Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(42)
Eyes on the stable’s rafters, Cohen stretches his neck side to side, and lets out a slow exhale. “I understand your rationale, though not sure I agree with you about Omar. He’s delivered plenty of cruelties, regardless of justice.”
He reaches out and grasps my wrist. My focus immediately shifts from his face to his hand as his thumb slides over my skin, tracing the raw marks left by the manacles. “This, for example,” he murmurs. “He could’ve kept you restrained without causing injury. He let you sleep in them when they were too tight.”
There’s not enough air in the stable. My entire body is attuned to the connection where his fingers linger, shooting my veins with liquid fire.
I shrug out of his hold and push my foot back. Then another. “It’s nothing. Certainly not the worst the captain’s given me.” This is said to change the subject.
But then Cohen is in my space, hands seizing my upper arms. “What do you mean?”
The alarm and worry he usually keeps hidden from his tone are bold and bright as Shaerdan’s clothing. It traps me in place. His eyes scan my body from head to toe. The attentiveness unsettles, like he can see through me and into me, and everything I don’t want him to see.
“Tell me,” he urges.
“It’s nothing.” Scant more than a whisper. “I was a prisoner for a week. Broke a rule. So the captain punished me.”
“How?”
Shame at how I was tied up and whipped fills me. I struggle to move away from him, but his fingers hold tight, pressing into my skin. “How, Britt? Tell me, please.”
He won’t let this go. It’s too difficult to look him in the eye and explain how foolish I was to run off after Tomas shot the fawn. Instead, my sight sticks to the knuckles of distance between his toe and mine as I recount the entire awful story. When I reach the end, explaining how the captain gave me only five lashes, Cohen’s grip is nearly bruising my arms.
“You’re cutting off my circulation,” I jest, and pull away from him.
“I—I’m sorry.” He blinks. A dark cloud of fury and remorse shifts over his earthy eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you all right?”
“I wasn’t being serious. Don’t start treating me like a weak girl now.”
Cohen steps around me and is lifting the back of my tunic before I realize what’s happening. I leap forward and cross my arms tightly against my waist to pin the material down. “Are you trying to undress me?” My pitch squeaks up.
He doesn’t even seem chagrined. Same old straight-faced Cohen. “May I see?”
I hesitate, fingers kneading the clenched material.
“To make sure it’s healed and see that you don’t need anything for it.”
Perhaps that would be all right. It’s not as if I can see behind me. Holding my hands tight to my ribs to keep the tunic in place, I turn around, remaining a statue as Cohen takes his torturous time peeling the material up.
“Dove,” he says as though the nickname breaks him. His ragged exhale hits my bare back, enticing a shiver to dance through me a moment before his fingers connect with my skin and make mincemeat of my thoughts.
His hands tremble behind me. “I’ll kill the bludger.”
The sentiment does flipping acrobatics through my core until he abruptly drops my top.
“It’s healing fine,” he says with a slight rasp while staring at a spot above my head when I turn to face him.
He speaks the truth; I feel it. Though Cohen cannot even look at me. Is my back that repulsive? His reaction increases my shame tenfold. He must think me a fool to have earned the lashing.
Chin up, I take a big step back and, forcing indifference into my voice, I say, “No need to kill the captain. It’s in the past. We should get going and make use of the next eight hours.”
Since Captain Omar knows where we’re headed, it would be pointless to travel through woods that will slow us down. Our only option is to ride hard and fast to reach Celize.
Siron’s energy is high. His power thunders beneath his midnight coat. Hooves pound against the dirt road as trees fly past. I revel in the rush of the wind, knowing that when we stop, the freedom of this moment will be over. Hopefully when we reach Celize, the man Cohen calls Delmar will know where to find Enat. With only eight hours’ lead, there’s not much time to locate her.
Near dusk, we pass the road that leads to Padrin. Sitting behind Cohen gives me a clear view of the muscles clenching around his neck and jaw. I can only imagine he’s thinking of Kendrick’s betrayal. Having intimate knowledge of the hurt from losing a friend, I give him time with his thoughts while I focus on the shades of autumn that bleed across the horizon.
But when tension spreads down his shoulders and to his hands, which grip Siron’s mane like a lifeline, I take a deep breath and pull my gaze from the sky. My arms wrap around Cohen’s back, and, for the first time in fifteen months, I hug my friend.
Chapter
19
THE OCEAN IS A ROLLING FIELD OF THE BLUEST crop I’ve ever seen, filling our view two days after escaping the guards. The sea touches the horizon, swaying and moving like a living, breathing being beneath a lid of white clouds and sunshine. It’s possibly the most beautiful thing in this world.
Cohen slips off Siron at the edge of the mammoth trees and motions for me to stay behind as he darts into the open farmlands that spread out before Celize. Leaving Siron, I follow Cohen, regardless. He needs a lookout. The first farmhouse has three rows of clothes strung up in the yard. How many men live here? A half dozen? Hopefully they won’t miss a few items.