Fic: Rarely Resisted (Cara/Kahlan) NC17 (3/?)
Title: Rarely Resisted
Author: Dylan
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: NC17 (overall)
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, only the situations, and I make zero money from this foolish endeavor.
Summary: Set around the time between 'Fury' and 'Resurrection', early in season 2 of Legend of The Seeker. Sometimes resistance is err...futile.
Part Three
Lowering myself from my horse and tethering it next to Cara’s at the tall tree beside the lush grass she’s decided to take a seat on, I turn and look down at the town she was denied entry to. I can see from this angle that it’s a little larger than I first thought, and there’s quite an impressive villa close to the gates. They might be rather rude but it’s obvious the town doesn’t lack for wealth.
“It’s probably a trading town,” Cara says, as if reading my mind. “A lot of trading towns seem to have their own rules these days - to keep out those that might be a threat to them, and to their wealth.”
“I doubt they thought that you’d steal their takings,” I say, taking a seat close to Cara, though keeping a sensible distance away. “They’re just . . .”
“Protecting themselves,” she says rightly. “Mord-Sith don’t exactly have the best reputation, especially around these parts.”
“A lot of children were taken from here?” I ask, glancing at Cara but refusing to allow my gaze to linger.
“There are two temples within a days walking distance of here,” she says. “I don’t doubt this town paid a heavy price for that.”
I nod, unable to really say anything. I could sigh in disgust but she already knows how I feel about the Mord-Sith so it’s unnecessary. I could tell her that I know she’s not a threat in that way anymore, but she would mistake my intentions for something else; she would grow defensive and try to remind me that she’d taken girls herself. That she’d been part of the evil that I detest.
Every word she’d say would be true of course, and I’d find some way to try to understand, and to dismiss the possibility that she was as horrendous as most of her Sisters. We’ve been down that road and it has only ever led to an argument and Cara walking away.
The truth is, I don’t really understand, and she can’t comprehend why I’m able to be anywhere near her after everything she’s done. After what she did on Valeria. But I’m a Confessor, and I saw her regret; I saw what was beneath the layers of torture, of breaking, of pain, of everything Rahl had ever made her do. I saw something inside her that made me question everything, and she’s still making me ask those questions. She’s still making me look deeper, want more.
“I hope they bring lunch,” I say after a few minutes, changing the subject.
“You’re hungry?” Cara asks, turning her head to me as I rest back on my hands and enjoy the warmth of the sun.
“Yes,” I answer with a nod, trying not to feel the weight of her gaze as she continues to look at me.
When she turns to rummage in her backpack I let out a deep breath of relief; having her eyes on me these days is a trial in restraint. It’s all I can do not to stare back at her and just let myself fall, so I try not to look. Try not to care that she makes me feel exposed, helpless against the way just one glance from her can cause my heart to start racing.
“Here,” she says as she pulls something out of her pack, handing it to me. “I was saving this but . . .”
Looking down at Cara’s hand and the shiny green apple held within it, I notice that she’s shuffled a little closer so she wouldn’t have to reach so far to offer it to me. Both the closeness and the sweet gesture make me nervous all of a sudden and I fail to say anything as I stare at her offering.
“Kahlan,” she nudges, almost shyly, “this should see you through to lunch.”
She jerks her hand closer; I blink and nod, taking the apple.
“Thank you,” I say, allowing one quick look into her eyes.
It was a mistake. Her eyes appear impossibly green in this light and I can’t look away - recalling last night. Recalling the way her lips parted as she came, spilling my name from them. Clumsily I drop the apple and it begins to roll down the hill, and before I can rouse myself from my thoughts quickly enough to run and retrieve it I watch, stunned, as Cara races after the errant fruit herself.
Quick, fluid movements ensure that she catches up with the apple before it goes too far, and with a lightning fast snatch she has it in her hand again, looking rather smug as she spins around to head back my way. I can’t take my eyes off her, watching her body move in the bright sunshine, the breeze catching her hair and throwing it over her shoulder. I find my gaze dropping to the break in leather at her chest, noticing the slight glisten of perspiration as she gets closer. She bends in front of me to hand me the apple once again, as if aware that I can’t stop looking. The leather opens further, revealing more of her cleavage. She doesn’t rush to stand straight again but eventually I pull my gaze upwards, to Cara’s face, where I see the slight crinkle of a smirk.
Cara knows. She knows what I was staring at; I can see it in the depths of her that no longer hide from me.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter.
Finally standing tall again, Cara gives me a puzzled look, as if waiting for me to elaborate, but I’m not really sure what I’m apologising for; for staring, for wanting, or for dropping the apple. I choose the safer option.
“Sorry for dropping it,” I clarify, the lie making her cock her head before she takes a seat beside me again.
Taking a big bite of the apple, I push down the sudden flush of desire that staring straight down her top brought about and pretend as if nothing had happened. I’m sure she’s quite used to people looking at her in such a way so I don’t doubt that my less than subtle ogling would have been obvious, I just hope she doesn’t choose to use it against me in some way. I don’t truly believe she’d do that, but there’s a lot at stake so I can’t help but worry. Hopefully saying nothing about it will ensure no issue is made.
“It’s a beautiful day,” I say calmly, glancing around us as the warm sun reflects off the flourishing grasses and flowers.
“As opposed to the previous four days that have been the same?” she retorts sarcastically.
I swallow another bite of the apple. The last few days have indeed been quite glorious; every day hotter than the last, though today there has been a breeze to temper the heat.
“They were beautiful days also,” I say, smiling over at Cara, trying not to allow her to ruin my attempts at normal conversation.
“It’s too warm,” Cara responds, resting her elbows on her knees. “Far from beautiful.”
The leather she wears is probably reason enough for her to dislike the heat, but I haven’t heard her complain until now. I almost ask her if she would prefer to wear something lighter, and therefore cooler, but I know the look she’d give me, and as much as I sometimes like to see the mischievous roll of her eyes I don’t intend to cause a discussion right now. She wouldn’t want to wear anything other than her leathers; it goes without saying.
“Maybe we’ll come across a stream later,” I begin. “That would help cool us down.”
“I doubt that,” Cara says almost too quickly.
I catch her eye and have difficulty recognising the look that crosses her face. Wondering if I should question her, I finish off the apple and throw the remains into the bushes for the enjoyment of whatever creatures that may linger within. My brain is telling me to drop the subject yet again, but for some reason I ignore the warning. I push a little more than I should.
“Why wouldn’t it cool you down?” I ask warily, watching as she pulls her gaze from me to look out over the horizon. There’s a tension in her jaw that makes me cautious of her answer, but it’s too late, the words are already out.
“The water might cool my skin but . . .”
“But?” I press when she pauses, feeling myself leaning towards Cara, gaze straying back to that enticing opening to her leather.
“It’s better I don’t say,” she answers, leaving no room for argument with her tone.
When she turns my way I know I’ve been caught once again, looking where I have no business looking. Quickly focusing my eyes elsewhere, on a small patch of flowers some way below us, I do my best to ignore her questioning gaze and the possible things she could say next.
I really should have taken Richard’s offer and gone into the town, allowing him to stay with Cara. Being alone with her in this way, so soon after what I witnessed and heard last night, was just asking for trouble. I wanted to avoid this awkwardness, this slippery slope that would only lead us into something complicated. Our friendship, if you could even call it that, is too new to be tested like this. If she realises I’m attracted to her, and if I discover she might have similar ideas about me, then things would become very uncomfortable because we can’t hope to act on any such fancies.
Hoping the Spirits are looking over me and helping me I hold myself sure and steady, the mask of a Confessor slipping across my face so I can avoid Cara’s deductions or her possible dismay. I tell myself I mustn’t look at her that way again, ever. I have to be strong and do my duty, to be everything I should be, especially to Richard - my Seeker.
“Kahlan,” Cara says, my name on her lips making me force a tremble down. “Kahlan, look at me.”
I refuse to. Unable to.
Cara sighs. It’s an angry sigh and I sense her getting to her feet, brushing grass from her behind before she stalks over to the horses. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that she has pulled a waterskin from her horse to take a drink, glugging some down as if she hasn’t drank for a week. The very same waterskin plops beside me as she approaches again, her body blocking the sun as she stands in front of me.
“When you look at me in that way,” Cara begins, and I know exactly in what ‘way’ she means, “it confuses me. It also . . .” She sighs again, beginning to pace, creating a small path left to right in front of me. “I’m here because of Richard, but you’re making it difficult for me to serve him.”
Risking a quick glance at her I see a deep frown on her forehead, and also notice that one hand is resting on the handle of an agiel at her hip. I wonder if I should speak, persuade her that I haven’t looked at her in any way that should cause alarm, convince her that she’s mistaken, but my lips remain tight and I allow her to continue.
“I don’t intend to betray him but you’re making it almost impossible for me to remain completely loyal,” she tells me, almost as if she’s chastising me.
I finally find my voice, unhappy that she’s sounding so accusing, that she thinks I’m doing something on purpose to disrupt her desire to follow Richard - her Lord Rahl.
“I’m not doing anything,” I insist. “Your loyalty is your business.”
“But you are . . . doing something,” she counters, her hands on her hips as she stands once again in front of me.
Beginning to grow agitated and annoyed that she’s possibly found me out and is about to make me feel very, very silly, I get to my feet so I can meet her face to face. I’m the Mother Confessor, and she’s nothing more than a Mord-Sith - she doesn’t get to stand in judgment of me.
“You’re the one that’s ‘doing something’, Cara,” I accuse, my voice tainted with the agitation I’m feeling. “I’ve had to listen to it nearly every night for the past month.”
The words are out before I can stop them but she doesn’t look surprised, just curious. My own eyes are wide and I know I must be blushing, feeling utterly embarrassed.
“You’ve been listening to me?” she asks, obviously understanding what I was referring to.
There’s a note of humour in her voice that puts me even more on edge. I don’t want her to mock me or use this against me in any way. I don’t want this to ruin the tentative friendship we were developing.
“Not intentionally,” I claim, my cheeks still blazing.
I look away from her, unable to stand the way her eyes are searching mine, looking for the truths that I don’t want to give her.
After an awkward pause she asks, “Why didn’t you request for me to stop?”
My thoughts are racing and I don’t know how to answer, don’t know what would move us past this without her discovering how I feel about her. I could tell her I’m done with the conversation and move away, as she’s often done to me, but that would only leave things hanging, open for interpretation.
“I didn’t want to impose,” I say, knowing she wouldn’t believe a word.
“You could have told me I was being overheard,” Cara states, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at me suspiciously. “I would have been more discrete.”
I can’t very well tell her that I didn’t want her to start being discrete; that I was happy to hear her, even though it caused such confusion and frustration.
“I was trying to be considerate,” I say, grasping at straws in the hope she might allow this to pass.
“But it bothered you,” Cara supposes.
It had once bothered me, but now it just makes me desire her more than I can ignore. I’m not sure how to respond without lying outright, and I don’t want to do that. Lying isn’t something that comes easy to Confessors. I already feel bad enough hiding truths from Richard as I attempt to understand myself.
“It didn’t bother me exactly,” I say, sounding strained as I look down at my feet without realising, avoiding Cara’s eyes.
“Then you continued to listen because you . . . enjoyed it?” Cara guesses, a seductive quality to her voice that is probably entirely unintentional.
Feeling her moving closer I fight the urge to back away and run. We should talk about this; it’s been making me jittery for weeks now and the best way to get it out of the way, to move on from wanting Cara, is to face it. We can deal with it, then finally put it aside so I can reclaim my own feelings and give Richard all of my attention.
“Did you listen last night?” Cara continues when I don’t answer her. “Did you watch?”
Her voice is low, rough, curling its way around me and begging for me to give in to what I feel. I turn from Cara, showing her my back. I can’t look her in the eyes right now.
“You weren’t exactly being subtle,” I reply, the memory of watching Cara make herself come causing me to grow wet. She causes that so easily these days. “I didn’t mean to watch.”
There’s a revealing quiver to my voice that I know will not go unnoticed. I still can’t face her but she’s even closer now; I can smell her heat beneath that tight, red uniform. I can smell the lavender on her skin and the leather that encases it. My eyes close as I attempt to remain in control of my senses. It would be too easy to turn and find her lips with mine, my fingers in her hair, my body against hers. But there’s no way to be certain how she’d react, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end of an angry agiel as Cara rightly fends me off.
“But you did . . . watch,” Cara says slowly.
Though she sounds confident, as usual, there’s a slight difference to the way she’s speaking that makes me wonder and turn to face her. When my eyes meet her gaze I find my breath caught, trapped in my lungs; Cara, eyes dark and dangerous, looks on the verge of either violence or . . . or something I’m not sure I want to name. If I name it, then I have to accept that she might desire me the way I desire her, which would make this situation a lot more complex. If I name it, then I’m closer to it than I ought to be. Closer than is safe.
“Did you . . .” she begins before pausing, gaze flicking away from me for a moment before it returns and she wets her lips with her tongue. “Did you hear me when I came?”
I can’t help the involuntary shudder that runs down my spine, that curls around my belly and spikes at my sex. I nod, unable to speak. Unable to acknowledge with words that I’d heard my name uttered when she reached climax.
Cara looks away again, a hand grasping the stinging handle of one of her agiels. She seems angry as her jaw tightens and she allows her hair to fall forward, covering her face a little as she searches for a way to deal with this on the ground at our feet.
Maybe she’s ashamed that I heard, or that she allowed herself to reveal the slightest glimmer of what she might believe to be a weakness. I can’t be sure, and I’m still not even certain why she said my name at such a time.
Her words, the thoughts of last night, the flicker of worry across Cara’s brow all filter through my mind as I truly begin to think about the complications of this, and the implication that Cara might want the same as I do. I hadn’t fully understood what Cara had implied when she said her loyalty to Richard was being tested by me, but now that I’m trying to calm my thoughts and order my feelings I’m able to acknowledge what she might have meant. Able to see a little clearer.
I think, possibly, we want the same things, and that just makes this so much more difficult. We can’t have what we want.
Wishing I could reach out and push Cara’s hair away from her face, reveal her to me, look into the eyes I’ve come to have such a weakness for, I step even closer. She lifts her head to look at me and I see a mix of defiance and shame on her face. I see what she truly means when she says she feels it is possible she may betray Richard.
“You shouldn’t have heard that,” Cara says before I can even attempt to speak. “I apologise for it, and I will be much more discrete in the future.”
“You don’t need to be,” I tell her, surprising myself with the quickness of the words.
We both glance down to where my hand is now lightly grasping Cara’s wrist. I don’t immediately let go.
“I don’t need to be sorry?” Cara questions. “Or I don’t need to be more discrete?”
There are hidden questions here; we’re both tiptoeing around the issue, around the obvious. I wish it were easier and that I could tell her that I’ve begun to regard her differently. That I want to know what it feels like to be naked in her arms, with her body releasing to my touch, to myfingers instead of her own. But we don’t have the luxury of ease.
“Either,” I say. “Both.”
My cheeks flush and I drop my hand back to my side, feeling suddenly exposed. Too close to the truth. A few seconds pass before I dare lift my gaze from where it had dropped, drowning in Cara’s eyes as she boldly searches mine for understanding. She surely has to realise now that my interest in her has changed; I can almost hear the unspoken question - hear the words as she asks them. As she asks me if I want her.
I’m not ready to answer.
“We should stop talking about this,” I warn, taking several steps away from Cara with a heavy heart.
A few seconds of silence descends and I feel it mocking me.
“If you think that’s best, Mother Confessor,” Cara responds finally, though I can sense that she would like to continue, to get to the root of the matter.
Putting more distance between us than entirely necessary I stoop to retrieve the waterskin from the ground, lifting it to my lips and quenching at least one of my thirsts. I can feel Cara’s gaze fixed to me, still searching for meaning, heating my skin even more than the sun above us.
There’s no need for me to confirm that I do think it’s best; my silence speaks volumes.
A break in the tension comes thankfully swiftly as a small boy suddenly bounds towards us up the hill. He’s out of breath and clutching a piece of parchment in his fist. Instantly, Cara is between me and the boy, agiels in hand as she stands defensively, a warning for him not to come any closer.
“Stop where you are,” she shouts at him, pointing with a hissing agiel.
I wince as his eyes widen and his knees begin to knock; Cara is intimidating even for battle scarred warriors, let alone young village boys.
“Who are you?” I ask, stepping beside Cara and encouraging her to lower her weapon with a soft touch to her arm.
“My n-name’s Marcus,” he stutters, holding his scrap of parchment aloft. “The Seeker sent me with this.”
He shuffles a little closer, his gaze never leaving Cara as I step towards him to take the parchment from his hand.
“Be careful,” Cara warns, following close behind me, ready to protect me.
“He’s just a small boy,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile even as I try to ease Cara’s worries.
I take the scrap from him, reading the words scribbled hastily upon it with a sigh.
“The Seeker told me you’d be up this hill,” the boy explains. “And that he needs your help.”
And that he does.
Part Four
.
Author: Dylan
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: NC17 (overall)
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, only the situations, and I make zero money from this foolish endeavor.
Summary: Set around the time between 'Fury' and 'Resurrection', early in season 2 of Legend of The Seeker. Sometimes resistance is err...futile.
Part Three
Lowering myself from my horse and tethering it next to Cara’s at the tall tree beside the lush grass she’s decided to take a seat on, I turn and look down at the town she was denied entry to. I can see from this angle that it’s a little larger than I first thought, and there’s quite an impressive villa close to the gates. They might be rather rude but it’s obvious the town doesn’t lack for wealth.
“It’s probably a trading town,” Cara says, as if reading my mind. “A lot of trading towns seem to have their own rules these days - to keep out those that might be a threat to them, and to their wealth.”
“I doubt they thought that you’d steal their takings,” I say, taking a seat close to Cara, though keeping a sensible distance away. “They’re just . . .”
“Protecting themselves,” she says rightly. “Mord-Sith don’t exactly have the best reputation, especially around these parts.”
“A lot of children were taken from here?” I ask, glancing at Cara but refusing to allow my gaze to linger.
“There are two temples within a days walking distance of here,” she says. “I don’t doubt this town paid a heavy price for that.”
I nod, unable to really say anything. I could sigh in disgust but she already knows how I feel about the Mord-Sith so it’s unnecessary. I could tell her that I know she’s not a threat in that way anymore, but she would mistake my intentions for something else; she would grow defensive and try to remind me that she’d taken girls herself. That she’d been part of the evil that I detest.
Every word she’d say would be true of course, and I’d find some way to try to understand, and to dismiss the possibility that she was as horrendous as most of her Sisters. We’ve been down that road and it has only ever led to an argument and Cara walking away.
The truth is, I don’t really understand, and she can’t comprehend why I’m able to be anywhere near her after everything she’s done. After what she did on Valeria. But I’m a Confessor, and I saw her regret; I saw what was beneath the layers of torture, of breaking, of pain, of everything Rahl had ever made her do. I saw something inside her that made me question everything, and she’s still making me ask those questions. She’s still making me look deeper, want more.
“I hope they bring lunch,” I say after a few minutes, changing the subject.
“You’re hungry?” Cara asks, turning her head to me as I rest back on my hands and enjoy the warmth of the sun.
“Yes,” I answer with a nod, trying not to feel the weight of her gaze as she continues to look at me.
When she turns to rummage in her backpack I let out a deep breath of relief; having her eyes on me these days is a trial in restraint. It’s all I can do not to stare back at her and just let myself fall, so I try not to look. Try not to care that she makes me feel exposed, helpless against the way just one glance from her can cause my heart to start racing.
“Here,” she says as she pulls something out of her pack, handing it to me. “I was saving this but . . .”
Looking down at Cara’s hand and the shiny green apple held within it, I notice that she’s shuffled a little closer so she wouldn’t have to reach so far to offer it to me. Both the closeness and the sweet gesture make me nervous all of a sudden and I fail to say anything as I stare at her offering.
“Kahlan,” she nudges, almost shyly, “this should see you through to lunch.”
She jerks her hand closer; I blink and nod, taking the apple.
“Thank you,” I say, allowing one quick look into her eyes.
It was a mistake. Her eyes appear impossibly green in this light and I can’t look away - recalling last night. Recalling the way her lips parted as she came, spilling my name from them. Clumsily I drop the apple and it begins to roll down the hill, and before I can rouse myself from my thoughts quickly enough to run and retrieve it I watch, stunned, as Cara races after the errant fruit herself.
Quick, fluid movements ensure that she catches up with the apple before it goes too far, and with a lightning fast snatch she has it in her hand again, looking rather smug as she spins around to head back my way. I can’t take my eyes off her, watching her body move in the bright sunshine, the breeze catching her hair and throwing it over her shoulder. I find my gaze dropping to the break in leather at her chest, noticing the slight glisten of perspiration as she gets closer. She bends in front of me to hand me the apple once again, as if aware that I can’t stop looking. The leather opens further, revealing more of her cleavage. She doesn’t rush to stand straight again but eventually I pull my gaze upwards, to Cara’s face, where I see the slight crinkle of a smirk.
Cara knows. She knows what I was staring at; I can see it in the depths of her that no longer hide from me.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter.
Finally standing tall again, Cara gives me a puzzled look, as if waiting for me to elaborate, but I’m not really sure what I’m apologising for; for staring, for wanting, or for dropping the apple. I choose the safer option.
“Sorry for dropping it,” I clarify, the lie making her cock her head before she takes a seat beside me again.
Taking a big bite of the apple, I push down the sudden flush of desire that staring straight down her top brought about and pretend as if nothing had happened. I’m sure she’s quite used to people looking at her in such a way so I don’t doubt that my less than subtle ogling would have been obvious, I just hope she doesn’t choose to use it against me in some way. I don’t truly believe she’d do that, but there’s a lot at stake so I can’t help but worry. Hopefully saying nothing about it will ensure no issue is made.
“It’s a beautiful day,” I say calmly, glancing around us as the warm sun reflects off the flourishing grasses and flowers.
“As opposed to the previous four days that have been the same?” she retorts sarcastically.
I swallow another bite of the apple. The last few days have indeed been quite glorious; every day hotter than the last, though today there has been a breeze to temper the heat.
“They were beautiful days also,” I say, smiling over at Cara, trying not to allow her to ruin my attempts at normal conversation.
“It’s too warm,” Cara responds, resting her elbows on her knees. “Far from beautiful.”
The leather she wears is probably reason enough for her to dislike the heat, but I haven’t heard her complain until now. I almost ask her if she would prefer to wear something lighter, and therefore cooler, but I know the look she’d give me, and as much as I sometimes like to see the mischievous roll of her eyes I don’t intend to cause a discussion right now. She wouldn’t want to wear anything other than her leathers; it goes without saying.
“Maybe we’ll come across a stream later,” I begin. “That would help cool us down.”
“I doubt that,” Cara says almost too quickly.
I catch her eye and have difficulty recognising the look that crosses her face. Wondering if I should question her, I finish off the apple and throw the remains into the bushes for the enjoyment of whatever creatures that may linger within. My brain is telling me to drop the subject yet again, but for some reason I ignore the warning. I push a little more than I should.
“Why wouldn’t it cool you down?” I ask warily, watching as she pulls her gaze from me to look out over the horizon. There’s a tension in her jaw that makes me cautious of her answer, but it’s too late, the words are already out.
“The water might cool my skin but . . .”
“But?” I press when she pauses, feeling myself leaning towards Cara, gaze straying back to that enticing opening to her leather.
“It’s better I don’t say,” she answers, leaving no room for argument with her tone.
When she turns my way I know I’ve been caught once again, looking where I have no business looking. Quickly focusing my eyes elsewhere, on a small patch of flowers some way below us, I do my best to ignore her questioning gaze and the possible things she could say next.
I really should have taken Richard’s offer and gone into the town, allowing him to stay with Cara. Being alone with her in this way, so soon after what I witnessed and heard last night, was just asking for trouble. I wanted to avoid this awkwardness, this slippery slope that would only lead us into something complicated. Our friendship, if you could even call it that, is too new to be tested like this. If she realises I’m attracted to her, and if I discover she might have similar ideas about me, then things would become very uncomfortable because we can’t hope to act on any such fancies.
Hoping the Spirits are looking over me and helping me I hold myself sure and steady, the mask of a Confessor slipping across my face so I can avoid Cara’s deductions or her possible dismay. I tell myself I mustn’t look at her that way again, ever. I have to be strong and do my duty, to be everything I should be, especially to Richard - my Seeker.
“Kahlan,” Cara says, my name on her lips making me force a tremble down. “Kahlan, look at me.”
I refuse to. Unable to.
Cara sighs. It’s an angry sigh and I sense her getting to her feet, brushing grass from her behind before she stalks over to the horses. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that she has pulled a waterskin from her horse to take a drink, glugging some down as if she hasn’t drank for a week. The very same waterskin plops beside me as she approaches again, her body blocking the sun as she stands in front of me.
“When you look at me in that way,” Cara begins, and I know exactly in what ‘way’ she means, “it confuses me. It also . . .” She sighs again, beginning to pace, creating a small path left to right in front of me. “I’m here because of Richard, but you’re making it difficult for me to serve him.”
Risking a quick glance at her I see a deep frown on her forehead, and also notice that one hand is resting on the handle of an agiel at her hip. I wonder if I should speak, persuade her that I haven’t looked at her in any way that should cause alarm, convince her that she’s mistaken, but my lips remain tight and I allow her to continue.
“I don’t intend to betray him but you’re making it almost impossible for me to remain completely loyal,” she tells me, almost as if she’s chastising me.
I finally find my voice, unhappy that she’s sounding so accusing, that she thinks I’m doing something on purpose to disrupt her desire to follow Richard - her Lord Rahl.
“I’m not doing anything,” I insist. “Your loyalty is your business.”
“But you are . . . doing something,” she counters, her hands on her hips as she stands once again in front of me.
Beginning to grow agitated and annoyed that she’s possibly found me out and is about to make me feel very, very silly, I get to my feet so I can meet her face to face. I’m the Mother Confessor, and she’s nothing more than a Mord-Sith - she doesn’t get to stand in judgment of me.
“You’re the one that’s ‘doing something’, Cara,” I accuse, my voice tainted with the agitation I’m feeling. “I’ve had to listen to it nearly every night for the past month.”
The words are out before I can stop them but she doesn’t look surprised, just curious. My own eyes are wide and I know I must be blushing, feeling utterly embarrassed.
“You’ve been listening to me?” she asks, obviously understanding what I was referring to.
There’s a note of humour in her voice that puts me even more on edge. I don’t want her to mock me or use this against me in any way. I don’t want this to ruin the tentative friendship we were developing.
“Not intentionally,” I claim, my cheeks still blazing.
I look away from her, unable to stand the way her eyes are searching mine, looking for the truths that I don’t want to give her.
After an awkward pause she asks, “Why didn’t you request for me to stop?”
My thoughts are racing and I don’t know how to answer, don’t know what would move us past this without her discovering how I feel about her. I could tell her I’m done with the conversation and move away, as she’s often done to me, but that would only leave things hanging, open for interpretation.
“I didn’t want to impose,” I say, knowing she wouldn’t believe a word.
“You could have told me I was being overheard,” Cara states, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at me suspiciously. “I would have been more discrete.”
I can’t very well tell her that I didn’t want her to start being discrete; that I was happy to hear her, even though it caused such confusion and frustration.
“I was trying to be considerate,” I say, grasping at straws in the hope she might allow this to pass.
“But it bothered you,” Cara supposes.
It had once bothered me, but now it just makes me desire her more than I can ignore. I’m not sure how to respond without lying outright, and I don’t want to do that. Lying isn’t something that comes easy to Confessors. I already feel bad enough hiding truths from Richard as I attempt to understand myself.
“It didn’t bother me exactly,” I say, sounding strained as I look down at my feet without realising, avoiding Cara’s eyes.
“Then you continued to listen because you . . . enjoyed it?” Cara guesses, a seductive quality to her voice that is probably entirely unintentional.
Feeling her moving closer I fight the urge to back away and run. We should talk about this; it’s been making me jittery for weeks now and the best way to get it out of the way, to move on from wanting Cara, is to face it. We can deal with it, then finally put it aside so I can reclaim my own feelings and give Richard all of my attention.
“Did you listen last night?” Cara continues when I don’t answer her. “Did you watch?”
Her voice is low, rough, curling its way around me and begging for me to give in to what I feel. I turn from Cara, showing her my back. I can’t look her in the eyes right now.
“You weren’t exactly being subtle,” I reply, the memory of watching Cara make herself come causing me to grow wet. She causes that so easily these days. “I didn’t mean to watch.”
There’s a revealing quiver to my voice that I know will not go unnoticed. I still can’t face her but she’s even closer now; I can smell her heat beneath that tight, red uniform. I can smell the lavender on her skin and the leather that encases it. My eyes close as I attempt to remain in control of my senses. It would be too easy to turn and find her lips with mine, my fingers in her hair, my body against hers. But there’s no way to be certain how she’d react, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end of an angry agiel as Cara rightly fends me off.
“But you did . . . watch,” Cara says slowly.
Though she sounds confident, as usual, there’s a slight difference to the way she’s speaking that makes me wonder and turn to face her. When my eyes meet her gaze I find my breath caught, trapped in my lungs; Cara, eyes dark and dangerous, looks on the verge of either violence or . . . or something I’m not sure I want to name. If I name it, then I have to accept that she might desire me the way I desire her, which would make this situation a lot more complex. If I name it, then I’m closer to it than I ought to be. Closer than is safe.
“Did you . . .” she begins before pausing, gaze flicking away from me for a moment before it returns and she wets her lips with her tongue. “Did you hear me when I came?”
I can’t help the involuntary shudder that runs down my spine, that curls around my belly and spikes at my sex. I nod, unable to speak. Unable to acknowledge with words that I’d heard my name uttered when she reached climax.
Cara looks away again, a hand grasping the stinging handle of one of her agiels. She seems angry as her jaw tightens and she allows her hair to fall forward, covering her face a little as she searches for a way to deal with this on the ground at our feet.
Maybe she’s ashamed that I heard, or that she allowed herself to reveal the slightest glimmer of what she might believe to be a weakness. I can’t be sure, and I’m still not even certain why she said my name at such a time.
Her words, the thoughts of last night, the flicker of worry across Cara’s brow all filter through my mind as I truly begin to think about the complications of this, and the implication that Cara might want the same as I do. I hadn’t fully understood what Cara had implied when she said her loyalty to Richard was being tested by me, but now that I’m trying to calm my thoughts and order my feelings I’m able to acknowledge what she might have meant. Able to see a little clearer.
I think, possibly, we want the same things, and that just makes this so much more difficult. We can’t have what we want.
Wishing I could reach out and push Cara’s hair away from her face, reveal her to me, look into the eyes I’ve come to have such a weakness for, I step even closer. She lifts her head to look at me and I see a mix of defiance and shame on her face. I see what she truly means when she says she feels it is possible she may betray Richard.
“You shouldn’t have heard that,” Cara says before I can even attempt to speak. “I apologise for it, and I will be much more discrete in the future.”
“You don’t need to be,” I tell her, surprising myself with the quickness of the words.
We both glance down to where my hand is now lightly grasping Cara’s wrist. I don’t immediately let go.
“I don’t need to be sorry?” Cara questions. “Or I don’t need to be more discrete?”
There are hidden questions here; we’re both tiptoeing around the issue, around the obvious. I wish it were easier and that I could tell her that I’ve begun to regard her differently. That I want to know what it feels like to be naked in her arms, with her body releasing to my touch, to myfingers instead of her own. But we don’t have the luxury of ease.
“Either,” I say. “Both.”
My cheeks flush and I drop my hand back to my side, feeling suddenly exposed. Too close to the truth. A few seconds pass before I dare lift my gaze from where it had dropped, drowning in Cara’s eyes as she boldly searches mine for understanding. She surely has to realise now that my interest in her has changed; I can almost hear the unspoken question - hear the words as she asks them. As she asks me if I want her.
I’m not ready to answer.
“We should stop talking about this,” I warn, taking several steps away from Cara with a heavy heart.
A few seconds of silence descends and I feel it mocking me.
“If you think that’s best, Mother Confessor,” Cara responds finally, though I can sense that she would like to continue, to get to the root of the matter.
Putting more distance between us than entirely necessary I stoop to retrieve the waterskin from the ground, lifting it to my lips and quenching at least one of my thirsts. I can feel Cara’s gaze fixed to me, still searching for meaning, heating my skin even more than the sun above us.
There’s no need for me to confirm that I do think it’s best; my silence speaks volumes.
A break in the tension comes thankfully swiftly as a small boy suddenly bounds towards us up the hill. He’s out of breath and clutching a piece of parchment in his fist. Instantly, Cara is between me and the boy, agiels in hand as she stands defensively, a warning for him not to come any closer.
“Stop where you are,” she shouts at him, pointing with a hissing agiel.
I wince as his eyes widen and his knees begin to knock; Cara is intimidating even for battle scarred warriors, let alone young village boys.
“Who are you?” I ask, stepping beside Cara and encouraging her to lower her weapon with a soft touch to her arm.
“My n-name’s Marcus,” he stutters, holding his scrap of parchment aloft. “The Seeker sent me with this.”
He shuffles a little closer, his gaze never leaving Cara as I step towards him to take the parchment from his hand.
“Be careful,” Cara warns, following close behind me, ready to protect me.
“He’s just a small boy,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile even as I try to ease Cara’s worries.
I take the scrap from him, reading the words scribbled hastily upon it with a sigh.
“The Seeker told me you’d be up this hill,” the boy explains. “And that he needs your help.”
And that he does.
Part Four
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