Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(29)

After a beat, he surprises me by saying, “Wait till you see the ocean.”

His eyes lift to mine as he tells of the first time he saw the great blue. He stood on a hill, overlooking one of the bays and watching the waves, like massive walls, crash on the shore. “I’ve never felt so insignificant,” he says.

“Did you jump in?”

His mouth twists into a wry smile. “I waded in till the water was above my knees. The ocean pulled back and curled up in a terror of a wave. I ran for the shore as fast as I could.”

I laugh at the image, amusement bubbling unbidden from my lips.

“You think that’s humorous, do you?” His gaze sinks to my mouth, his shadow towering over me as we walk side by side. He leans closer, inclining his head, and every piece of me halts aside from my galloping heart. The most delightfully peculiar thought that he might kiss me runs through my mind. And I lift my chin—?

His brow furrows and he pulls back sharply, putting three hands of space between us.

Crestfallen, I have to turn my head to hide the hopeful feeling that’s capsized and is sinking to the depths of my stomach.

“You, scared of water?” I muse to mask my foolishness. “Yes, that’s quite entertaining.”

“In a couple days, you can find out for yourself what it’s like.” He goes on as though nothing awkward stands between us. “We’ll see who’s scared.”

A shiver runs under my skin. Heaven help me, but I like the idea of going to the ocean with Cohen.





Chapter

14


THAT NIGHT COHEN SITS DOWN ON THE BEDROLL where it’s positioned parallel to mine between the firebush. He stretches out his left leg so it comes knuckles from my knee. “I told you a little bit about where I went. It’s your turn. What have you done over the last year?” His voice sounds scratched from having close to nothing to drink.

I shrug.

“Hunting?” he asks.

I nod.

“Reading?”

Another head dip.

“Did you finish the book about the oceans?”

“You remember that? I don’t recall talking to you about that one.” The corners of my mouth lift, betraying my surprise. “I suppose you thought it odd Papa brought me so many books to read.”

“Believe me, that’s the last reason I would think you’re odd.” Cohen’s lips curl into the smirk I know so well. “I’m glad he encouraged you. You were always beating me to a pulp, out-shooting, out-tracking, outdoing everything I did. The only time Saul praised my efforts was when you were off reading.”

An exaggeration, but it makes me laugh and he smiles in return.

“What about friends? Or suitors? Has anyone been courting you?”

“Who are you, a market gossip?” My tone is light, even though his last question backs my belief that he was never interested in anything more than friendship.

His husky tenor laugh is as lovely as the Midsummer’s Tide fiddlers. “Come on,” he presses. “I’m just asking. I hoped you had made friends. Someone to keep you company so you were not alone.”

Not alone. His words are tiny daggers that pierce my heart, making me ache.

“I worry about you all on your own.” That deserves a glare.

“No need to worry about me.”

His fingers still, abandoning the artwork they were doodling in the sandy dirt. “Didn’t you like it when we went hunting together?”

He knows I did. My gaze drifts to the cedar, hulking beside us like a mammoth watchdog.

Cohen leans forward, inclining his head to the side until I look at him. “It’s what I missed most.”

“Then why’d you leave?” I ask, wondering if he’ll avoid my question again. Needling him about this isn’t my goal—?I just wish for answers. His quick departure never made sense to me. Papa didn’t tell me Cohen completed the apprenticeship until Cohen had been gone a week. Why didn’t Cohen tell me himself? Why did he promise to visit the morning after I confessed feelings for him, and then not return? The only explanation is he was so horrified by my admission he couldn’t face me again.

His gaze gives nothing away as the silence spreads between us. When I start to say something, he asks, “Do you remember what happened just before I left?”

My eyes land on the scar, a token from our last hunting trip together. His jaw ticks, the only sign he’s uncomfortable. I don’t remember everything, only bits and pieces. A cave. A mountain cat. Blood.

Too much blood.

Cohen fell through the ground into an underground cave. It was too deep to climb back out, so I searched for another entrance. My efforts were careless—?not paying attention to my surroundings, I came face-to-face with a mountain cat. It attacked, and somehow Cohen was there. He threw himself in front of me, risking his life for mine to take on the animal. The bloody struggle knocked me down, and my head hit a rock. Which is why I don’t remember most of what happened after. Everything I know was stitched together from Papa’s comments.

“You saved my life,” I say.

The jaw tick happens again. “That’s why I left.”

Truth. I hate that his words resonate with warmth and at the same time confuse the seeds out of me.

“What do you mean?”