Fic: Rarely Resisted (Cara/Kahlan) NC17 (7/?)
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 Seven
Light splashes over my face and I feel the emptiness of the bed beside me before anything else. A night spent pressed to Cara’s back has brought a morning without her, yet I hear her nearby so my heart relaxes before I can panic. Opening my eyes and pushing back hair from my face I see Cara sitting upon the small wooden chair by the window. Her elbows are resting on her knees, feet apart, a frown at her brow.
She seems troubled, probably regretful. I try not to allow dark thoughts into my own mind, but I know I’ll follow her down that path if I permit myself to struggle with the rights and wrongs of our actions and our feelings.
“You should have woken me,” I say, easing sleep from my throat as I sit up.
Cara watches me for a moment as I allow the blanket to pool at my waist.
“There was no need,” Cara replies, looking away again abruptly. “You only slept a candle mark longer than I.”
I nod, unhappy with the sharpness of her responses. For a few moments I just sit, contemplating the distance between us in comparison to how closely we’d slept together all night. Not once did she let go of my hand. The thought of where her own hand had been before resting on mine makes me flush, and I embrace the tingle in my stomach instead of pushing it aside.
I cannot help how I feel.
“Have any guards been through?” I question, hoping to avoid a difficult conversation for now.
“Not yet,” she replies, not meeting my eyes.
Cara is fully dressed, her agiels tucked into place at her side despite their magic not working in this place. I see that she’s positioned my clothes more neatly at the foot of the bed than I’d left them, all set for me to slip into. As I ready myself to dress, leaning forward and pulling my clothes towards me, I suddenly hear shuffling outside in the corridor.
Quickly, Cara stands and moves towards the door, her body ready for any possibility. I hastily pull on my skirt, tying it around my waist as we await the intrusion from the guard.
The panel at the door slides slowly across, a face appearing; wary, alert, decidedly feminine.
“I’m not a guard,” the woman says quickly, her voice hushed. “I’m here for the Mord-Sith.”
Her eyes meet Cara’s as Cara steps forward, a look of caution and distrust darkening her features as she peers through the panel at the woman on the other side. I see caution rapidly change to confusion on Cara’s face; then something else sparkles within her eyes, just for a moment.
“Garen?” Cara questions the woman.
I can only suppose that that is her name as the woman looks closer at Cara, her brow furrowing for a heartbeat before a small smile quickly comes and goes.
“Cara,” Garen says reverently, not a question. “I didn’t know it was you they’d captured.”
Feeling somewhat awkward I step away from the bed, moving nearer so I can see this woman more closely, so I can stand by Cara.
“Me and my . . . friends,” Cara informs, glancing towards me as if just remembering that I’m still here.
I can barely see the woman behind the door, but her eyes dart my way, quick and untrusting. Her dark hair tumbles across her face as she suddenly whips her head to the left, peering down the gloomy corridor.
“We need to go now!” she says, the anxious sounds of her breaths making my heart begin to beat rapidly.
As she speaks she looks only to Cara, and as I hear the jangle of keys at the door my mind catches up with what is about to happen.
“What about Richard and Zedd?” I ask.
She looks at me, puzzled.
“I’m only here for the Mord-Sith,” she responds with undisguised venom. “For Cara.”
Cara looks my way, just as unsure as I am about what is taking place and how to react. I feel the strong urge to take Cara in my arms and not let her go. Not let her be parted from me.
“We all go,” Cara says suddenly, turning away from me again, her green eyes piercing Garen with a stare that will not permit argument.
“I’m not here to rescue a . . . a Confessor,” Garen spits. “We were told a Mord-Sith had been captured.”
“And here I stand,” Cara reminds her, “but we will all leave this place, Mistress Garen.”
Her tone is unmistakable; hard, unwavering.
“It would be too difficult. There’s no time,” Garen says, rubbing a hand over her brow.
“Then come back when there is time,” Cara insists.
“Wait,” I interject, “maybe if you go you can at least find a way to . . .”
“No,” Cara asserts, her gaze fixed on Garen as she speaks, “Garen will come back when she’s able to free all of us.”
“Mistress Cara, you’re really asking me to aid a Confessor, and The Seeker?” Garen questions, her dark eyes penetrating and apprehensive.
“I will not leave without them,” Cara confirms, making my heart jump as it dissolves for this woman beside me and her unquestioning loyalty. “Surely you’ve heard that I travel with them now.”
“I heard rumours, but . . .”
Footsteps somewhere beyond the corridor causes Garen to flinch.
“I have to go,” she says in a whisper. “The guards are changing already. I’ll come back tomorrow at the same time.”
“For all of us,” Cara demands.
She stares long and hard at Garen, a silent battle between them that makes me wonder just how well they actually know each other.
“Yes, Mistress,” Garen finally concedes, though her lips are tight and she glares my way before pushing the panel closed and rushing from the door.
Listening at the door a while, Cara holds my gaze. Neither of us moves, waiting for what might happen if our supposed rescuer is caught. I find myself falling into Cara’s eyes, letting the vulnerability I see there break through the hardness she shrouds herself in, hides behind. We hear no noises that indicate Garen may have been captured but we remain fixed on each other, unwavering as we take pleasure in just being able to look, to indulge. I could look into Cara’s eyes until the Spirits take me to my final resting place, until I no longer have breath to breathe or a heart to beat.
I doubt she knows the innocence of her beauty under all that has tried to damage it.
When I feel myself moving closer to her as she does the same, a voice from beyond our cell breaks this sudden grip, and the inevitable loss of restraint that was to follow.
“Kahlan?” Richard calls. “Is everything ok? We heard voices.”
A dagger-like stab hits my heart and I break eye contact with Cara, feeling nauseous as I ponder how close we may have gotten to each other, how close to testing the softness of each other’s lips, if we hadn’t been interrupted.
“We’re ok,” I call back.
I want to warn him that he needs to be ready this time the following morning, but we can’t risk being overheard and the jangle of keys leaves us in no doubt that the guard is coming this way.
“Quit yelling,” the guard bellows. “Dumb serving girls gettin’ in the way and noisy prisoners,” he grumbles to himself. “I need a break from this dump.”
Cara raises an eyebrow and I have no doubt we’re both wondering about the ‘serving girl’ he mentioned. Perhaps it was Garen, though Cara had called her Mistress Garen and had clearly known her. Then maybe she was in disguise. Whatever the case, I can only hope that she does come back tomorrow to help us. All of us.
We move back away from the door, appearing as calm as possible as the guard tells us to face the wall with our hands on our heads. Neither of us wish to comply at first but two more guards with loaded crossbows back him up and we relent, peeking from the corners of our eyes as our water is changed, dishes removed, and breakfast is placed on the floor.
At least they know how to take care of prisoners here. I can’t really fault them in that area, though of course we should not be here at all.
“Don’t move,” one of the guards grunts as Cara twitches.
I wonder if she was about to make a move on them, but I’m certain even she can see the futility in that, and if Garen does indeed come back then we must accept that that is our best option at the moment for escape.
Glancing her way, I subtly shake my head.
Cara’s jaw is tight. In fact every inch of her is taught and prepared to act. I can feel the need to attack rolling off her body and it almost sweeps me up in her desire to fight back. But we can’t. We must be sensible in this if nothing else.
Without another word the guards finally leave our cell, locking the heavy door behind them as they move down the corridor to repeat the same process with Richard and Zedd. I pray to the Creator that Richard doesn’t do anything rash. Together, both Cara and I linger by the door and listen. There are no sounds of scuffling or fighting when the guard orders Richard and Zedd to stand by the wall as he did with us. My heart is beating hard, my hands in fists at my side.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Richard,” I mutter under my breath.
Cara seems equally as worried, her face a picture of intense focus as she too awaits the possibility of all hell breaking loose.
When the guards clank at Richard’s door - locking it again - and move back down the corridor, I breathe a sigh of relief. My small smile reaches Cara and her gaze lingers at my lips. Her expression of intense focus soon turns into anguish and she spins quickly away from me. My next sigh has nothing to do with relief.
This thing between us is becoming impossible. Impossible not to act on. And after last night I don’t how we can ever go back to ignoring what’s so obviously pulling us together. I feel both embarrassed about my wanton insistence that she touch herself, and elated that I’d been so daring.
Distracting myself from thoughts of what she’d done and how I’d encouraged her, touched her and held her close to me, I pick up the bowls from the floor. Offering one to Cara I give her an apologetic smile and hope she can forgive me for being so weak, and so confounding.
“Porridge?” she asks with distaste as she takes the bowl from me and prods at its contents with the spoon.
“I think so,” I respond with equal distaste.
We both glumly make short work of our breakfast, no words said between us as we contemplate and agonise over our situation. The silence stretches as I place the now empty bowls back by the door and make my way to the privy. I clean up as best I can, using the soap and slightly tepid water to wash away some of the heat from last night that still clings to my skin.
Though the door doesn’t shut all the way I only pause momentarily before shedding my clothes. Despite our differences, and despite this growing yearning between us, I feel safe enough to wash unhindered. I find the space between my legs still slippery with need from last night. My body trembles as I splash some water there, using one of the rough towels to dry myself. My fingers want to stray, to touch, to give me what I need, but I refuse to allow myself that small reprieve.
The water is but a small relief for my warm skin, and as I wipe the droplets from my breasts I linger long enough to notice how swollen with desire they feel. How desperate for attention from Cara. Again, I force myself not to take pleasure from my own fingers, dropping my hands from myself and quickly dressing.
I leave my jacket off, only tying the skirt of my travelling clothes around me so I’m wearing just that and my corset. The corset covers me enough not to worry about feeling too exposed, but as I leave the privacy of the small room I can’t help but notice how Cara’s eyes roam over me in a lazy caress. I shudder involuntarily but remain as composed as I can be.
Retrieving my boots from beside the bed I slip them on and loosely tie them. Cara makes her way into the privy, my gaze lingering on her back. I momentarily feel embarrassed about the fact I needed to rinse out my briefs and leave them in their drying out, but I can’t allow such trivial things to make me seem foolish. She’s seen my briefs before no doubt so it would be silly to dwell on such a thing. It was entirely her fault that they’d become so in need of washing anyway.
She isn’t in there long so I imagine she’d already washed herself earlier, before I was awake. The sudden thought of her standing in there naked, splashing water over herself, makes my cheeks flush and my stomach twist in a way that I’m growing increasingly used to in Cara’s company.
Suddenly, the fact I’m no longer wearing briefs becomes uncomfortably noticeable. I shift as I sit on the bed, the near constant ache between my legs making me feel even more powerless than this forsaken place with its magic suppressing enchantment.
I’ve never felt so desperate to be touched before in my life. So constantly aroused.
When Cara returns to the room I force myself not to look at her for any length of time. I do notice that the gash on her temple looks sore, however. She must have been cleaning it, though it really could use some stitches. I wonder if I should ask the guard for the tools to do so, but Cara would probably be annoyed that I’m fussing over her. It might be wiser just to wait until we’re free of this place and then tell Richard to insist she gets the cut seen to properly. Cara’s much more likely to follow Richard’s instruction than mine.
As we both settle into an uncomfortable silence, I think of things I can say to break the tension, things we could talk about. But I remain quiet, unable to think of anything that won’t stir up thoughts of being with her. Neither of us mentions what happened last night. Neither of us daring to put voice to what it meant to both of us. Avoiding the subject makes me feel even guiltier for our transgression, but talking about it would only make matters worse.
Cara begins to pace as the day drags and I spend a little time talking - with difficulty - to Richard. I try to allude to the fact we may be rescued the following morning, but I can’t be sure he understood. He sounds frustrated but eager to keep me from worrying; his boyish charm doing all it can to make me smile.
Richard will always have a place in my heart, but he doesn’t make it burn the way Cara does. He doesn’t make it throb full of unspoken, raw and powerful feelings that threaten to consume me.
I turn to gaze at Cara as she rests on the bed, her long legs stretched out. Her hands are behind her head and her eyes are closed. She’s stunning to me; an exciting mix of beauty and strength, of calm and menace. Her chest raises and falls in a steady rhythm, breasts straining against the tight confines of her red leather. My gaze lingers there, at the soft fullness, the scattering of beauty marks and freckles, the swell that my hands wish to caress, to explore.
There’s a very distinct possibility that I’m completely infatuated with Cara’s breasts. I blush and quickly look away, fighting the urge to cross the room to her, to nuzzle at her cleavage with my nose, my lips taking what they want. Bewitched as I am, I’m not sure of my ability to fight these urges any longer. I proved that last night.
“This day threatens to be the longest day I’ve ever lived,” Cara grumbles, breaking the silence she has harboured all morning.
I can only nod in agreement even though her eyes remain closed.
Needing to do something, say something that will distract me from my lascivious thoughts, I take a seat by the high window and ask the question that I’ve been wondering about since our early morning visitor gave us hope of rescue.
“Do you know the Mord-Sith that came earlier?” I enquire.
Cara’s eyes open and her breathing stops for a moment, as if she’s in deep thought. I wonder why such a simple question requires such a pause but I can’t fully read the look in her eyes as she stares up at the ceiling. For a moment there is pain there, settling on her brow, but it’s gone before she answers.
“I did,” she says curtly.
When it doesn’t seem likely that she will continue or elaborate I decide I need to know more. Something is amiss.
“Her name is Garen?” I press, watching her closely.
“Indeed,” she replies.
This is like pulling teeth from a Gar and only arouses my interest more.
“Were you in the same temple?” I question, aware that at any moment her temper may snap and she’ll tell me to be quiet in no uncertain terms.
“Once,” Cara responds, an obvious trace of sadness making my heart clutch in my chest.
Sadness is not an emotion I would often associate with Cara, but to hear it so vividly from her lips, in her soft sigh . . . I want to reach out to her and pull her to me, ask what troubles her. Another part of me doesn’t wish to know, however. A jealous part of me that is sure I won’t like learning more about Garen and how she can make my normally fierce and unwavering Mord-Sith sound so sullen.
“Did something happen?” I ask, not certain I need to hear the answer.
I was fairly sure that Mord-Sith didn’t engage in romantic entanglements with each other - sure that it is in fact forbidden for them - but something makes me wonder if Cara and Garen were more than just members of the same temple. Feeling more than what Mord-Sith are generally acknowledged to feel for another person. Mord-Sith don’t love. At least not as far as I’m aware.
Cara sighs in frustration and swings her legs around, sitting on the edge of the bed now and facing me.
“Why are you asking these questions?” she brusquely demands, her jaw tight, face hard, warning me not to continue.
“I was just . . .”
How can I explain that I need to know more about her? Need to know if she’s able to love, even though it will pain me to hear she’s loved another.
“You were just what?” Cara snaps, rising now and beginning to pace before me. “Prying? Attempting to anger me? Attempting to hurt me?”
With her last words I feel my stomach drop. I never intended to hurt her and am surprised at the choice of her words.
“Cara, I would never . . .”
I stand and move towards her but Cara moves away, turning her back to me. My hand lifts, wanting to reach out and touch her, but I don’t allow it to; knowing it would only fuel her obvious annoyance. A thousand questions fly through my mind, wanting to know, wanting to learn about this enigma before me. This Mord-Sith who feels.
“We were lovers,” she says abruptly, still not facing me, not looking into my eyes to see the baffling array of emotions within them that I’m experiencing.
Before I can say anything she continues, her voice low, tainted with anger at having to explain.
“Mord-Sith use one another for pleasure,” she tells me, the tightness in her shoulders making my own ache for her. “It’s our way; to balance the pain.”
I nod, remembering what she’d said last night, though she doesn’t see.
“But we’re not permitted to lay with the same Mord-Sith on multiple occasions. Attachment is not our way.”
“So you and Garen . . .” I begin, piecing it together myself, a mix of jealousy and compassion burning at my guts.
“We broke the rules,” she says with a regretful sigh. “She fell in love with me and we . . . we began to only take pleasure in one another.”
I briefly question why Cara didn’t say that they’d both fallen in love. Maybe she didn’t feel the same as Garen, or maybe she’s just unwilling to admit to it. Whatever the case, I know she must have felt something for her; I can hear it in her voice.
“What happened?” I push, knowing that this story surely doesn’t have a happy ending.
“We were caught,” she says sadly, though her shoulders only sag for a moment before she turns to me, a look of determined indifference on her face. “We were then ‘retrained’ for several weeks, and she was sent to another temple and forbidden to ever speak to me again.”
My heart trips, experiencing the pain for her that I can see she won’t allow herself to fully succumb to, but I have no doubt now as I look into her eyes that she felt love for that woman. That she had loved and lost.
All at once I feel overjoyed to know that it’s possible for Cara to love, saddened that it was taken from her, and angered that I may never know what it’s like to have her feel that way about me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step towards Cara.
She flinches and backs away, the vulnerability that was briefly in her eyes giving way to cold, hard detachment.
“I’m not,” she insists. “We were weak. That kind of weakness is . . .” She looks to the floor, the green of her eyes growing dark, sombre. “That kind of weakness is pathetic, wretched,” she spits. “Dangerous.”
I want to tell her that love isn’t pathetic or wretched. That it can be wonderful. But how do I do that when I’m so busy desperately fighting such a weakness in myself? Fighting not to fall completely in love with her.
“Are you finished with your questions now?” Cara asks sharply, glaring at me.
I say nothing, my mind as confused as my heart.
She can love, but she won’t.
Maybe that’s proof enough that we can never be. That we can never submit to the desire we feel for one another. I should never allow myself to love her.
But my heart hurts at the very notion.
I already do love her.
Part Eight
.
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 Seven
Light splashes over my face and I feel the emptiness of the bed beside me before anything else. A night spent pressed to Cara’s back has brought a morning without her, yet I hear her nearby so my heart relaxes before I can panic. Opening my eyes and pushing back hair from my face I see Cara sitting upon the small wooden chair by the window. Her elbows are resting on her knees, feet apart, a frown at her brow.
She seems troubled, probably regretful. I try not to allow dark thoughts into my own mind, but I know I’ll follow her down that path if I permit myself to struggle with the rights and wrongs of our actions and our feelings.
“You should have woken me,” I say, easing sleep from my throat as I sit up.
Cara watches me for a moment as I allow the blanket to pool at my waist.
“There was no need,” Cara replies, looking away again abruptly. “You only slept a candle mark longer than I.”
I nod, unhappy with the sharpness of her responses. For a few moments I just sit, contemplating the distance between us in comparison to how closely we’d slept together all night. Not once did she let go of my hand. The thought of where her own hand had been before resting on mine makes me flush, and I embrace the tingle in my stomach instead of pushing it aside.
I cannot help how I feel.
“Have any guards been through?” I question, hoping to avoid a difficult conversation for now.
“Not yet,” she replies, not meeting my eyes.
Cara is fully dressed, her agiels tucked into place at her side despite their magic not working in this place. I see that she’s positioned my clothes more neatly at the foot of the bed than I’d left them, all set for me to slip into. As I ready myself to dress, leaning forward and pulling my clothes towards me, I suddenly hear shuffling outside in the corridor.
Quickly, Cara stands and moves towards the door, her body ready for any possibility. I hastily pull on my skirt, tying it around my waist as we await the intrusion from the guard.
The panel at the door slides slowly across, a face appearing; wary, alert, decidedly feminine.
“I’m not a guard,” the woman says quickly, her voice hushed. “I’m here for the Mord-Sith.”
Her eyes meet Cara’s as Cara steps forward, a look of caution and distrust darkening her features as she peers through the panel at the woman on the other side. I see caution rapidly change to confusion on Cara’s face; then something else sparkles within her eyes, just for a moment.
“Garen?” Cara questions the woman.
I can only suppose that that is her name as the woman looks closer at Cara, her brow furrowing for a heartbeat before a small smile quickly comes and goes.
“Cara,” Garen says reverently, not a question. “I didn’t know it was you they’d captured.”
Feeling somewhat awkward I step away from the bed, moving nearer so I can see this woman more closely, so I can stand by Cara.
“Me and my . . . friends,” Cara informs, glancing towards me as if just remembering that I’m still here.
I can barely see the woman behind the door, but her eyes dart my way, quick and untrusting. Her dark hair tumbles across her face as she suddenly whips her head to the left, peering down the gloomy corridor.
“We need to go now!” she says, the anxious sounds of her breaths making my heart begin to beat rapidly.
As she speaks she looks only to Cara, and as I hear the jangle of keys at the door my mind catches up with what is about to happen.
“What about Richard and Zedd?” I ask.
She looks at me, puzzled.
“I’m only here for the Mord-Sith,” she responds with undisguised venom. “For Cara.”
Cara looks my way, just as unsure as I am about what is taking place and how to react. I feel the strong urge to take Cara in my arms and not let her go. Not let her be parted from me.
“We all go,” Cara says suddenly, turning away from me again, her green eyes piercing Garen with a stare that will not permit argument.
“I’m not here to rescue a . . . a Confessor,” Garen spits. “We were told a Mord-Sith had been captured.”
“And here I stand,” Cara reminds her, “but we will all leave this place, Mistress Garen.”
Her tone is unmistakable; hard, unwavering.
“It would be too difficult. There’s no time,” Garen says, rubbing a hand over her brow.
“Then come back when there is time,” Cara insists.
“Wait,” I interject, “maybe if you go you can at least find a way to . . .”
“No,” Cara asserts, her gaze fixed on Garen as she speaks, “Garen will come back when she’s able to free all of us.”
“Mistress Cara, you’re really asking me to aid a Confessor, and The Seeker?” Garen questions, her dark eyes penetrating and apprehensive.
“I will not leave without them,” Cara confirms, making my heart jump as it dissolves for this woman beside me and her unquestioning loyalty. “Surely you’ve heard that I travel with them now.”
“I heard rumours, but . . .”
Footsteps somewhere beyond the corridor causes Garen to flinch.
“I have to go,” she says in a whisper. “The guards are changing already. I’ll come back tomorrow at the same time.”
“For all of us,” Cara demands.
She stares long and hard at Garen, a silent battle between them that makes me wonder just how well they actually know each other.
“Yes, Mistress,” Garen finally concedes, though her lips are tight and she glares my way before pushing the panel closed and rushing from the door.
Listening at the door a while, Cara holds my gaze. Neither of us moves, waiting for what might happen if our supposed rescuer is caught. I find myself falling into Cara’s eyes, letting the vulnerability I see there break through the hardness she shrouds herself in, hides behind. We hear no noises that indicate Garen may have been captured but we remain fixed on each other, unwavering as we take pleasure in just being able to look, to indulge. I could look into Cara’s eyes until the Spirits take me to my final resting place, until I no longer have breath to breathe or a heart to beat.
I doubt she knows the innocence of her beauty under all that has tried to damage it.
When I feel myself moving closer to her as she does the same, a voice from beyond our cell breaks this sudden grip, and the inevitable loss of restraint that was to follow.
“Kahlan?” Richard calls. “Is everything ok? We heard voices.”
A dagger-like stab hits my heart and I break eye contact with Cara, feeling nauseous as I ponder how close we may have gotten to each other, how close to testing the softness of each other’s lips, if we hadn’t been interrupted.
“We’re ok,” I call back.
I want to warn him that he needs to be ready this time the following morning, but we can’t risk being overheard and the jangle of keys leaves us in no doubt that the guard is coming this way.
“Quit yelling,” the guard bellows. “Dumb serving girls gettin’ in the way and noisy prisoners,” he grumbles to himself. “I need a break from this dump.”
Cara raises an eyebrow and I have no doubt we’re both wondering about the ‘serving girl’ he mentioned. Perhaps it was Garen, though Cara had called her Mistress Garen and had clearly known her. Then maybe she was in disguise. Whatever the case, I can only hope that she does come back tomorrow to help us. All of us.
We move back away from the door, appearing as calm as possible as the guard tells us to face the wall with our hands on our heads. Neither of us wish to comply at first but two more guards with loaded crossbows back him up and we relent, peeking from the corners of our eyes as our water is changed, dishes removed, and breakfast is placed on the floor.
At least they know how to take care of prisoners here. I can’t really fault them in that area, though of course we should not be here at all.
“Don’t move,” one of the guards grunts as Cara twitches.
I wonder if she was about to make a move on them, but I’m certain even she can see the futility in that, and if Garen does indeed come back then we must accept that that is our best option at the moment for escape.
Glancing her way, I subtly shake my head.
Cara’s jaw is tight. In fact every inch of her is taught and prepared to act. I can feel the need to attack rolling off her body and it almost sweeps me up in her desire to fight back. But we can’t. We must be sensible in this if nothing else.
Without another word the guards finally leave our cell, locking the heavy door behind them as they move down the corridor to repeat the same process with Richard and Zedd. I pray to the Creator that Richard doesn’t do anything rash. Together, both Cara and I linger by the door and listen. There are no sounds of scuffling or fighting when the guard orders Richard and Zedd to stand by the wall as he did with us. My heart is beating hard, my hands in fists at my side.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Richard,” I mutter under my breath.
Cara seems equally as worried, her face a picture of intense focus as she too awaits the possibility of all hell breaking loose.
When the guards clank at Richard’s door - locking it again - and move back down the corridor, I breathe a sigh of relief. My small smile reaches Cara and her gaze lingers at my lips. Her expression of intense focus soon turns into anguish and she spins quickly away from me. My next sigh has nothing to do with relief.
This thing between us is becoming impossible. Impossible not to act on. And after last night I don’t how we can ever go back to ignoring what’s so obviously pulling us together. I feel both embarrassed about my wanton insistence that she touch herself, and elated that I’d been so daring.
Distracting myself from thoughts of what she’d done and how I’d encouraged her, touched her and held her close to me, I pick up the bowls from the floor. Offering one to Cara I give her an apologetic smile and hope she can forgive me for being so weak, and so confounding.
“Porridge?” she asks with distaste as she takes the bowl from me and prods at its contents with the spoon.
“I think so,” I respond with equal distaste.
We both glumly make short work of our breakfast, no words said between us as we contemplate and agonise over our situation. The silence stretches as I place the now empty bowls back by the door and make my way to the privy. I clean up as best I can, using the soap and slightly tepid water to wash away some of the heat from last night that still clings to my skin.
Though the door doesn’t shut all the way I only pause momentarily before shedding my clothes. Despite our differences, and despite this growing yearning between us, I feel safe enough to wash unhindered. I find the space between my legs still slippery with need from last night. My body trembles as I splash some water there, using one of the rough towels to dry myself. My fingers want to stray, to touch, to give me what I need, but I refuse to allow myself that small reprieve.
The water is but a small relief for my warm skin, and as I wipe the droplets from my breasts I linger long enough to notice how swollen with desire they feel. How desperate for attention from Cara. Again, I force myself not to take pleasure from my own fingers, dropping my hands from myself and quickly dressing.
I leave my jacket off, only tying the skirt of my travelling clothes around me so I’m wearing just that and my corset. The corset covers me enough not to worry about feeling too exposed, but as I leave the privacy of the small room I can’t help but notice how Cara’s eyes roam over me in a lazy caress. I shudder involuntarily but remain as composed as I can be.
Retrieving my boots from beside the bed I slip them on and loosely tie them. Cara makes her way into the privy, my gaze lingering on her back. I momentarily feel embarrassed about the fact I needed to rinse out my briefs and leave them in their drying out, but I can’t allow such trivial things to make me seem foolish. She’s seen my briefs before no doubt so it would be silly to dwell on such a thing. It was entirely her fault that they’d become so in need of washing anyway.
She isn’t in there long so I imagine she’d already washed herself earlier, before I was awake. The sudden thought of her standing in there naked, splashing water over herself, makes my cheeks flush and my stomach twist in a way that I’m growing increasingly used to in Cara’s company.
Suddenly, the fact I’m no longer wearing briefs becomes uncomfortably noticeable. I shift as I sit on the bed, the near constant ache between my legs making me feel even more powerless than this forsaken place with its magic suppressing enchantment.
I’ve never felt so desperate to be touched before in my life. So constantly aroused.
When Cara returns to the room I force myself not to look at her for any length of time. I do notice that the gash on her temple looks sore, however. She must have been cleaning it, though it really could use some stitches. I wonder if I should ask the guard for the tools to do so, but Cara would probably be annoyed that I’m fussing over her. It might be wiser just to wait until we’re free of this place and then tell Richard to insist she gets the cut seen to properly. Cara’s much more likely to follow Richard’s instruction than mine.
As we both settle into an uncomfortable silence, I think of things I can say to break the tension, things we could talk about. But I remain quiet, unable to think of anything that won’t stir up thoughts of being with her. Neither of us mentions what happened last night. Neither of us daring to put voice to what it meant to both of us. Avoiding the subject makes me feel even guiltier for our transgression, but talking about it would only make matters worse.
Cara begins to pace as the day drags and I spend a little time talking - with difficulty - to Richard. I try to allude to the fact we may be rescued the following morning, but I can’t be sure he understood. He sounds frustrated but eager to keep me from worrying; his boyish charm doing all it can to make me smile.
Richard will always have a place in my heart, but he doesn’t make it burn the way Cara does. He doesn’t make it throb full of unspoken, raw and powerful feelings that threaten to consume me.
I turn to gaze at Cara as she rests on the bed, her long legs stretched out. Her hands are behind her head and her eyes are closed. She’s stunning to me; an exciting mix of beauty and strength, of calm and menace. Her chest raises and falls in a steady rhythm, breasts straining against the tight confines of her red leather. My gaze lingers there, at the soft fullness, the scattering of beauty marks and freckles, the swell that my hands wish to caress, to explore.
There’s a very distinct possibility that I’m completely infatuated with Cara’s breasts. I blush and quickly look away, fighting the urge to cross the room to her, to nuzzle at her cleavage with my nose, my lips taking what they want. Bewitched as I am, I’m not sure of my ability to fight these urges any longer. I proved that last night.
“This day threatens to be the longest day I’ve ever lived,” Cara grumbles, breaking the silence she has harboured all morning.
I can only nod in agreement even though her eyes remain closed.
Needing to do something, say something that will distract me from my lascivious thoughts, I take a seat by the high window and ask the question that I’ve been wondering about since our early morning visitor gave us hope of rescue.
“Do you know the Mord-Sith that came earlier?” I enquire.
Cara’s eyes open and her breathing stops for a moment, as if she’s in deep thought. I wonder why such a simple question requires such a pause but I can’t fully read the look in her eyes as she stares up at the ceiling. For a moment there is pain there, settling on her brow, but it’s gone before she answers.
“I did,” she says curtly.
When it doesn’t seem likely that she will continue or elaborate I decide I need to know more. Something is amiss.
“Her name is Garen?” I press, watching her closely.
“Indeed,” she replies.
This is like pulling teeth from a Gar and only arouses my interest more.
“Were you in the same temple?” I question, aware that at any moment her temper may snap and she’ll tell me to be quiet in no uncertain terms.
“Once,” Cara responds, an obvious trace of sadness making my heart clutch in my chest.
Sadness is not an emotion I would often associate with Cara, but to hear it so vividly from her lips, in her soft sigh . . . I want to reach out to her and pull her to me, ask what troubles her. Another part of me doesn’t wish to know, however. A jealous part of me that is sure I won’t like learning more about Garen and how she can make my normally fierce and unwavering Mord-Sith sound so sullen.
“Did something happen?” I ask, not certain I need to hear the answer.
I was fairly sure that Mord-Sith didn’t engage in romantic entanglements with each other - sure that it is in fact forbidden for them - but something makes me wonder if Cara and Garen were more than just members of the same temple. Feeling more than what Mord-Sith are generally acknowledged to feel for another person. Mord-Sith don’t love. At least not as far as I’m aware.
Cara sighs in frustration and swings her legs around, sitting on the edge of the bed now and facing me.
“Why are you asking these questions?” she brusquely demands, her jaw tight, face hard, warning me not to continue.
“I was just . . .”
How can I explain that I need to know more about her? Need to know if she’s able to love, even though it will pain me to hear she’s loved another.
“You were just what?” Cara snaps, rising now and beginning to pace before me. “Prying? Attempting to anger me? Attempting to hurt me?”
With her last words I feel my stomach drop. I never intended to hurt her and am surprised at the choice of her words.
“Cara, I would never . . .”
I stand and move towards her but Cara moves away, turning her back to me. My hand lifts, wanting to reach out and touch her, but I don’t allow it to; knowing it would only fuel her obvious annoyance. A thousand questions fly through my mind, wanting to know, wanting to learn about this enigma before me. This Mord-Sith who feels.
“We were lovers,” she says abruptly, still not facing me, not looking into my eyes to see the baffling array of emotions within them that I’m experiencing.
Before I can say anything she continues, her voice low, tainted with anger at having to explain.
“Mord-Sith use one another for pleasure,” she tells me, the tightness in her shoulders making my own ache for her. “It’s our way; to balance the pain.”
I nod, remembering what she’d said last night, though she doesn’t see.
“But we’re not permitted to lay with the same Mord-Sith on multiple occasions. Attachment is not our way.”
“So you and Garen . . .” I begin, piecing it together myself, a mix of jealousy and compassion burning at my guts.
“We broke the rules,” she says with a regretful sigh. “She fell in love with me and we . . . we began to only take pleasure in one another.”
I briefly question why Cara didn’t say that they’d both fallen in love. Maybe she didn’t feel the same as Garen, or maybe she’s just unwilling to admit to it. Whatever the case, I know she must have felt something for her; I can hear it in her voice.
“What happened?” I push, knowing that this story surely doesn’t have a happy ending.
“We were caught,” she says sadly, though her shoulders only sag for a moment before she turns to me, a look of determined indifference on her face. “We were then ‘retrained’ for several weeks, and she was sent to another temple and forbidden to ever speak to me again.”
My heart trips, experiencing the pain for her that I can see she won’t allow herself to fully succumb to, but I have no doubt now as I look into her eyes that she felt love for that woman. That she had loved and lost.
All at once I feel overjoyed to know that it’s possible for Cara to love, saddened that it was taken from her, and angered that I may never know what it’s like to have her feel that way about me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step towards Cara.
She flinches and backs away, the vulnerability that was briefly in her eyes giving way to cold, hard detachment.
“I’m not,” she insists. “We were weak. That kind of weakness is . . .” She looks to the floor, the green of her eyes growing dark, sombre. “That kind of weakness is pathetic, wretched,” she spits. “Dangerous.”
I want to tell her that love isn’t pathetic or wretched. That it can be wonderful. But how do I do that when I’m so busy desperately fighting such a weakness in myself? Fighting not to fall completely in love with her.
“Are you finished with your questions now?” Cara asks sharply, glaring at me.
I say nothing, my mind as confused as my heart.
She can love, but she won’t.
Maybe that’s proof enough that we can never be. That we can never submit to the desire we feel for one another. I should never allow myself to love her.
But my heart hurts at the very notion.
I already do love her.
Part Eight
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