Maric wasn’t sure how to respond, even though he knew he didn’t want to take it back. He was suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing, and awkwardness threatened to overtake him. Katriel stepped forward slowly, her eyes holding his in the silence. She put the lantern on top of a chest by his bed and then sat down on the edge.
Their faces were only inches apart. Maric was breathing heavily, but still couldn’t bring himself to look away from her. Even her smell was intoxicating, like a rare flower that bloomed only in the darkest gardens. Enticing and sweet without being cloying.
She reached out, and silently she ran a slender finger from his bandages up along his chest. His skin shuddered where she touched, and he gulped. It was the only sound in the hushed darkness.
“I would stay with you, my lord,” she whispered. “If you would have me.”
He blinked and looked down at the furs, blushing again. “I . . . I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated,” he stammered. “I mean, I wouldn’t want it to seem like . . . I wouldn’t want to take advantage. . . .”
Katriel touched her finger to his lips, quieting him. He looked up at her, and found her gazing at him from under heavy lids. “You are not, my lord,” she said seriously, her voice husky.
“Please . . . don’t call me that.”
“You are not,” she repeated.
The distance between them closed as if they were drawn together, and Maric kissed her. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined, and she melted under his every touch.
Outside the tent, Rowan watched in stony silence as the lantern light within was extinguished. She wore a red dress of silk, a Calabrian garment that bared her shoulders. The sharp-faced woman who sold it to her had pointed out that Rowan was too muscled to wear such a dress, that her shoulders were too broad. The silk felt luxurious against her skin, however, so much different from the leather and metal she was used to. So she had bought it despite the woman, though she had never once had the occasion to wear it since.
She regretted wearing it now, and regretted coming, yet as she stood there in the darkness, she found she could not will herself to move.
The guard slumped nearby, fast asleep and snoring lightly. Rowan shook her head in exasperation, tempted to kick the man awake. What if it had been an assassin come to visit Maric instead of the elven woman? But they were all exhausted from the long battles, and no doubt the guard was assigned to his post while nearly asleep on his feet. She could forgive the nameless guard his lapse in judgment, but only his.
When she heard the first faint moan coming from inside, finally she stepped away. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but either way, she decided she could not stay where she was.
Her steps were stealthy as she maneuvered among the tents. Many bodies were slumbering on the ground, some even on top of each other. The smell of ale was everywhere. The celebration had been lengthy after the Orlesians had taken to the forest in disarray. Even though looting was discouraged, they couldn’t help but look the other way as the men scoured the town’s taverns for ale barrels and wine. They deserved a celebration after two such fine victories.
Rowan had watched them drink, but did not partake. All she could think about was thrusting her sword into the mage, the fury she had felt blinding her reason. Making him suffer was all that had mattered to her. Was there to be nothing more to her life than blood? She had gone to Maric thinking . . . thinking . . .
She came out of the tents into the unoccupied portion of the manor’s courtyard. On clear ground, Rowan slowed to a stop. She breathed the night air deeply, standing stiffly under the glare of the moon. She felt ill, and part of her wanted nothing more than to rip the dress away from her skin, tear it into shreds. She wanted to keep walking, to leave the manor grounds and become lost within the restless shadows of the forest.
“Rowan?”
She turned sharply toward the sound and saw Loghain approaching. He was bandaged and wearing a simple longshirt and leather trousers, and he seemed more than a little confused to see her. Finally he stopped, staring at her with those unsettling eyes. They made her shudder, as they always did.
“It
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you . . . decided to put on a fine dress and go for a walk?”
She said nothing in response, folding her arms around herself and staring at the ground. Instead of leaving, however, Loghain remained where he was. She could feel those eyes fixed on her even if she didn’t see them. The forest shadows beckoned, but she ignored their maddening call.
“You look beautiful,” he told her.
