Page 57 of Bound
He stood. A tangle of too many emotions, some hers, some his. “Wren,” he managed to get out, and she’d turned, brows arched and hand firmly pulling at her braid.
“No, it’s all right. The whole thing is disgusting to you, which means I am too, because obviously I’m the evidence of the whole sordid business. So... please. Just go. Don’t think anything you say will be anything I haven’t heard before.”
Her voice caught.
Her shoulders hunched.
As if... as if he’d landed a blow he’d never—would never have made.
“If I wanted to wash up, would you let me?”
Her brow furrowed.
“What?”
He glanced over toward the sink. The setup was similar to the one in his cottage, and it would not be so very difficult, especially once she told him where she kept the cloths to dry them afterward.
“The dishes,” he repeated. “Would that not seem fair? When you made the biscuits and the tea, and I certainly did not do any work for you today.”
He calmed as he spoke. Because... because she needed him to.
He could feel it later. When he was home again. Could rage at every tiny injustice that had been heaped upon her. Make the list of the people that had wronged her and promise himself that they’d never be given such opportunity again.
But for now...
She needed something else.
His calm. His reassurance.
He wanted to touch her. To hold her.
It was easier to ignore those impulses when he was out in the pasture. When he was more than aware of what a long day meant and his need for a proper wash with soap.
But now...
He wanted to grasp her wrist. To pull her to him. To tuck her against him, to feel the tension ease from her body as she leaned into his strength. As he murmured she was precious and that he would be faithful to her, that she never had to fear that this was anything but real...
If she felt the bond as he did, he could.
But she didn’t.
Sometimes he caught flickers. Moments when she looked at him as if... as if he was more than just a near-stranger.
But it was not the same. And he could not allow him to pretend that it was, no matter how he longed for it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wren brushed away his offer as he’d known she would. Why then was it still a disappointment? He had no great love of clearing up his plates when he forced himself to cook his single night-meal. It was a chore and nothing more. And yet at the prospect of doing it for her...
Better yet, for them...
It held appeal.
Because it meant they had shared another meal. Another hour in each other’s company. That the pounding in his heart, the urgency in his pulse to go, to find her, to keep her safe from any that might harm her...
It was quiet.
He could calm.
Could revel in the peace that seemed to now only come when he was here. Staring out at two pastures that were becoming as familiar to him as his own woodlots.