Chapter 8: The Yes

I said yes at midnight, in the cottage kitchen, with a pot of cold tea between us.

"Yes to the claim," I said. "Not to the mark."

Lucan sat across the table with his coat off and his sleeves rolled to the elbow.

I had not seen his forearms before.

They were corded and scarred, and they were very, very still.

"Say it again," he said.

"Yes to the claim."

"Which means?"

"That you can stop waiting."

He drew a shaky breath.

"And the scarf?"

"Stays on."

"Eloise."

"You said you'd tell me what's under it."

"I said I'd tell you if you said yes."

"I've said it."

"Then I'll tell you." His voice was rough. "But I'd rather tell you with your hands in my hair than across a table."

I stood up so fast that the chair scraped.

Hattie had gone to sit with the guards by the road fire an hour ago, with a flask and a very unconvincing yawn.

We were alone.

I walked around the table and stopped in front of him.

He looked up.

He did not stand.

He sat there with his big hands flat on his knees, and I understood that he was leaving the next step to me.

I had been given orders for six years.

I put my fingers in his hair.

It was thick and cool and slightly damp from the night air.

His eyes shut.

"Eloise," he said, very quietly.

I bent and kissed him.

He made a sound against my mouth that I felt in my knees.

For one second he did not move at all.

Then his hands came up to my waist and pulled me into his lap, and his mouth opened under mine and took over.

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