She jerks awake with a gasp, her body turning rigid and her eyes flying open. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing on her face butblind, animal panic. Then she focuses on me and the fear drains away, replaced by confusion.
“Cairn?”
“Get up. It’s time to train.”
She pushes herself upright, shoving tangled hair out of her face. The shift has ridden up during the night and twisted around her thighs. She tugs it down with a sharp motion before looking at me again, blinking rapidly.
“Training? What?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She stares at me, lips slightly parted while she works through what I’ve said. I nod toward the clothes. Her eyes move to them, then back to me.
“It’s been two days. You haven’t looked at me. You haven’t spoken to me. You won’t even be in the same room with me if you can help it. And now you’re standing in my bedroom telling me to get dressed so we can …train?”
“That’s right.”
“Get out!” She throws a pillow at me.
I sidestep it. “No.”
Her chin comes up. There’s a flush spreading across her cheeks. I’m not entirely sure whether it’s anger or embarrassment. I wait, curious to see if she’ll dig her heels in and try to wait me out, forcing me to either leave or drag her out of bed myself. I can’t say I’d be displeased with the latter option.
She does neither. Instead, she throws the blanket off her legs and stands. Then she holds my gaze, waiting for me to turn and give her privacy the way any decent person would.
She seems to have forgotten that I’mnotdecent.
So, I stay where I am, and let my eyes run over her.
The shift ends mid-thigh. I can see the marks I left on her—the fading bruise on her hip where I gripped too hard, the shadow at her collarbone where my teeth bit down, the string of bites up her throat.
She reaches for the hem, then hesitates.
“You’re really not going to leave while I dress?”
“No.”
Her mouth flattens into a thin line, and she pulls the shift over her head and drops it on the bed, then stands there, in the morning light, completely bare. Her chin is lifted, her shoulders thrown back, and she meets my eyes with a challenge of her own,daringme to react.
I don’t.
The flush spreads down her throat to her chest, and her breathing quickens despite her efforts to control it. There’s a quick burst of emotion through the bond that ties us. She’s waiting for me to break. To cross the room and put my hands on her again.
When I don’t move, a flash of hurt reaches me, and then she turns away and reaches for the clothes. The undergarments go on first. I don’t lie to myself and pretend I’m not enjoying how they slide up her legs. The pants are next, followed by the undershirt and tunic. She sits on the bed to pull on the socks and boots, and when she stands, she’s breathing harder than getting dressed should warrant.
“Well?”
I arch a brow at the snapped word, then turn and walk out without a word.
She follows me.
The village is still quiet at this hour, and I lead her past the forge, along to where the last cottages are spread out, and then further down the road until we reach a clearing screened by birch trees.
The ground here is hard-packed earth, ensuring good footing for what I have planned. I stop in the center of the clearing and turn to face her.
