at your cuts.”
Angharad
Hara still tasted the hint of his blood on her lips.
The blood he’d shed for her.
She had only ever known him as an injured patient, and an unpleasant and demanding one at that. But the way he moved as he fought those men revealed how dangerous he could be.
His speed caused her breath to catch. Even the way his head reeled back as the soldier’s fist caught him was beautiful. He had given, and taken, that pain for her. Fear and tenderness mixed and swelled as she watched him fight.
By the dim light of the fire, she saw the raw corner of his mouth where the man hit him, and she was slightly dismayed that his recently healed lip had started to bleed again. Idly, she wondered how many times someone had split his lip and if he made a habit of it.
Hara moved to his side and rummaged in her satchel, thankful that she thought to move her all-purpose ointment and fresh bandages from the saddlebags this morning. Hesitantly, she crouched before him. He flinched as she dabbed the raw corner of his mouth, but he did not make a sound. His eyes were hard as he stared at the flames, like some beautiful, formidable statue.
Fear had passed through her briefly at the sight of the soldiers talking to Gideon, memories of the men who took her mother making her blood run cold. But the quick and vicious way Gideon reacted against his own countrymen surprised her.
It made her . . . warm.
She pressed her thighs together in shame, mortified that his violence had aroused her. It was bad enough that she desired him when he was the son of her enemy, but wanting him for his coldblooded brutality was a new low.
She gently grazed her fingertips over the cut, whispering a spell. Cool numbness prickled where her fingers met his wound, and the cut began to close. When she removed her hand the area was still raw, but it was no longer bleeding. The familiar weariness that accompanied her spent power made her muscles ache and her eyelids heavy.
“Hold this here. It will help with the swelling,”
she said, and his hand moved to press the ointment-soaked rag to his mouth.
“We should think of a disguise for you when we cross the border tomorrow. A story to tell my father and the court,”
said Gideon.
“We can’t have you looking like a rogue witch.”
Hara nodded. She did not fancy any more encounters like they had with the soldiers.
“You know your father best. What should the story be? Who am I?”
“I have two suggestions, and you won’t like one of them, so I’ll give it first. You could be a witch hunter,” he said.
Hara furrowed her brows.
“You ask me to become the most despicable of traitors?”
She had heard from travelers passing through Little Snail that witch hunters were magic-folk who worked for Corvus, helping him round up others of their kind. They used their abilities to seek out and resist the magical charms of their brethren, capturing them in return for gold and a protected position at court.
“You could move freely within the city, and it would explain why you have intimate knowledge of witches who fled the coup. It would also take away suspicion if you were researching old capture records.”
“How so?”
“You could say you’re trying to find a witch for questioning. Perhaps she committed some crime, or has special magic knowledge you need. You can come up with reasons.”
Hara saw the sense in the disguise, but distaste roiled in her gut. The fact that such a person would be welcome gave her insight into the Montagese court.
“What is your other suggestion?”
“Some sort of sorcerer that specializes in growing things. You already have a vast knowledge of herblore; I’m sure it would be convincing if I presented you to the court as a crop magician. We have a bit of a problem in Montag with our crop yields. Without tenable farmland, we must buy from Lenwen, and it’s becoming costly.”
Something bothered her about this statement, and then she remembered why.
“That’s why you abducted Alexandra. You took her to ransom her for land.”
“Correct,”
he said, taking another bite of bread.
“Is it that much of a problem?”
“It is. My father would not agree, but for him, so long as the factory workers are fed, he couldn’t care less about the common folk. He would welcome a witch hunter with an invitation to his table, but an agriculture sorcerer might earn a scoff.”
“I see.”
“So, I take it you’d prefer to be a crop magician?”
“An organic manipulator is the proper term. Planter for short. At least, that’s what they were called when I lived there,”
said Hara with a slight smile. She remembered such witches in their earthy brown robes with their many pockets.
Hara spotted a problem with this disguise: she might have extensive knowledge of plants and their uses, but her growing magic was so faint as to be nonexistent. Some branches of magic could be improved with study, but as much as she had tried through the years, she could not make things grow any faster than a non-magic person. Her healing magic had taken years to strengthen, like a weak muscle, and it was still not nearly as potent as her aunt’s had been. She would be easily caught out when she was unable to perform simple growth spells.
“I cannot perform the magic to bluff my way through that disguise. And besides, it would look odd if a Planter was snooping through old capture records,”
she said with a sigh.
“Distasteful as it is, a witch hunter suits our mission better.”
“Well, you will be hunting down a witch, just not for malicious reasons. Think of it that way,”
said Gideon. She gave him a smile that was more like a cringe, and they both studied the fire.
When she turned back to him, Gideon’s gaze flicked away, but not before she caught the hunger in his eyes.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking,”
she said, rising and going to the saddled bags to unpack her sleeping roll.
“We aren’t doing anything that involves your lips tonight. I was being thoughtless.”
Much as she would like to say she regretted her kiss, she felt quite the opposite. The hard warmth of his back muscles under her gripping fingers made her weak. He was stronger than he looked, for such a spare frame. His mouth had devoured her as though it were his idea, and a part of her desperately wanted to feel it again. She focused on keeping her movements unhurried while she shook out her bedroll.
With untidy haste, she pulled her stays loose and slipped from her dress, not pausing to see if Gideon was watching her or not. She knew he was watching, and it sent unruly hot shivers coursing over her skin.
Hara slipped into her bedding. Gideon said nothing, and she deflated slightly in disappointment. No sharp reply? No witty rejoinder? Was he ill?
Eventually she heard Gideon rise and the thump of boots as he undressed. She swallowed dryly, then her heart leapt into a frenzy as she felt his bulk settle in behind her under the coverlet.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“It’s freezing,”
he said as he shifted the bed clothes to cover them both. After he settled, they were quiet, their breaths barely perceptible. Then his low voice emerged out of the darkness.
“You’re very warm.”
So was he. The small fire did little to dispel the cold, and Hara would be lying if she said he wasn’t a welcome comfort in the chill night. They lay in silence for several moments, and though they barely touched, she was aware of every inch of his long body behind her.
“Thank you for doing that,”
she said softly.
“For fighting them, I mean.”
Silence, save for the wash of wind through the trees. Then his voice came as softly as hers.
“It wasn’t a decision, really,”
said Gideon.
“He almost put his hands on you.”
“All the same. I’m thankful you did,” she said.
“Yes, I gathered that from your reaction in the room,”
he said silkily. After a pause, he continued.
“You weren’t put off by my brawling? I would have thought you wouldn’t appreciate me making a scene.”
“I told you I like a bit of vengeance.”
His whole body tensed behind her. They remained silent for several moments, the soft crackle of the fire and the sleepy hoot of an owl the only sounds. Drowsiness began to steal over Hara, but as she felt her body relaxing, she became distantly aware of Gideon’s hand moving to rest over her hip.
She held her breath as his thumb began to stroke over her shift, caressing her lower belly. Hara wondered if he could feel the burning heat causing sweat to bead at her temples.
The movement was so subtle, so gentle, that Hara could not believe it was the same hand that had hurt those soldiers. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the drag of his thumb, the heat and pressure of it through the thin fabric. Her breaths were becoming long and shuddering, every sense sharpened. The memory of his mouth and his hands in that dark room filled her mind, and a rush of aching desire made her grow wet between her legs.
Slow strokes, up and down, but Hara would not say a word. She would not give voice to this desire and make it real.
With her heart pounding, she closed her eyes and emptied her thoughts of everything except for the sensation of his slow caresses. Finally, sleep claimed her.
In the pitch black of night Hara woke, drenched in sweat. For the first time in many years it was not a nightmare that caused her pulse to thud and her hands to shake.
She had dreamed of him. It felt so real and visceral that without even touching, Hara knew there was wetness between her legs. She closed her eyes and relived the desperate, fervid images as her breaths slowed. He’d been above her, in her, whispering words laced with sweet poison as he promised to make victims of any who would dare touch her. He repeatedly brought her to the edge of climax, never quite managing to bring her to the peak.
Hara had woken out of sheer agitation, and for a moment she forgot that he was there beside her. Then she heard his deep breathing, and the ache between her legs grew unbearable.
Hara rolled to her side, facing away from him, frustrated.
Her fingers slowly drifted down her stomach, and she fisted her shift, bringing the hem up past her thighs. Barely breathing, she began to softly tease the needy ache between her legs. The sweetness was sharp and gratifying, and Hara’s lips parted slightly as she closed her eyes and made gentle circles. She imagined Gideon inside her, kissing her neck and groaning in pleasure.
Her finger moved with more pressure, and she tried to breathe silently as her heart hammered in her chest. Soon her fingers were slippery, sliding with ease. Carefully, silently, she applied more pressure and bit her lip to keep herself from panting. She imagined his dark, sleek hair and his silver earrings glinting from beneath it. In her dream, his eyes had burned with terrible greed as he watched the pleasure play over her face.
She was closer now, her fingers dipping deeper into her folds.
And then there was warmth all along her back, and her eyes flew open. Gideon’s arm wrapped around her middle, and his hand reached down to push hers aside.
“Hara,”
he whispered roughly. Hara felt a pleasurable jolt as he dipped his finger just within her, drawing up some wetness before replacing her own fingers over her clitoris. He took over her rhythm, his strange, strong hands making her burn with desire the way her own touch could not.
“Do you miss him?”
he whispered against her neck.
It was difficult to comprehend who he meant at first. When she did not answer, he slid his finger just inside of her again, teasing her. A needy whimper escaped her lips as he returned his attention to her clitoris, rubbing in long circles at the sweet place just below. All the while, his hot whisper was released against her neck.
“Do you dream of him? All these nights in our separate rooms, have you touched yourself to the thought of him?” he said.
Hara wanted to tell him that it was not Samwell Thorn who made her wake in a desperate sweat with her sex aching, but it was difficult to form words when he was burning such a heavenly trail between her thighs. He did not wait for her to find her voice, and his words spilled forth like a confession.
“I’ve laid awake all these nights imagining you with him. I’ve stroked myself thinking about this—about you. Would you be loud, or soft? Do you tremble, or do you stiffen when you come? I want to know. I’ve burned to know, for weeks.”
Hara let out a low, keening moan, and he let out a triumphant breath against her neck that was nearly a laugh.
“Now I know what I was so envious of. What I’ve yearned for,”
he whispered against the skin at her nape. “This.”
He slipped one finger inside of her, and she felt her muscles immediately grasp him. His breathing quickened as he felt it, and then he added another finger. Slowly, gently, he began to enter her, going deep with each plunge and pressing upwards along the pleasurable seam inside of her.
Hara let her body take over the rhythm, her hips moving with his hand, meeting him with each penetration. Her breathing came out as soft moans now, and her back arched with pleasure. He seemed to feed on it, urging her on with the sinuous movements of his body. Her rear rubbed against his erection, and she felt the heat of him through her shift. The hot breaths on the back of her neck made her skin come alight with sensation, and she spread her legs wider, inviting him.
“Yes,”
he growled, harsh and urging.
“Gideon,”
she breathed.
“I’m going to—”
“I can feel it,”
he panted, keeping his pace slow and strong.
She reached behind her, grasping his hair as she arched her back and let out a cry. His fingers kept moving, drawing out the mounting peak with endless patience.
With a great shudder she curled in on herself, gasping as her heartbeat pounded. Waves of release burst from his touch within, and it took several moments before the waning surges of pleasure were wrung from her. Finally, as the last shudders abated and her breathing slowed, he removed his fingers from her.
She heard a soft sound, almost like a kiss, as she realized he was sucking them.
“I didn’t need to use my lips after all,”
he said, his voice low in the darkness.
Hara turned onto her back, but he had already turned away. With a long sigh, she adjusted her shift and wondered what this would mean in the morning.