12. Pleasure Under the Shame of Secrecy

Chapter 12

Pleasure Under the Shame of Secrecy

M ariel wrapped herself in a blanket and hobbled down the steps of their cabin at dusk. Pinkish hues wove patterns through the violet, and for a moment, watching with her eyes and heart wide, she understood what people meant when they talked about their souls being at peace.

Erran looked up from his log and smiled. “There you are. Did you rest?”

She nodded and joined him, lured as much by the smoky call of the boar’s meat roasting on the spit he’d fashioned as she was the perplexing realization that in the hours she’d been asleep, she’d missed him.

“Almost done.” He badly repressed another grin. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“I have a surprise.”

Mariel laughed nervously. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Even if they’re good?” He waggled his brows, his eyes lit up like a pleased puppy’s.

She huffed a playful groan and obliged, wondering what had come over her that she’d so easily give in. “Do your worst.”

A couple of seconds later, she felt him unwrap one of her hands from the blanket. He peeled her fingers open and pushed something wooden into them. “Drink,” he said.

“Drink what?” Mariel peered at him through one eye until he scowled at her, and she shut it again.

“Drink,” he urged.

“If this is poison, I will come back and haunt you,” she warned, bringing the mug to her lips. Before she could draw a sip, the oaky, sharp notes of whiskey hit her nose. “ Nay . Erran! This is what I think it is?”

She could hear the glee in his voice when he said, “Aye.”

“Don’t tell me you learned distilling in survival training?” She opened her eyes and tilted the mug toward her mouth, then relished the burn on her tongue, her throat.

“You flatter me,” he said, laughing. “I wandered back down to the shore to check my traps and happened by the shed. There were some trunks stacked along the back side, and I hacked them open?—”

“ Hacked them open?”

“Aye, I also found an ax on the beach.” He nodded over his shoulder. The half-rusted tool was propped against the side of the cabin, near the woodpile. “Good thing too, as we’re almost out of wood.”

She’d forgotten all about the ax. It could have made their lives easier if she’d remembered to go back for it. “So you hacked these trunks open like a madman. Go on.”

“What, should I have used my teeth?” Erran shook his head. “One of them was full of bottles, so I brought a few back.” He uncorked the cap and filled her mug higher.

“Could have used this when you were stitching my leg,” Mariel said. She raised her mug. “To... new beginnings.”

Erran grinned and lifted his mug to hers. “And getting to know one another.”

Her eyes locked with his as they both went to take sips and seal the toast. Something compelled her to hold the gaze, and neither did he look away. To ease the flutter in her chest, she smiled and turned back toward the fire. “It smells amazing. Thank you.”

“Amazing? If I made this back in Whitecliffe, the kitchen staff would draw and quarter me.” He chuckled. “No salt. No spices. Just.. fennel. But it will fill our bellies, aye?”

Mariel nudged her shoulder against his. “It will taste amazing because we worked for it. It wasn’t handed to us.”

Erran stared into the flames with a drowsy expression. “Aye. We did.” He pushed forward off the log, withdrew the stick that had eight dripping pieces of meat, and brought it back to them.

She reached for one and he made a tsk sound.

“You want to add burns to your growing list of injuries?”

She pouted, withdrawing.

“Thought not.” He blew on a piece dangerously close to falling off the end of the stick, tapped it with his finger, and pulled it off. He lifted it to Mariel’s mouth, his own amusement at the act a reflection of hers.

“I haven’t had anyone feed me since I was a bairn.” She laughed but still found her mouth opening for him, her tongue making space for the meat. His finger scraped her teeth as he withdrew, still watching her... waiting. The explosion of juices in her mouth had her eyes rolling back, a moan escaping.

“That good, aye? Would you like a moment to yourself?” He laughed and blew on a second piece, taking it for himself.

“Aye, I would. Just, ah, give me the rest of the stick and?—”

Erran swatted her side, making her giggle. She finished her whiskey, belched, and thrust the mug out toward him. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed spirits, but if there was ever a time to let go, it was a night like this.

“Demanding woman,” he muttered and refilled her.

“Aye, but you like it.”

“Uh, nay. ”

“Esta Garrick and Yesenia Warwick would beg to differ.” She regretted the words immediately, because they hadn’t been spoken in good faith. Bringing the past and other women into an otherwise pleasant evening felt like breaking an unspoken rule. “I’m sorry. I was out of order.”

“Nay... nay. You’re right.” Erran returned his gaze to the fire with a deep inhale. “Mariel, you remember how you accused me of working my way through the lasses at the Spires?”

Mariel sputtered in embarrassment. That, too, belonged to another life, another time. “I shouldn’t have. Wasn’t my business.”

“It was untrue anyway.” He rolled his tongue along the inside of his lips. “Esta and Yesenia are the only women... I ken I just don’t have carousing in me the way Khallum does. The way Hamish did, before he met Yanna. It seems like it could be fun, and I ken it should be, and then I look at a woman and think, that’s nay how I want this to be. Pleasure under the shame of secrecy is no pleasure at all. Not for me.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said slowly, though she was hanging on every word. She wanted him to share more of himself.

“Esta, we were both so young, and it was... Aye, it was a blunder, let’s just leave it there.” He chuckled to himself, lost in a memory he didn’t share. “Yesenia was no blunder, but you never see things as they are until they’re done, do you?”

Mariel swallowed. Something about hearing Yesenia’s name on his tongue made her uncomfortable. “Aye, there’s truth in that.”

“Mariel.” He handed her another piece of meat and propped the stick against the spit. “Will you tell me more about what you and your brother and the others were doing? Not the... the parts you can’t tell me, but there must be parts you can.”

She clenched in defense, drawing the blanket tighter. Her throat was scratchy and dry when she responded with a suspicious “why?”

He turned sideways on the log to face her. “I’m not trying to trick you. Out here, who would listen? But even if they find us and bring us home, I would never... I just want to understand you better.”

“I see.” Mariel eyed the meat in her hands. “What do you want to know?”

“You said you were on your own after your parents... after they died of malnutrition. Was it money?”

Mariel scoffed. With highborns, it was always about money, always so simple. “Gold was scarce, but even more scarce were greens and fruits. The lake district had always been so fertile, and I ken... More powerful men wanted it for themselves. It was your father and his thug barons who imposed a steep tax on the food. Our food. We grew it, cultivated it, toiled over it, and then suddenly found ourselves unable to afford to eat it.” She stared into her mug, watching the amber liquid ripple as she swished it. “And without proper nutrients, a person can only survive so long before their body turns on itself.”

Erran went quiet. His mouth parted slightly, a gentle breath the only sound. “I had no... I had no idea.”

“My parents. My sister.” Mariel hadn’t spoken the words in years. Everyone close to her already knew the story. “The mothers and fathers of so many of my friends. Villages, once so vibrant and full of life, slowly went barren. And then...” She wrapped herself tighter. “Then came the land theft. And we lost that too. Families were accused of crimes that had never happened, or in our case, the Ashdown land was confiscated after my parents died. The lawmen who came to claim it said children could not own land, not even held in a trust until their maturity, and that was that.”

“My father...” Erran composed himself. “My father did this?”

“It’s happening all over. Your father was just the one whose actions hurt me and my loved ones the most.”

“And what... What did you hope to gain with this marriage? Access to his ear, to sway him?”

“Guardians, no. Powerful men only listen when other powerful men are speaking. What did I hope to gain? Information.” She smiled sadly. “Anything I could use to even slightly balance the wrongs that had been done upon the common people. When he spoke of the auction, I dreamed too big. I should have known it was too much for our little group.”

“What were you going to do?”

“The others wanted to dump all the gold in the sea, so no one could have it. So it could never be taken back.” She shook her head. “I believed it was worth the risk to redistribute it to where it belonged. Remy said the stewards would just steal it again if we did, and maybe he was right. But it shouldn’t be so fecking easy for anyone to do what those men have done.”

“You’re right.” Erran’s voice croaked. “It shouldn’t. It’s wrong , and I don’t even know what to say, Mariel. I really don’t. Except that I should have known and not been so... so willfully blind. I could have known, but I didn’t care.”

Her heart softened toward him. It had been softening inch by inch, even before he’d leaped off a cliff after her. He wasn’t his father, but he should have known. He should have cared.

Considering that, her urge to comfort him was bewildering. “You know now,” she whispered.

Erran’s hand slid from his knee to hers. His expression contorted, traveling a range of emotions. “I understand now why you’ve always been so angry toward me. You had every right to be.”

Mariel tentatively inched her hand closer. Her pinky tickled his. “I’m not angry with you anymore, Erran. You’re no more responsible for your father’s atrocities than I am for not knowing how to save my parents and sister.”

“You should be.” He angled his face away and wiped it on his sleeve. “If we ever... If the Guardians see fit to bring us home, I will fix this. Somehow, I will fix it.” A hard, shuddery breath pulled him erect. “I can’t bring them back, but I can make it right.” He sniffled and lifted the amber bottle. “More whiskey?”

Mariel shook her head, taking him in. The glisten in his thoughtful eyes, as green and deep as the forest surrounding them. The flush coloring his entire face. His mouth, arched with penitence, with the expectation of words he didn’t know how to speak, something she understood, because she didn’t either.

“Rain is starting.” Erran held his palms up. “We should go in.”

She nodded and helped him tidy the area. Her gaze followed him, watching how he bent, how he cradled the whiskey, and how he kicked sand over the fire. They were perfectly routine actions, but she wondered how she’d never noticed the way he bent at the knees... the short, measured kicks that were just enough. The strangest, most obvious thing occurred to her as she realized he was a real, whole person, not the caricature of a steward’s son she’d made him out to be. It had been a choice not to see it. To see him. A choice that suddenly fell short of her expectations of herself.

Erran stood at the base of the steps, waiting for her to go first. “What?” he asked when she didn’t go.

“Nothing, I...” Mariel hobbled up the steps, her heart a racing mess. It wasn’t the spirits; she’d hardly had enough to do much more than relax her. It wasn’t a feeling she’d ever experienced at all, but some part of herself recognized it, and it was that part that turned, flung her arms around his neck, lifted her up onto her toes, and touched her lips to his.

Erran’s surprise echoed against her mouth. Mortification flattened her impulsiveness as she started to apologize, to explain herself, but the words caught when his hands reached down to grip her face and cradled it. His eyes skimmed her, his mouth parting, and then he crushed his warm, soft mouth to hers, dissolving her words. The unexpectedly gentle caress sent her aflame.

He pulled back, reading her again. “It’s not the whiskey, is it?”

Mariel bit her lip and shook her head when she couldn’t find words.

“Thing is, I want you, Mariel. I want you more than...” Erran’s artless candor, his confidence in saying what he meant, had once annoyed her, but now... “But only if it’s what you want.”

Her flesh tingled from her fear of doing the wrong thing—saying the wrong thing. She’d never felt so exposed, but what scared her more than the vulnerability was the comfort in it. The understanding she was safe, if she wanted to be. “It is what I want.”

His thumb caressed her cheek. He hoisted her into his arms, kissing her again and again and again, his lips skating her chin, jaw, and neck before returning to her mouth.

Erran’s boots joined the cacophony of fresh rain and her erratic heart as he slowly carried her to the cot.

She was practically trembling as he tenderly undressed her from the waist down. He was extra careful when the fabric of her undergarments brushed her stitches, and he leaned in to kiss the edges of her angry flesh. Her head fell back from the strange intimacy of the act. To hear the others in Obsidian Sky speak of sex was to envision a sweaty tangle of desperation and regret.

His mouth brushed between her legs, his hot breath waking a part of herself she’d only indulged in her most private moments, when she needed the release that nothing, not even the heists, could provide. When the tip of his tongue parted her, she cried out, bearing down in modesty that was unnecessary. There was no one to see. To judge. The island—this life, this world—was theirs.

“You can let go, Mar,” he whispered, his breath hot on her nethers, and she did, releasing the world to allow it to fall away. Even the rain was part of another life... the boar, the whiskey. As she climbed higher, safer, she thought of nothing except how beautiful it was to be wholly present and open with another.

Mariel’s thighs instinctively clamped when she climaxed, but Erran was unfazed, his arms still wrapped around her legs, his tongue taking her further than she’d ever been on her own. Oh, Guardians how she wanted him. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more.

Erran peeled back and waited for her to recover, wearing a boyish smile she wanted to kiss and keep forever.

She nodded to show him she was fine, more than fine. The throbbing between her legs was all-consuming, pounding in time with her heart and irregular breaths as she considered what would come next.

He lifted her legs and eased her onto the cot, climbing up and over her, still so careful with her wounds. One hand scooped under her back to hold her aloft as he used the other to peel away her shirt.

His came off next. She ran her fingers along the hard lines of years at sea. Privileged or not, he’d worked hard to prove himself, to earn his place. He’d shied away from nothing their adventure demanded, and though she wasn’t used to anyone else being in charge, she realized she liked his assumption of control. She never knew how badly she wanted someone to look after her until Erran had decided himself her protector.

Erran deftly wriggled out of his pants. When his torso came down over her, his erection dragged along the length of her, sending her eyes rolling back with longing. He nestled into place, one hand reaching down between them to guide himself into place. “What a mess we are, Mariel,” he whispered, breathless.

“Nothing wrong with that, as long as we’re together,” she answered and boldly lifted, provoking a surprised reaction from him. Then something changed in his eyes, the lightness of the moment passed, and he drove into her, knocking her entire world off its course.

“Ahh,” she moaned, the stinging, burning pain unexpected but not more than she could handle. He slowed to check on her, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss, gliding her tongue over his, showing him what she wanted, that she could handle all of him.

Erran’s rhythm was smooth and lyrical, like his skill with the sails. Every inch of her, including the parts she hadn’t explored, illuminated under his touch like lightning coursing through a desert. His gentle but frenzied thrusts seemed to manifest their fears that the moment couldn’t last, couldn’t be real. That they were still the Erran and Mariel of Goldsea Spires, products of worlds that would forever be at odds.

Erran caressed her face, his hands traveling her neck. He whispered her name there, and the syllables had never sounded so beautifully handled. Arcing back to look at her again, his head shook in slow passes, his voice cracking. “I never realized how gorgeous you are until now. I must have been blind, because...” He trailed off.

Mariel ran her hands up and down his muscled back. “We see what we think we need to see.” Her eyes closed, losing herself in his movements.

“Everything I need is right here.” Erran solemnly pressed his mouth to hers. “And here,” he said, brushing his lips along the hollow of her neck. Tears sprang to her eyes, and he swiftly dipped in to kiss the corners. “It’s all right, Mariel. The past can’t reach us here.”

Mariel tightened her grip around him and buried her face in his neck. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Erran wrapped his arms around her and hoisted her onto his lap, the two of them entwined in a perfect knot of desire and need and desperation. Mariel had no sense of how long they stayed there, him plunging upward into her and her riding the rhythm, but when he pressed his mouth to her temple and shuddered, she knew it wasn’t nearly long enough.

She waited for him to get up and leave, the way Destin and Remy had always said men did after sex, but he didn’t. He nestled down and pulled her against his chest.

“Mariel, was this your first time?”

Mariel launched into a panic, recounting everything she must have done wrong for him to know. “I... Aye, it was. Was I terrible?”

Erran squeezed her tight, planting a long kiss atop her head. “Nay... Nay, you were amazing. But you were bleeding, and had I known, I could have been gentler.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” She angled her head upward to look at him. “Do you know how you can tell?”

He shook his head.

“Because you’re still breathing .”

Erran burst out laughing and gave her a gentle shake. “Fair play.”

“Why did you think... You assumed I’d been with other men?”

“Well, aye...” He tripped over his words. “I assumed you were lying to me about the man who came to visit you. Remy.”

“Remy is family. I wasn’t lying about that,” she said, though it wasn’t so long ago she’d wondered if he could have been more. Imagining it now was like trying to fit a square oar into a round bolt. “Like a brother.”

Erran got quiet. “And me? What am I?”

“You’re...” The words didn’t come because she had no answer. So easily she could have said nothing even a week ago. “I don’t know. All I know is we can be anything we want here.”

“What if I said I wanted to be your family?” he whispered into her matted hair. “But not like a brother?”

“We can be anything we want here,” she said once more, snuggling closer. “And lucky for you, I want the same thing.”