Page 149 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

His touch is gentle, but it isn’t soft. He moves with a firm pressure and an assertiveness and dominance that matches him perfectly.

I look away so he can't see my blush as he moves the bar of soap over the worst of my healed wounds, just beneath my breasts, his fingers grazing my immortality dàn. A rumble leaves his chest as he quickly and efficiently washes the blood from each breast.

I try not to squirm. To remain still. But what my body wants is so different from what he is offering me.

This is an act of tenderness. Of caring, and I'm grateful for it, even if I wish it could be more. But how could it, with the past that lies between us? Now that I know what I did to him?

I shake the thought away, trying to ignore the way his touch makes me feel like I’m about to take flight. It’s enough that he cares for me in this way—to give me this kind of touch. It has to be.

He quickly washes my legs, avoiding the sensitive area between them, and I’m glad. I’m not sure how I would douse the fire inside me if he touched me there.

Ever so gently, Brennen scoots me higher, tilting my head back over his leg.

My hair falls into the current as he lifts my chin up. Once I'm in the position he wants me in, he uses his hands to cup water and pour it over the still-dry hair on top of my head.

Snow begins to fall as he once again rubs soap between his hands, and I wonder if he’s cold. He must be, and yet his fingers are warm and steady as they thread through my tresses, tangling in the long red strands as he rubs circles on my scalp.

“I’ve wondered if it's as soft as it looks,” he says, so casually, it’s as if he didn't mean to say it out loud.

“And is it?” I ask, my mouth dry.

“Aye. Softer, even,” he says, and I close my eyes, reveling in his touch.

But even without my sight, I feel his gaze as it roams my body. My cheeks flush, and he must notice because his hands still in my hair.

“I—I'm sorry. That wasnae gentlemanly of me,” he says.

“Wolf,” I tease, my lips tilting into a smile. “Have you been meaning to be a gentleman this whole time? You should've told me sooner. Might have saved us a bit of trouble.”

“I tried to be one,” he says, but I stop him, meeting his eyes.

“You are. I do not mind if you look,” I say, my voice nothing more than a throaty whisper, and he swallows, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

The tension between us grows so tight I wonder if it's about to snap like the driest of twigs. My hair now clean, I roll toward him.

“You can… You can touch me again,” I say, blushing. “If you want to, that is.”

“Bea—”

“When you cupped my cheek, I focused on your magic, and I was able to push it away. I think our skin can touch without transferring your power, if I focus⁠—”

“Bea,” his face crumbles, and I know instantly I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Right. I’m sorry,” I say, sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest. I wrap my arms around myself as the shame comes. He only wanted to help me. To take care of me. It’s who he is, after all. But he can’t want more. He’s been honest about that.

“No. It’s just,” he rubs a hand through his hair. “I wish I could. In a different world, I would feel every inch of you⁠—”

“You don’t have to say that. It’s okay,” I say, blinking back tears. “It was foolish.”

“No. It wasnae,” he says, reaching out and lifting my chin, and my traitorous body leans into the touch. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Goddess, do I yearn to touch you. But this vow. My family. I dinnae ken how to have you, and keep them safe.” He looks down at his palm.

I jump back as a sudden flash of pain shoots through the dàn on my back. I hiss, my hand flying to it.

Brennen's eyes go dark as he scrambles to his feet, his hand flying to his sword.

“That’s the dàn of warning. To tell you of danger.” He turns to face the trees. “Mallach ort!” he hisses under his breath as a dark figure disappears into the woods.

“Who was that?” I ask, my heart pounding. Surely not a friend, or they wouldn’t have run.