Page 148 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“I told you I didn’t steal it,” I try to joke, but my voice comes out flat. Worried. “You shouldn’t have given the dàn to me, Brennen. What if you need it? What if you get wounded in battle, or the Cutter⁠—”

“I dinnae care,” he says, his words sharper than Hamish’s blade.

I lie my head back down, too exhausted to hold it up any longer. “I would have healed.”

“It would have taken too long.” Brennen leans forward, pushing my hair from in front of my eyes. His voice lowers to a rough whisper. “How can you no see it? I cannae watch you suffer.” He closes his eyes.

“But how did you know to come to me?” I ask. If he’d been only moments later, Hamish would have gotten his answer. Either that or Brennen would have come across my unconscious, bloody body.

“I heard your call in my bones. I dinnae ken how to explain it. I should have been too far away, but it was like I felt your pain, and…” He can’t seem to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. I can feel his meaning—that Ban-dia a’ Bhàis herself would not have been able to keep him from coming to me. He shakes his head, the shroud of control he always wears nonexistent in this moment.

He presses his forehead against mine, and magic pushes against my skin, trying to take root. There’s a burning on my arm, but I fight against it with every bit of strength I have left. I refuse it. Imagining a shield around my body, I shove it away.

There is only his touch on my skin, and nothing more.

No magic. No power.

I will not take anything else from this man who has given me so much.

“When I saw you, lying there bloody…” His words come out choked. “I dinnae ken how I had the self-control to make him apologize before I slit his throat. Why were you taunting him like that?”

“He caught me. I couldn't let him say the words that would make me tell him where Kenna went. I was hoping I'd go unconscious before he was able to trigger the curse.”

“You are the bravest person I’ve ever met,” he says, his gaze trailing down my face, to my mouth, and then to my now healed wounds on my chest and stomach.

My cheeks flush. I suddenly feel exposed, my breasts and belly visible between the layers of my torn dress and drying blood. I try to pull it back together, but he stops me. “I'll get you another one.” He caresses my cheek. “Look away,” he says.

I close my eyes as he stands, my mind racing. He’d pressed his dàn into me. Had chose to give me his magic.

I shove away the thought, afraid if I examine it too closely, I’ll put myself in a position to actually get hurt. Not my body, but my heart.

There’s a splash, and I wince, my stomach roiling as I realize what the sound was. Brennen throwing the man into the river, sending his body into the After.

He reappears a moment later with a touch to my shoulder, a bar of soap in his hands.

“Let’s get you clean. I cannae bear to see all this blood on you,” he says. “I’ll give you something of mine to wear after.”

“That’s not necessary. I can clean myself,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. It’s nothing like what we did days ago, before he’d walled himself off. Before he’d confessed who I had killed. But him washing the blood from my battered body in the light of day feels almost more intimate. Without the cover of darkness, I cannot hide.

“No,” he says, and his stern tone makes me pause. His mouth is tight, and shadows bruise beneath his eyes. “Let me.”

Heat creeps up my neck as a memory of him pleasuring me flashes through my mind.

“I need to wash you,” he continues, his voice rough, almost begging. “Please.”

My throat tightens at his words. I’ve taken so much from this man, but this is something I can give him. Something to ease the torment inside him.

I nod, and his shoulders relax as he picks up his dagger. Careful not to break my skin, he cuts through the rest of my dress. It falls from my legs, and Brennen shrugs the top from my arms.

I wait for the shame to appear. To feel self-conscious with my body on full display in the light of day, but it never comes. Instead, I feel safe. Cherished.

Brennen lowers me back into the river and kneels beside me, the water turning red downstream as it runs over my body, washing away the blood, and I close my eyes, letting the overwhelming sensation of being cared for fill me. If this is all I get for another century, I think it might be enough.

He picks up the bar of soap. “May I?” he asks, and there's a vulnerability in his endless green eyes I've never seen before. His grip is tight, his posture stiff.

“Yes,” I say, breathless, and he relaxes. He pulls me to him, gently, allowing my head to rest on his thigh.

He lathers the soap in his hands, the scent of juniper filling the air, then, beginning at my abdomen, he begins to wash. I push away his magic again, biting back a moan, just the feeling of his rough hands on my skin moving in slow, intentional circles enough to make heat gather between my legs.