“Is it more appropriate for you to be with an Enduar woman?” Even saying the words, I know I’m grasping. But I’m angry and raw over his rejection.
He stills. “What?”
“I kiss you, and you barely react. You come with me because I ask you, but you also treat me as though I annoy you.”
He looks back up at me, and bright blue eyes pin me in place. No one has ever looked at me this way. His noble tendencies are aggravating. And yet, I don’t try to run from this moment.
“I do not wish to court Ulla, or any other Enduar woman. She is nothing more than a good friend. She is also quite a bit older than me.”
I pause. “Would you not be with an older woman?”
He growls. “If I fancied her, I would not care for her age.”
“So you do not fancy Ulla?” I say.
His nostrils flare. “Enduar women do not want me.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
He sighs. “No, I don’t care for her like that.”
“But you desire me.”
He presses a bunch of herbs against my wound, and I squeal, letting go of his wrist.
“That was cruel,” I say.
In response, his fingers skim the underside of my breast, and I gasp.
His eyes snap back onto mine, and the moment’s intimacy strikes a chord in my chest. I’ve had men lay over me, moveinside of me, and yet, this closeness… This tenderness is nothing like any of that.
The two of us are using up all the air in the small tent.
My dress falls a little lower.
His eyes drop back to my body. His fingers continue to trail over several silvery scars on either side of my belly.
Fuck, I forgot.
I hold my breath as his brow furrows. Then I place my hand over the marks caused by overstretched skin. He doesn’t need to witness all my imperfections.
He grabs my hand, exposing my bare arm.
“You have so many marks. What are all of these?” he asks, brushing his fingers over faint, slightly sunken lines up my forearm.
I grit my teeth. “Battle scars.”
He lets go of me, and his eyes find mine again.
“Battle is painful—I cannot imagine what it must have been like if you did not know how to fight. I am sorry you’ve also endured that.”
A question sits on the tip of my tongue, and I try to resist asking it. But in the end, I hear myself say, “Have you been in combat?”
He takes a deep breath, then returns to bandaging my wound.
“Aside from tonight? Yes. A few times, but always against giants and spiders. Only one encounter left a scar.”
“And that was…?” My question breaks off with a hiss. His fingers rub at the hurt, soothing the sting.