Chapter 13 A Planned Attack #2
I nodded, suddenly unable to find my voice.
“I can feel it too,” he said gently. “I didn't bring you out here for this…” His voice trailed off, the words unfinished between us.
Shame flared hot and sudden. Foolish, I thought—foolish for wanting more. Foolish for thinking a kiss was the answer. Tears stung my eyes as I got to my feet too quickly, smoothing my skirts with trembling hands and turning away to gather my basket.
“Magda—wait.” His hand reached for me as he stood. “I'm sorry.”
When he saw the tears, his face fell, stricken.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I turned my face away, staring down at the ground because I couldn't bear to meet his eyes.
“I'm the one who's sorry. I wanted to kiss you like that—a real kiss—I've thought about it so many times over the years.” The words spilled out of me, broken and breathless.
“And I thought…I thought you wanted it too.”
He stepped toward me. I retreated without thinking until my back met the rough, solid trunk of the oak.
He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers along my cheek, catching a tear before it could fall.
Then he smiled—slow, certain now, the last trace of hesitation gone.
“I thought the kiss was because you felt sorry for me.”
I shook my head at once, hoping he didn’t sense that there was a kernel of truth in it. Compassion was knotted up with everything else—but I had wanted to kiss Caius long before pity had ever entered the equation.
“I want to kiss you too,” he said, his voice low now, sure. “Every night, before I fall asleep, I imagine what it would feel like to kiss you.”
The words hung between us, heavy and bright all at once.
The thought that I occupied his last waking moments each day sent a hot flush to my face that spread down into my chest. Neither of us moved.
His hand remained at my cheek, warm and steady, and I felt his breath on my skin—close enough to promise, but not yet to claim.
The world seemed to narrow to that small space beneath the oak—the rustle of leaves overhead, the distant rush of the river, the thud of my heart answering his in a language I was only just learning.
For a long moment, we simply looked at one another, balanced on the edge of something irrevocable, knowing that whatever came next would change us—and choosing, just for that heartbeat, to linger there.
He leaned toward me, taking his time, letting me anticipate what came next.
His hand slid from my cheek to the curve of my jaw, steadying me there, as if asking without words.
When our lips met this time it was slower, deliberate—his mouth fitting to mine with care, not hunger.
There was no urgency, only the quiet certainty of it, the sense that he meant this kiss to be remembered.
“You don't mind that I don't know how to do this?” I asked when he pulled away, glad to have the truth of my inexperience out between us.
He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “I promise I don't mind.”
“Will you teach me how to kiss properly?” I asked, brazen now that I'd laid out my desire for him.
“We'll learn together,” he said just before he kissed me again.
Weeks slipped by in stolen afternoons beneath the oak tree, while Dani worked at his father's forge—still oblivious to what was quietly taking root between his two best friends.
And several times a week, when his work was done, Dani would come to the cottage to fetch me, patient and earnest, tutoring me in the use of the blades he had made.
One hot afternoon, I looked up from pulling weeds in the garden just as Caius rode past my cottage, his horse's hooves thudding softly against the earth-packed road. When he caught sight of me, he slowed, making a deliberate effort to meet my eyes before pulling his horse to a stop at the gate.
“Where are you off to?” I asked, rising to my feet and brushing the dirt from my apron.
“To the hunting lodge,” he said, his bow slung over one shoulder, a sword resting in the scabbard at his saddle.
“And what will you do today?” He had a mischievous grin on his face.
He often rode alone, or with Dani, to his family's hunting lodge—tucked up in a narrow mountain pass, about a forty-five-minute ride away.
“I was planning to pick berries. Bring them back, make some jam…dry the rest.” I moved toward the gate, leaning on it as we spoke.
“I saw some good apples ripening in the trees up by the lake,” he said casually.
“And the berries near the north shore—some of the best this season.” There was an alpine lake about halfway between the village and the lodge—the one he meant.
There was a twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes—he was inviting me to meet him there.
Damn him for being so handsome.
“Well,” I said, letting a ribbon of sarcasm curl through my smile, “it seems you're the expert, Caius.” I might have faltered the first time we truly kissed—my usual boldness momentarily misplaced as I learned the shape of something new—but familiarity had a way of restoring me to myself.
The shyness had burned off. In its place was the Magda he knew best: teasing, unafraid, and very much aware now of the effect I had on him.
“I might take my pony up there later,” I added casually, brushing a loose tendril of hair from my cheek. “Once I'm done weeding the garden. Or…I might not.” I let the coyness hang in the air between us, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how easily he'd thrilled me.
He smiled broadly, then glanced around to make sure no one was watching before curling one finger to me in a beckoning gesture.
I made a show of rolling my eyes, plastering on an indignant look as I slipped through the gate and walked toward him.
He stayed perched atop his horse, and I stopped just short of him, lifting my chin in mock defiance.
He leaned down, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.
“Please come. I'll be heading back from the lodge in the early afternoon. Meet me there—we can be alone.”
I nodded in understanding. The great oak had sheltered us well enough—its wide trunk and heavy branches guarding our laughter and stolen kisses—but it had never granted true privacy.
We were always listening for footsteps, always breaking apart at the snap of a twig, contenting ourselves with breathless embraces and wandering hands before fear chased us back toward caution.
“I will…if I can get away,” I said, letting my practiced indifference soften just a touch.
I offered no promise—but neither did I try to hide my smile.
The thought of being truly alone with Caius, without the constant dread of discovery, sent my pulse skittering into a restless rhythm.
It beat low and insistent beneath my ribs, anticipation and danger twined so tightly I could not tell one from the other.
I knew Buna would be making her rounds with the villagers after lunch, checking in on the sick and the women nearing their time—perfect for slipping away without her asking where I was headed. I would leave her a note, saying I'd gone to gather berries, in case she returned before I did.
The sun had begun its slow descent into the western sky by the time I reached the lake.
Caius was already there, sprawled on his back in the grass near the shore, bathed in golden light.
His horse grazed lazily nearby. I slipped down from my pony and looped the reins loosely around its neck to let her do the same.
Then I crossed the field to where Caius lay, stepping into the sunlight he'd claimed.
My shadow fell over him, and he opened one eye, a slow smile curling on his lips.
He patted the patch of grass beside him, wordlessly inviting me to join him.
I was nervous—so nervous I could barely breathe.
I'd relived each kiss, each small exploration of our bodies a hundred times over the past few weeks, every stolen moment etched into my mind.
And now, here we were. Alone. No one expecting either of us back until dusk.
The thought sent a thrill through me, tangled with anticipation that bordered on ache.
I was desperate for more—for him. I was tired of holding myself apart, of pretending I didn't want what most girls my age had already discovered.
I wanted to be touched. Desired. Claimed.
I knelt beside him on the grass, the sun warm against my skin.
I didn't know exactly what would come next, only what I craved.
“Kiss me,” I whispered, the words heavy with want.
I needed the heat of his mouth on mine, on my skin—to wake the fire between my thighs, the way his touches had done before.
He didn't need me to ask twice. He sat up and reached for me, his hand finding my cheek.
I leaned in, kissed him, letting his tongue brush softly against mine, his lips warm and salty.
I let my mouth wander—his jaw, his chin—tasting him, memorizing him.
When I finally pulled back to catch my breath, it wasn't hesitation.
I just wanted to feel it all. To be fully present. Not swept away. Not yet.
“I want you, Caius—but…” I faltered, the words catching painfully in my throat.
I was afraid. The girls in the village spoke freely enough of their first times—some laughing it off, others lowering their voices as they spoke of pain that lingered longer than they'd expected.
I didn't know which truth awaited me, only that the not knowing terrified me.
How could I tell him that I wanted him—that I wanted to give myself to him fully—while still fearing what it might cost me?
That desire and dread could live in me at the same time, tangled so tightly I couldn't separate them.