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“The same morn as the one we spied the farmer and his son on the road?”

He continues to thread my hair through his fingers.

“You were awake?”

“Aye.”

I am no longer a married woman. Aiken, never a man of God. And yet, his honor prevents him from leaning forward.

So I do it instead.

I close the gap between us and tilt my head up to him. In response, Aiken freezes, watching me.

Parting my lips, I stand on my tiptoes. And leave nothing to fate. Reaching for his shoulders and clutching the material of his robes, I pull him down to me.

Aiken’s grasp on my hair loosens, only to slide to the back of my head. Thankfully, my husband never kissed me. Not once in all those years. Kissing ’twas not necessary to conceive a child, and I’d been grateful for it.

But Aiken clearly thinks I know how to proceed, and I do not.

“Open your mouth for me, Hilla,” he demands.

So I do.

Aiken’s tongue sweeps inside, and I touch my own to his. Weeks of exchanged glances, of accidental—and not so accidental—touches, all ignite at this very moment. His lips coax my own to explore, and I gladly accept the invitation.

Vaguely I hear the waves crash against the cliffs below as I’m drawn deeper and deeper into him. With every passing moment, my body of its own accord melds closer to his. We’re bound together, and no part of me wishes it otherwise.

When he groans against my lips, I do the same.

When he presses the back of my head even closer, I wrap my hands around him.

When he tilts his head for better access, I give it.

Unapologetically.

“Hilla,” he gasps, stepping back so quickly it takes a moment for me to realize the kiss has ended. “Hilla,” he repeats, looking at me. Stricken. Full of an emotion I cannot name. “I’m so sorry.”

As if it were he that kissed me.

“I’m sorry. Hilla. For everything.”

With that, he pivots and strides back the way he came.

I touch my fingers to my lips. Had I known . . . had I known it could be that way, I’d have mourned for the loss of passion, of love, long ago.

Thankful for the first time for my ignorance of what is possible between a man and a woman, I close my eyes, remembering. It happened just a moment ago, that kiss. And yet already it feels a lifetime since Aiken pressed his lips to mine.

Now that I know what it is to be well and truly kissed.

25

Aiken

“Father Aiken!” The king’s commander waves from across the courtyard. I wait for him, ready to begin my journey. After last eve, I’m thankful for the mission. Anything to force me away from her.

She is no longer a married woman, aye. But I am an Elderman, of sorts, the only spy remaining in Silvester’s employ. If Hinton attempts to force Galfrid’s hand, an increasingly likely scenario, the Prima’s power will only grow. Left unchecked, I’ve no doubt the Isle will be worse off for it.

Not once since the day Baldric found me, trained me, gave me a purpose, have I betrayed him or the Legion. Left here, with Hilla, I fear for my own actions. No woman has inflamed me, touched my soul, like this one.