Fic: Rarely Resisted (Cara/Kahlan) NC17 (13/?)
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.
(Link to my website for when LJ is down -- http://www.femslashfanfiction.com )
A/N: Huge thanks to the peeps continuing to read this, and I'm sorry for the delay. The story shouldn't be around for much longer now so no worries :D Also, even huger thanks to those who take the time to leave feedback. You keep me coming back.
Part Thirteen
We allow the dawn to wake us, raising from our bedrolls and greeting the day with yawns and stretching, Zedd still grumbling about having another Mord-Sith to be wary of. Richard asks him to try to be nice but Zedd just grunts and decides to sulk. I shake my head but I understand his concern. It has taken time for us to trust Cara, though I think Zedd still keeps a part of himself ready for anything, any betrayal. Trusting this new addition will not be as easy.
I am happy to place my trust in Cara’s familiarity with Garen, but I will remain vigilant. Garen may choose to leave for her temple today so it may be unnecessary to trouble ourselves with these thoughts, but something tells me she won’t be leaving quite so soon.
Cara was already awake as the rest of us tumbled from our dreams, having taken last watch. She seems tired as I allow my gaze to travel over her face. Brushing wrinkles from my clothes I try to concentrate on what Richard is saying as he and Cara begin to break camp, putting things into packs, shaking out blankets and bedrolls. Zedd tends the fire, boiling water for tea.
It’s almost like any other morning but with one addition. I glance over at Garen as she shifts uncomfortably on her bedroll, her hand at her side as she leans against the smooth rock behind her. She still looks pale, though not as sickly as the night before.
“I checked the compass this morning,” Richard says as he helps Zedd put together a light breakfast. “It’s pointing back the way we came, more or less.”
“More or less?” Zedd asks.
“Slightly more to the South,” Richard replies.
Zedd furrows his brow and Richard’s brow mimics the action almost identically.
“Why would it take us back?” Cara demands, her hands on her hips as she stands close to where Garen is sitting.
“I don’t know,” Richard admits with a shrug.
“It can’t be taking us to the Stone; it was pointing us in the other direction only a few days ago,” Zedd suggests. “Maybe we need to do something, or learn something somewhere, back where we came from.”
“Like when it took us back to the Minders,” I guess, recalling how the compass wished Richard to learn how to temper his rage when using the Sword of Truth.
“Yes,” Zedd confirms with a nod.
“Should we follow it?” Richard asks, lifting the compass.
“Of course, dear boy,” Zedd replies. “We follow it.”
I can see tension on Cara’s face, as if she wants to object, to question the sense of forever travelling backwards, but we all know that the compass is our guide in this. We’re slaves to its direction, no matter how pointless or exhausting that becomes.
“Then let’s have breakfast and see where it takes us,” I add, folding away my blanket and placing it into my pack.
Cara shakes her head but remains quiet, her hands dropping from her hips in exasperation. I’m certain we’ll all have further questions and worries, but for now we need to think only of how we’re supposed to go back the way we came without running into trouble. We may still be at risk of being hunted, to be placed in cells again, for our fates to be decided upon by people who will not listen to reason.
“Are you all mad?” Garen suddenly asks. “You just escaped from that place and you wish to go back?”
“It’s not as simple as that, child,” Zedd responds, his eyes glaring, daring for Garen to test our commitment.
“I’m no child!” Garen snaps, rising with slight difficulty to her feet. “I did not risk my own neck for you to walk back onto their swords. Mistress Dominique did not give her life so you . . .”
Cara places a strong hand on Garen’s arm, her head tilting as she catches Garen’s gaze. A brief moment passes in which they seem to communicate beyond words.
With an angry sigh, Garen backs down, turning from us and pulling her arm away from Cara. I wonder what was conveyed in that moment between them, but I try not to dwell, not wishing to give fuel to petty jealousies.
No more is said on the matter as we eat and drink tea, an uncomfortable atmosphere settling around us as Zedd and Garen glare at each other across the fire, as Cara does all she can not to look my way, and as Richard shuffles in confusion at the tension.
Once the horses have been tended to and once the fire is out and packs all ready to go, we wait for Richard to confirm once again our bearing. He stalks toward me, having come from the direction of the small stream, his face a mix of pleased apprehension. I see my Confessor dress in his clutches, its white material almost sparkling under the morning sun.
“I did my best with it,” he says, presenting it to me as the others busy themselves with final preparations to leave.
My eyes meet his and I offer him a weak smile, thoughts of last night crowding my mind. I cannot decide if I’m happy he has cleaned the dress or if I’m terribly sad. I choose not to confuse Richard with my awkward mood, thanking him as I brush my fingers over the white linen, seeing no trace of a blood stain anywhere. Of course, it doesn’t surprise me; the dress is not made in a conventional way. There is magic within it. Within each thread. Richard’s eyes light up at my thanks, his face the very picture of somebody who is smitten and happy they have done a good deed. I turn away quickly, pushing the dress into my pack.
We travel away from the cave with less haste than when we arrived, no clear destination in mind other than where the compass may lead us, no clue as to what we’re meant to do next, or what will greet us. I’m not even sure if we will be taking Garen to the nearest temple; neither Cara nor Garen has mentioned that possibility. I know I should have asked before we left, but Cara seemed oddly unapproachable - even more so than usual.
She barely spoke to me as we prepared to leave and I didn’t approach her, mainly because Garen has been Cara’s shadow all morning. They stole away to the stream together to wash, I presume, and ate their breakfasts side by side. They spoke only a few words to each other, but they say more with just a look than words seem able. Now they ride together on one horse, with Cara sat in front of Garen, holding the reins firmly in her gloved hands. I know that Cara dislikes sharing her horse immensely, so the ease with which she shares it now makes me crease my brow and glare at their backs in consternation.
I nod and smile when Richard talks, unsure what he’s saying most of the time; so much has changed in the last few days and my head is spinning with such imposing vigour I feel as if I could topple from my horse any moment and lay weeping on the floor. But Richard’s arms around me keep me tethered to the large horse beneath us, tethered to Richard. He kisses my shoulder and I tense, unable to stop myself before he notices.
“Are you injured?” Richard asks.
Suppressing a sigh I tell him I’m fine and pat the hand he has settled on my stomach.
He must sense that I don’t wish to explain my reaction to him, and Richard - though he can be as childish as a six year old hunting chipmunks some days - shows a level of restraint not usual to him and allows me to brood in peace.
We all travel quietly, keeping far from the roads, using the forest as cover as we head just south of the town we had fled from. Richard keeps checking the compass to ensure we don’t stray too far from our course, his boyish smile as wide as ever as he points us in the right direction, happy to be the one we have to turn to for guidance. It’s not too long before we reach a crossroad in the dirt path through the forest and Cara pulls her horse to a stop, turning to address us.
“If we continue this way we will come out of the forest too close to that wretched town, but the other path will no doubt cause us to stray from Richard’s compass,” she states.
Richard urges our horse closer to Cara’s, leading it in a tight circle where the path forks. He takes out the compass and checks the bearing once again, nodding to himself as he thinks.
“What’s at the end of this path? Do you know?” he asks Garen.
“If you follow it far enough we will reach my temple, though we very rarely use this trail,” Garen responds, no sign of pain from her injury now despite the jostling of the horse - I suddenly feel terrible and callous for not enquiring about her injury earlier in the day. “But halfway along there is another, smaller trail that veers off and leads to an abandoned cottage by a lake.”
“Abandoned?” Zedd scoffs. “No doubt pillaged by your temple.”
Zedd has remained behind us some way for the entire ride this morning, the occasional grumble coming from his lips, between snacks.
Garen rolls her eyes but Cara remains stoic.
“As far as I know the cottage has been empty for many years, before the temple was even established,” Garen responds curtly. “And we do not pillage. There would be no point to such an act; we have all we need already.”
“Indeed you do,” Zedd mumbles, his displeasure with her presence clear.
I glare at Zedd; we can’t afford to allow his petulance to cloud his judgment.
“If we continue down the path this way,” Richard begins, pointing our horse away from the path that would take us towards the town, “do you think we’ll be able to follow the compass as far as possible? Is the forest passable off the path?”
“It’s sparse enough to travel through,” Garen answers. “Though it thickens closer to the temple.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to go that far,” he says.
I notice Garen’s shoulders tensing; Cara’s hand reaches back, settling on Garen’s thigh to soothe her before she says anything that might make an awkward situation more volatile. There is no point in arguing about the Mord-Sith and their ways, or their allegiance to Darken at this time; our destination is what is important.
Ignoring my rising ire at Cara’s proximity to Garen and the ease in which she touches her I sit tall in the saddle, pulling myself a little away from Richard.
“Let’s follow this path as far as we’re able,” I suggest, in no mood for bickering, or my own envy. “Maybe the compass is in fact leading us to the abandoned cottage.”
“Or perhaps the temple,” Cara adds, caution shadowing her words. “In which case we’ll need to stop and formulate a plan. We can’t just march our way up to its gates.”
“You wouldn’t even get that far,” Garen boasts, a smirk lifting her lips.
“We’ll see,” Richard says with a grin, jigging the reins and sending us forward, leaving Cara’s horse to trail behind, leaving Zedd even further afield as he shakes his head and mutters to himself.
I understand that he’s not happy with another Mord-Sith in our party, but I’m surprised at the level of hostility he is showing despite the fact it is because of Garen that we are free of that infernal town. He seems in such a mood with himself that I have to wonder if maybe he’s just using Garen’s presence as a way of venting his frustrations over something else entirely. We will have a talk as I cannot allow him to continue to stamp his feet as if he were just a child. If his mind is elsewhere it endangers us all.
“Check the compass, Richard,” I prompt after several leagues, feeling the sun hot at my back, making me almost miss the rains of yesterday.
The forest is indeed sparser here, though the track still only wide enough for one horse to travel comfortably.
“It wants us to go that way,” Richard indicates, pointing slightly to our left, off the path.
“We’re almost at the next fork,” Garen calls from behind. “It seems your little trinket wishes us to visit the decrepit cottage by the lake after all.”
Richard grumbles under his breath about the compass being far more than just a trinket, but he decides not to rise to Garen’s teasing, spurring our horse forward. He keeps the compass in his hand, using only one to grip the reins. I hold my tongue as I have done this entire ride, wondering why he seems to think me incapable of taking the reins myself. I offered earlier so he wouldn’t have to keep craning his neck over my shoulder to check for obstacles, but he just patted my thigh and told me he was enjoying the ride just fine. He gave me a squeeze and I fought the compulsion to turn and push him off the saddle.
He doesn’t deserve my short temper or irritation, the problem is all my own; the guilt eating at me as much as the niggling doubts and worry now that Garen is with us.
“Maybe we should stop to eat and rest the horses a while before we continue,” I say, ever wary of danger ahead in D’Hara.
“Why waste time?” Garen asks bluntly from behind Cara.
I try not to notice that her hands are gripping Cara’s hips, their bodies so close that not even a feather could pass between them.
“If you’re going to travel with us much further,” I begin, my irritation evident, “then you’ll learn not to question me.”
Aware instantly how arrogant that sounded, I grit my teeth and turn away from the Mord-Sith now glaring at my back. Richard is too close to me, making me feel unsettled and confined. I wriggle in the saddle, and lean forward a little way, hoping none of my companions decide to push me further and feel the full force of a Mother Confessor’s annoyance. The atmosphere fills with tension and I take a calming breath.
Garen begins to speak and my muscles tense.
“Kahlan is right,” Cara interrupts before Garen can make further comment. “We should stop up ahead.”
She steers her horse around us, her green eyes catching mine only briefly. I try to gain reassurance in the quick glance, take what I can as I feel the heat of her stare, the need lingering in a way that makes my heart throb. Feeling scorched just by that moment of eye contact between us, I forget everything but the way she makes me feel. Recalling our time together in the cell, the way we had to fight to keep from touching, from kissing, I lift a hand to my lips, brushing a fingertip over them as I momentarily disappear into my longing for Cara.
Only the sudden motion of the horse as Richard clicks his tongue and sends us after the two Mord-Sith breaks me free of my thoughts. I feel my cheeks flush and drop my gaze to the forest floor as our horse picks its way over fallen branches and tufts of grass.
Cara leads us away from the trail, sending her horse around the trees until she stops, waiting a moment to listen. The forest is quiet, the trees up ahead standing closer together than what we’ve been travelling through. It seems darker there, but Cara shows no fear as she slips from her horse and helps Garen to jump down beside her.
I look away from where they’re touching but not before Cara’s eyes land on me, her expression unreadable. I shudder, feeling a chill here as the canopy of leaves allows little of the sun through to warm the ground.
“Are you ok?” Richard asks.
I do my best not to snap at him as he offers me a hand to get down from our large mount. I take it, wishing he would stop questioning my wellbeing quite so often. I used to find it endearing, sweet even, but he still fails to understand that I am not just a feeble woman in need of protection or careful handling. I am more than he will ever know, but explaining has become tedious, so I just smile and nod, hoping he will see a tenderness within my eyes that I’m not certain is still there - certainly not in the way it once was.
“Thank you,” I say, warmed slightly by his grateful look.
It is not my intention to hurt this generous, loving man, but I cannot lie much longer. When we have a little time together, alone, I will try to explain, try to let him down as gently as I can. But for now I will smile and continue as if everything is fine.
My thoughts soon turn to Cara as she moves beside me once Richard takes the horses to tie them close by. He pats them as he leaves them by some lush grass, his hands pulling at straps and buckles as he begins to ready our late lunch.
I glance at Cara, only briefly meeting her eyes before I turn my head; she stirs such things in me that I’m sure I can’t hide.
“We will need firewood, and water,” Cara says. “We drank ours on the way.”
I recall seeing Garen taking many drinks, replenishing lost fluids due to her blood loss. She looks better for it, but it’s obvious that she still feels weak as she sits down heavily on a fallen log, her eyes never leaving Cara and I.
“Is there a stream nearby?” I ask.
Cara nods. “It runs into the lake we’re headed towards. Garen says it should be just a little further ahead, into the thicker trees.”
Her eyes catch mine again and I furrow my brow, sensing she’s trying to tell me something, though the distraction of Garen’s steely gaze and Zedd’s muttering renders me incompetent at reading her signals.
“We should go together,” she says with a less subtle lift of her eyebrow. “These woods are not safe.”
Richard steps forward, having overheard, his mouth opening to offer his help. I cut him off abruptly, ignoring Zedd’s barely disguised surprise.
“Richard, you should stay here. Cara and I can go,” I decree without hesitation, eager to be close to her after the days ride apart and her remoteness this morning.
His brown eyes twitch, a hand moving to settle lightly on the hilt of his sword. I know it means he feels unsettled. More and more he is becoming tired of his authority being questioned. He wants to be in control, and I understand, empathise. But it makes more sense for him to stay and protect the horses and Zedd - who is still refusing to use magic.
“We will be quite safe,” I assure him, smiling gently, in a way that used to assuage any macho posturing.
It still works and he agrees, though a grunt from Garen clearly indicates her disapproval. I suddenly wonder what Cara and Garen may have talked about in our travels today. I try not to panic; questioning if Garen knows, and if she would tell Richard.
With another smile towards Richard I follow Cara into the trees, ridiculously overjoyed that we will be alone together, even if only for a short while. I try to ignore my feelings about Garen - the way her eyes on Cara makes my skin prickle. The way her hands on Cara makes me want to strangle her. I can’t help but think she is a threat in some way or another, and I wonder again if Cara has told her more than she should.
As soon as Cara and I are far enough away I ask, “What does she know? About us?”
My voice is tight and urgent, a note of accusation making Cara glare at me as we finally lose sight of the others behind us.
“What do you mean?” she counters, prickling under my unspoken allegation.
“Garen,” I say, “does she know that we . . . will she tell Richard?”
I stop and turn to Cara, my hands on my hips. I know I’m being unnecessarily aggressive - the last two day’s jealousy rearing its ugly head and baring its teeth - and I instantly feel Cara begin to close herself to me, her jaw tightening and her posture rigid.
“Does she know that we want to fuck each other?” Cara retorts, anger flashing suddenly, dangerously in her eyes. I have made a mistake. “Does she know that you - the virtuous Mother Confessor - wishes to spread her legs wide for a mere Mord-Sith? Is that what you mean?”
Fighting the abrupt urge to strike Cara I grit my teeth. I know why we’re doing this - bodies tense, anger simmering, tension so thick it is smothering. I know this is the result of our want for each other and our inability to express it, to explain it, to give in, to vent our frustration in the way we need. I lower my eyes and sigh, dropping my hands to my sides.
Lowering my voice, softer this time, I ask again, “Does she know, Cara?”
“She knows only what she’s seen,” Cara answers, her own voice now quieter, mindful of the others not far away, even though her previous words were almost loud enough to reach Richard’s ears. “She told me this morning that my interest was obvious, and that I was playing with fire.”
My heart flutters with the way her voice changes; its resigned tenderness such a contrast to her usual demeanour, to the anger that had just rushed through her.
“She won’t say anything,” Cara assures.
Lifting my head I meet her gaze again, instantly falling into the eyes that haunt and beguile me.
“How can you be sure?” I try not to panic, but Garen could destroy all of us with just a few words.
With a slight smirk Cara lifts her chin. “Do not underestimate my powers of persuasion,” she says deviously.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my chest tightening as I envision Cara seducing Garen into keeping quiet.
Cara smiles, that smile that leaves me breathless and spinning. She turns and begins to walk deeper into the trees. I follow with my mind reeling, my hands clenching as I fight the urge to yell at Cara and demand answers, demand that she vows not to leave me, not to hurt me. But I can’t demand such things of her; we’re not together in that way and we shouldn’t even imagine that we can be. Still, I can’t help but want to claim her as mine and demand her complete faithfulness.
“Cara,” I call quietly, mindful of the people we’re leaving behind us as we near the bubbling of a stream that can’t be much further ahead. “Cara, what do you mean?”
She ignores me with a grin as we reach a break in the trees, a shallow trickle of water flowing over jagged rocks separating us from the rest of the forest.
Cara drops the water skins at her feet and lowers herself to her haunches. Pulling one of her gloves off, she dips her fingertips into the water. I watch, enjoying the way the sun breaks through this small clearing to wash over Cara, to bathe her in its warm light. Her hair looks like the finest silk I’ve ever seen; blonde on red. I’m momentarily stricken dumb by how attractive she is, how beautiful. It’s difficult to remember in this moment that she is Mord-Sith, and that she has known such pain that would kill most people in an instant. But it is also impossible to think of her as anything but Mord-Sith, such is the way she holds herself. The two extremes of her make her beautiful to me; the delicate femininity of her, and the strength and power living just under the surface.
I feel my heart go to her, yearn for her. This is what it feels like to fall in love. To fall without knowing what I will land on, how it will change me, how it will change everything. I cannot stop myself, no matter the consequences.
Noticing suddenly that her eyes are on mine I try to look away but find myself unable. She holds my gaze as she stands, her body flowing as easily as the water at her feet. My stomach flips in a most alarming way as she stalks towards me, her eyes never leaving mine, her other glove dropping to the floor.
“I warned you that you shouldn’t look at me that way,” Cara sighs, stopping in front of me, so close I can smell the scent of her skin. Skin that I have touched, and that I want more of.
The green of her eyes sparkles, her lips parting as she breathes heavily through her nose. It feels like lightening has struck nearby; that unique charge in the air after a storm lingering between us now, in the silence, in the things we haven’t said, the things we want.
I want to tell her to kiss me. I want to tell her she can. I want her to know that in this moment I could forget everything of duty, of loyalty, of danger. I could forget about Richard, about Garen.
Who we are and where we are no longer persuades my heart to hide. There is no fighting this.
“Cara,” I say, voice trembling, “kiss me.”
Part Fourteen
.
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.
(Link to my website for when LJ is down -- http://www.femslashfanfiction.com )
A/N: Huge thanks to the peeps continuing to read this, and I'm sorry for the delay. The story shouldn't be around for much longer now so no worries :D Also, even huger thanks to those who take the time to leave feedback. You keep me coming back.
Part Thirteen
We allow the dawn to wake us, raising from our bedrolls and greeting the day with yawns and stretching, Zedd still grumbling about having another Mord-Sith to be wary of. Richard asks him to try to be nice but Zedd just grunts and decides to sulk. I shake my head but I understand his concern. It has taken time for us to trust Cara, though I think Zedd still keeps a part of himself ready for anything, any betrayal. Trusting this new addition will not be as easy.
I am happy to place my trust in Cara’s familiarity with Garen, but I will remain vigilant. Garen may choose to leave for her temple today so it may be unnecessary to trouble ourselves with these thoughts, but something tells me she won’t be leaving quite so soon.
Cara was already awake as the rest of us tumbled from our dreams, having taken last watch. She seems tired as I allow my gaze to travel over her face. Brushing wrinkles from my clothes I try to concentrate on what Richard is saying as he and Cara begin to break camp, putting things into packs, shaking out blankets and bedrolls. Zedd tends the fire, boiling water for tea.
It’s almost like any other morning but with one addition. I glance over at Garen as she shifts uncomfortably on her bedroll, her hand at her side as she leans against the smooth rock behind her. She still looks pale, though not as sickly as the night before.
“I checked the compass this morning,” Richard says as he helps Zedd put together a light breakfast. “It’s pointing back the way we came, more or less.”
“More or less?” Zedd asks.
“Slightly more to the South,” Richard replies.
Zedd furrows his brow and Richard’s brow mimics the action almost identically.
“Why would it take us back?” Cara demands, her hands on her hips as she stands close to where Garen is sitting.
“I don’t know,” Richard admits with a shrug.
“It can’t be taking us to the Stone; it was pointing us in the other direction only a few days ago,” Zedd suggests. “Maybe we need to do something, or learn something somewhere, back where we came from.”
“Like when it took us back to the Minders,” I guess, recalling how the compass wished Richard to learn how to temper his rage when using the Sword of Truth.
“Yes,” Zedd confirms with a nod.
“Should we follow it?” Richard asks, lifting the compass.
“Of course, dear boy,” Zedd replies. “We follow it.”
I can see tension on Cara’s face, as if she wants to object, to question the sense of forever travelling backwards, but we all know that the compass is our guide in this. We’re slaves to its direction, no matter how pointless or exhausting that becomes.
“Then let’s have breakfast and see where it takes us,” I add, folding away my blanket and placing it into my pack.
Cara shakes her head but remains quiet, her hands dropping from her hips in exasperation. I’m certain we’ll all have further questions and worries, but for now we need to think only of how we’re supposed to go back the way we came without running into trouble. We may still be at risk of being hunted, to be placed in cells again, for our fates to be decided upon by people who will not listen to reason.
“Are you all mad?” Garen suddenly asks. “You just escaped from that place and you wish to go back?”
“It’s not as simple as that, child,” Zedd responds, his eyes glaring, daring for Garen to test our commitment.
“I’m no child!” Garen snaps, rising with slight difficulty to her feet. “I did not risk my own neck for you to walk back onto their swords. Mistress Dominique did not give her life so you . . .”
Cara places a strong hand on Garen’s arm, her head tilting as she catches Garen’s gaze. A brief moment passes in which they seem to communicate beyond words.
With an angry sigh, Garen backs down, turning from us and pulling her arm away from Cara. I wonder what was conveyed in that moment between them, but I try not to dwell, not wishing to give fuel to petty jealousies.
No more is said on the matter as we eat and drink tea, an uncomfortable atmosphere settling around us as Zedd and Garen glare at each other across the fire, as Cara does all she can not to look my way, and as Richard shuffles in confusion at the tension.
Once the horses have been tended to and once the fire is out and packs all ready to go, we wait for Richard to confirm once again our bearing. He stalks toward me, having come from the direction of the small stream, his face a mix of pleased apprehension. I see my Confessor dress in his clutches, its white material almost sparkling under the morning sun.
“I did my best with it,” he says, presenting it to me as the others busy themselves with final preparations to leave.
My eyes meet his and I offer him a weak smile, thoughts of last night crowding my mind. I cannot decide if I’m happy he has cleaned the dress or if I’m terribly sad. I choose not to confuse Richard with my awkward mood, thanking him as I brush my fingers over the white linen, seeing no trace of a blood stain anywhere. Of course, it doesn’t surprise me; the dress is not made in a conventional way. There is magic within it. Within each thread. Richard’s eyes light up at my thanks, his face the very picture of somebody who is smitten and happy they have done a good deed. I turn away quickly, pushing the dress into my pack.
We travel away from the cave with less haste than when we arrived, no clear destination in mind other than where the compass may lead us, no clue as to what we’re meant to do next, or what will greet us. I’m not even sure if we will be taking Garen to the nearest temple; neither Cara nor Garen has mentioned that possibility. I know I should have asked before we left, but Cara seemed oddly unapproachable - even more so than usual.
She barely spoke to me as we prepared to leave and I didn’t approach her, mainly because Garen has been Cara’s shadow all morning. They stole away to the stream together to wash, I presume, and ate their breakfasts side by side. They spoke only a few words to each other, but they say more with just a look than words seem able. Now they ride together on one horse, with Cara sat in front of Garen, holding the reins firmly in her gloved hands. I know that Cara dislikes sharing her horse immensely, so the ease with which she shares it now makes me crease my brow and glare at their backs in consternation.
I nod and smile when Richard talks, unsure what he’s saying most of the time; so much has changed in the last few days and my head is spinning with such imposing vigour I feel as if I could topple from my horse any moment and lay weeping on the floor. But Richard’s arms around me keep me tethered to the large horse beneath us, tethered to Richard. He kisses my shoulder and I tense, unable to stop myself before he notices.
“Are you injured?” Richard asks.
Suppressing a sigh I tell him I’m fine and pat the hand he has settled on my stomach.
He must sense that I don’t wish to explain my reaction to him, and Richard - though he can be as childish as a six year old hunting chipmunks some days - shows a level of restraint not usual to him and allows me to brood in peace.
We all travel quietly, keeping far from the roads, using the forest as cover as we head just south of the town we had fled from. Richard keeps checking the compass to ensure we don’t stray too far from our course, his boyish smile as wide as ever as he points us in the right direction, happy to be the one we have to turn to for guidance. It’s not too long before we reach a crossroad in the dirt path through the forest and Cara pulls her horse to a stop, turning to address us.
“If we continue this way we will come out of the forest too close to that wretched town, but the other path will no doubt cause us to stray from Richard’s compass,” she states.
Richard urges our horse closer to Cara’s, leading it in a tight circle where the path forks. He takes out the compass and checks the bearing once again, nodding to himself as he thinks.
“What’s at the end of this path? Do you know?” he asks Garen.
“If you follow it far enough we will reach my temple, though we very rarely use this trail,” Garen responds, no sign of pain from her injury now despite the jostling of the horse - I suddenly feel terrible and callous for not enquiring about her injury earlier in the day. “But halfway along there is another, smaller trail that veers off and leads to an abandoned cottage by a lake.”
“Abandoned?” Zedd scoffs. “No doubt pillaged by your temple.”
Zedd has remained behind us some way for the entire ride this morning, the occasional grumble coming from his lips, between snacks.
Garen rolls her eyes but Cara remains stoic.
“As far as I know the cottage has been empty for many years, before the temple was even established,” Garen responds curtly. “And we do not pillage. There would be no point to such an act; we have all we need already.”
“Indeed you do,” Zedd mumbles, his displeasure with her presence clear.
I glare at Zedd; we can’t afford to allow his petulance to cloud his judgment.
“If we continue down the path this way,” Richard begins, pointing our horse away from the path that would take us towards the town, “do you think we’ll be able to follow the compass as far as possible? Is the forest passable off the path?”
“It’s sparse enough to travel through,” Garen answers. “Though it thickens closer to the temple.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to go that far,” he says.
I notice Garen’s shoulders tensing; Cara’s hand reaches back, settling on Garen’s thigh to soothe her before she says anything that might make an awkward situation more volatile. There is no point in arguing about the Mord-Sith and their ways, or their allegiance to Darken at this time; our destination is what is important.
Ignoring my rising ire at Cara’s proximity to Garen and the ease in which she touches her I sit tall in the saddle, pulling myself a little away from Richard.
“Let’s follow this path as far as we’re able,” I suggest, in no mood for bickering, or my own envy. “Maybe the compass is in fact leading us to the abandoned cottage.”
“Or perhaps the temple,” Cara adds, caution shadowing her words. “In which case we’ll need to stop and formulate a plan. We can’t just march our way up to its gates.”
“You wouldn’t even get that far,” Garen boasts, a smirk lifting her lips.
“We’ll see,” Richard says with a grin, jigging the reins and sending us forward, leaving Cara’s horse to trail behind, leaving Zedd even further afield as he shakes his head and mutters to himself.
I understand that he’s not happy with another Mord-Sith in our party, but I’m surprised at the level of hostility he is showing despite the fact it is because of Garen that we are free of that infernal town. He seems in such a mood with himself that I have to wonder if maybe he’s just using Garen’s presence as a way of venting his frustrations over something else entirely. We will have a talk as I cannot allow him to continue to stamp his feet as if he were just a child. If his mind is elsewhere it endangers us all.
“Check the compass, Richard,” I prompt after several leagues, feeling the sun hot at my back, making me almost miss the rains of yesterday.
The forest is indeed sparser here, though the track still only wide enough for one horse to travel comfortably.
“It wants us to go that way,” Richard indicates, pointing slightly to our left, off the path.
“We’re almost at the next fork,” Garen calls from behind. “It seems your little trinket wishes us to visit the decrepit cottage by the lake after all.”
Richard grumbles under his breath about the compass being far more than just a trinket, but he decides not to rise to Garen’s teasing, spurring our horse forward. He keeps the compass in his hand, using only one to grip the reins. I hold my tongue as I have done this entire ride, wondering why he seems to think me incapable of taking the reins myself. I offered earlier so he wouldn’t have to keep craning his neck over my shoulder to check for obstacles, but he just patted my thigh and told me he was enjoying the ride just fine. He gave me a squeeze and I fought the compulsion to turn and push him off the saddle.
He doesn’t deserve my short temper or irritation, the problem is all my own; the guilt eating at me as much as the niggling doubts and worry now that Garen is with us.
“Maybe we should stop to eat and rest the horses a while before we continue,” I say, ever wary of danger ahead in D’Hara.
“Why waste time?” Garen asks bluntly from behind Cara.
I try not to notice that her hands are gripping Cara’s hips, their bodies so close that not even a feather could pass between them.
“If you’re going to travel with us much further,” I begin, my irritation evident, “then you’ll learn not to question me.”
Aware instantly how arrogant that sounded, I grit my teeth and turn away from the Mord-Sith now glaring at my back. Richard is too close to me, making me feel unsettled and confined. I wriggle in the saddle, and lean forward a little way, hoping none of my companions decide to push me further and feel the full force of a Mother Confessor’s annoyance. The atmosphere fills with tension and I take a calming breath.
Garen begins to speak and my muscles tense.
“Kahlan is right,” Cara interrupts before Garen can make further comment. “We should stop up ahead.”
She steers her horse around us, her green eyes catching mine only briefly. I try to gain reassurance in the quick glance, take what I can as I feel the heat of her stare, the need lingering in a way that makes my heart throb. Feeling scorched just by that moment of eye contact between us, I forget everything but the way she makes me feel. Recalling our time together in the cell, the way we had to fight to keep from touching, from kissing, I lift a hand to my lips, brushing a fingertip over them as I momentarily disappear into my longing for Cara.
Only the sudden motion of the horse as Richard clicks his tongue and sends us after the two Mord-Sith breaks me free of my thoughts. I feel my cheeks flush and drop my gaze to the forest floor as our horse picks its way over fallen branches and tufts of grass.
Cara leads us away from the trail, sending her horse around the trees until she stops, waiting a moment to listen. The forest is quiet, the trees up ahead standing closer together than what we’ve been travelling through. It seems darker there, but Cara shows no fear as she slips from her horse and helps Garen to jump down beside her.
I look away from where they’re touching but not before Cara’s eyes land on me, her expression unreadable. I shudder, feeling a chill here as the canopy of leaves allows little of the sun through to warm the ground.
“Are you ok?” Richard asks.
I do my best not to snap at him as he offers me a hand to get down from our large mount. I take it, wishing he would stop questioning my wellbeing quite so often. I used to find it endearing, sweet even, but he still fails to understand that I am not just a feeble woman in need of protection or careful handling. I am more than he will ever know, but explaining has become tedious, so I just smile and nod, hoping he will see a tenderness within my eyes that I’m not certain is still there - certainly not in the way it once was.
“Thank you,” I say, warmed slightly by his grateful look.
It is not my intention to hurt this generous, loving man, but I cannot lie much longer. When we have a little time together, alone, I will try to explain, try to let him down as gently as I can. But for now I will smile and continue as if everything is fine.
My thoughts soon turn to Cara as she moves beside me once Richard takes the horses to tie them close by. He pats them as he leaves them by some lush grass, his hands pulling at straps and buckles as he begins to ready our late lunch.
I glance at Cara, only briefly meeting her eyes before I turn my head; she stirs such things in me that I’m sure I can’t hide.
“We will need firewood, and water,” Cara says. “We drank ours on the way.”
I recall seeing Garen taking many drinks, replenishing lost fluids due to her blood loss. She looks better for it, but it’s obvious that she still feels weak as she sits down heavily on a fallen log, her eyes never leaving Cara and I.
“Is there a stream nearby?” I ask.
Cara nods. “It runs into the lake we’re headed towards. Garen says it should be just a little further ahead, into the thicker trees.”
Her eyes catch mine again and I furrow my brow, sensing she’s trying to tell me something, though the distraction of Garen’s steely gaze and Zedd’s muttering renders me incompetent at reading her signals.
“We should go together,” she says with a less subtle lift of her eyebrow. “These woods are not safe.”
Richard steps forward, having overheard, his mouth opening to offer his help. I cut him off abruptly, ignoring Zedd’s barely disguised surprise.
“Richard, you should stay here. Cara and I can go,” I decree without hesitation, eager to be close to her after the days ride apart and her remoteness this morning.
His brown eyes twitch, a hand moving to settle lightly on the hilt of his sword. I know it means he feels unsettled. More and more he is becoming tired of his authority being questioned. He wants to be in control, and I understand, empathise. But it makes more sense for him to stay and protect the horses and Zedd - who is still refusing to use magic.
“We will be quite safe,” I assure him, smiling gently, in a way that used to assuage any macho posturing.
It still works and he agrees, though a grunt from Garen clearly indicates her disapproval. I suddenly wonder what Cara and Garen may have talked about in our travels today. I try not to panic; questioning if Garen knows, and if she would tell Richard.
With another smile towards Richard I follow Cara into the trees, ridiculously overjoyed that we will be alone together, even if only for a short while. I try to ignore my feelings about Garen - the way her eyes on Cara makes my skin prickle. The way her hands on Cara makes me want to strangle her. I can’t help but think she is a threat in some way or another, and I wonder again if Cara has told her more than she should.
As soon as Cara and I are far enough away I ask, “What does she know? About us?”
My voice is tight and urgent, a note of accusation making Cara glare at me as we finally lose sight of the others behind us.
“What do you mean?” she counters, prickling under my unspoken allegation.
“Garen,” I say, “does she know that we . . . will she tell Richard?”
I stop and turn to Cara, my hands on my hips. I know I’m being unnecessarily aggressive - the last two day’s jealousy rearing its ugly head and baring its teeth - and I instantly feel Cara begin to close herself to me, her jaw tightening and her posture rigid.
“Does she know that we want to fuck each other?” Cara retorts, anger flashing suddenly, dangerously in her eyes. I have made a mistake. “Does she know that you - the virtuous Mother Confessor - wishes to spread her legs wide for a mere Mord-Sith? Is that what you mean?”
Fighting the abrupt urge to strike Cara I grit my teeth. I know why we’re doing this - bodies tense, anger simmering, tension so thick it is smothering. I know this is the result of our want for each other and our inability to express it, to explain it, to give in, to vent our frustration in the way we need. I lower my eyes and sigh, dropping my hands to my sides.
Lowering my voice, softer this time, I ask again, “Does she know, Cara?”
“She knows only what she’s seen,” Cara answers, her own voice now quieter, mindful of the others not far away, even though her previous words were almost loud enough to reach Richard’s ears. “She told me this morning that my interest was obvious, and that I was playing with fire.”
My heart flutters with the way her voice changes; its resigned tenderness such a contrast to her usual demeanour, to the anger that had just rushed through her.
“She won’t say anything,” Cara assures.
Lifting my head I meet her gaze again, instantly falling into the eyes that haunt and beguile me.
“How can you be sure?” I try not to panic, but Garen could destroy all of us with just a few words.
With a slight smirk Cara lifts her chin. “Do not underestimate my powers of persuasion,” she says deviously.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my chest tightening as I envision Cara seducing Garen into keeping quiet.
Cara smiles, that smile that leaves me breathless and spinning. She turns and begins to walk deeper into the trees. I follow with my mind reeling, my hands clenching as I fight the urge to yell at Cara and demand answers, demand that she vows not to leave me, not to hurt me. But I can’t demand such things of her; we’re not together in that way and we shouldn’t even imagine that we can be. Still, I can’t help but want to claim her as mine and demand her complete faithfulness.
“Cara,” I call quietly, mindful of the people we’re leaving behind us as we near the bubbling of a stream that can’t be much further ahead. “Cara, what do you mean?”
She ignores me with a grin as we reach a break in the trees, a shallow trickle of water flowing over jagged rocks separating us from the rest of the forest.
Cara drops the water skins at her feet and lowers herself to her haunches. Pulling one of her gloves off, she dips her fingertips into the water. I watch, enjoying the way the sun breaks through this small clearing to wash over Cara, to bathe her in its warm light. Her hair looks like the finest silk I’ve ever seen; blonde on red. I’m momentarily stricken dumb by how attractive she is, how beautiful. It’s difficult to remember in this moment that she is Mord-Sith, and that she has known such pain that would kill most people in an instant. But it is also impossible to think of her as anything but Mord-Sith, such is the way she holds herself. The two extremes of her make her beautiful to me; the delicate femininity of her, and the strength and power living just under the surface.
I feel my heart go to her, yearn for her. This is what it feels like to fall in love. To fall without knowing what I will land on, how it will change me, how it will change everything. I cannot stop myself, no matter the consequences.
Noticing suddenly that her eyes are on mine I try to look away but find myself unable. She holds my gaze as she stands, her body flowing as easily as the water at her feet. My stomach flips in a most alarming way as she stalks towards me, her eyes never leaving mine, her other glove dropping to the floor.
“I warned you that you shouldn’t look at me that way,” Cara sighs, stopping in front of me, so close I can smell the scent of her skin. Skin that I have touched, and that I want more of.
The green of her eyes sparkles, her lips parting as she breathes heavily through her nose. It feels like lightening has struck nearby; that unique charge in the air after a storm lingering between us now, in the silence, in the things we haven’t said, the things we want.
I want to tell her to kiss me. I want to tell her she can. I want her to know that in this moment I could forget everything of duty, of loyalty, of danger. I could forget about Richard, about Garen.
Who we are and where we are no longer persuades my heart to hide. There is no fighting this.
“Cara,” I say, voice trembling, “kiss me.”
Part Fourteen
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