Selfish is the Heart (32 page)

Ecstasy filled her. She overflowed with it. She shivered from it, body quaking as her fingers wound deep within the dark silk of his hair.

“Please,” she heard herself say. “Now.”

She’d asked for it, and even so it startled her to lose the heat between her thighs and discover it hovering over her body. Passion had twisted Cassian’s features, but knowing she was its source only made him all the lovelier. He licked his mouth. Tasting her?

“Kiss me,” she begged and took him by the back of the neck to draw him to her mouth.

Her desire flavored their kisses, and Annalise moaned into his mouth. His hands were still working on her body. One slid between her legs. His cock’s blunt head nudged at her, parting her, slipping inside inch by slow, delicious inch. Only when he was fully seated inside her did Cassian pause to catch his breath.

Annalise waited for him to move. This was making love, she thought, breathless and aching.
This was love.

He moved inside her, slowly, then faster when she dug her nails into his back and whispered into his ear how much she wanted him. His sweat painted her lips with every kiss. They rocked together, and pleasure built inside her again, unexpected and welcomed.

He cried her name at the end, and she clutched him in triumph. Spent, he buried himself inside her and his face against her neck. Sweat glued them. Her arms around him held him tight. Short moments later he rolled them both so she lay cradled in his arms, and she murmured faint protest at the loss of him from inside her, only to think, in the end, it was but a small and bearable one. She would always have him inside her. She had, perhaps from the moment they’d met in the forest.

Beside her, Cassian cracked his jaws with a yawn. His eyes closed. His hand stroked her shoulder, tangling in her hair.

“Cassian.”

“Yes, love.”

The endearment warmed her. Annalise snuggled close. She kissed his chest, the heat of their passion cooling but the salt of their labors still fresh. “That pleased me very well.”

He opened an eye to look at her, then smiled. He had such a lovely smile. “Then I am duly pleased.”

Sighing happily, she pushed herself up to get a good view of his face. He shifted to return her gaze. Her mind sought the right words, wary of how often they’d tripped her up in the past.

Before she could say anything, a harsh rap came at the door. Cassian looked, but didn’t get up. Annalise looked, too.

“Should you answer it?”

He frowned. “At this late hour, the news cannot be good.”

“I’ve knocked upon your door at a late hour,” she murmured, wondering for the first time if she were indeed the only one to ever do so. He’d said not, but . . .

“That’s entirely different.” Cassian leaned to kiss her as another knock sounded. “Fine, I’ll answer it. Draw the sheets about yourself, love.”

“Should I bury beneath them?” she asked, only half serious.

He looked at her over his shoulder, one leg already in his trousers. “Only if you’re ashamed to be here.”

So quickly could the spark of passion edge its way to anger, she thought, but knew this enough to avoid it with him, now. “No, of course not. I was thinking of you.”

Another knock came as he crossed to kiss her, holding her close. Cassian looked deep into her eyes. “No, Annalise. There’s naught to be shamed of. We’ve broken no rules.”

Pleased, she held his face in her hands for a moment to kiss him again. “Nonetheless, I shall take myself to your privy chamber, if you don’t mind. I’ve no need to flaunt myself in front of any late-hour guest.”

Cassian’s laugh poured through her, honey off a spoon. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is. We’re not finished yet.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” With that, she let him go and made her way to the bath chamber, where she dipped water from the basin to wash herself and smiled at her reflection in the looking glass.

From the other room, the rise and fall of voices caught her attention. Snagging one of Cassian’s shirts from a hook on the back of the door, Annalise pulled it over her head. Her braid could be hastily twisted, though she had naught with which to bind it, so she settled for tucking it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The shirt hung to midthigh, the sleeves dangling past her fingertips, so she rolled them up and cracked open the door to peek out.

Serenity. Annalise knew her just barely. The woman didn’t notice her in the doorway. Her attention was focused entirely upon Cassian.

The serrated blade of jealousy sawed at Annalise. She’d not even known Cassian and Serenity were well-acquainted, and yet he reached for her with casual familiarity. Not intimacy, at least not any Annalise could see, but this was no mere professional relationship.

“I thought you should know,” Serenity said. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“Thank you, Serenity.” Cassian sounded a little hoarse. “You’ve ever been a good friend.”

The door creaked. Cassian and Serenity both looked. Annalise, caught in her eavesdropping, still believed what he’d told her moments before—they’d done naught to shame them. She pushed the door open wider and stepped through it with a nod at the Sister.

Serenity looked solemnly at Cassian. “Oh.”

Annalise lifted her chin, jaw gritting, fingers tightening at her sides. Cassian looked from her to Serenity. Silence, thick with tension, built.

“Right. I’ll . . . go.” Serenity flashed him a small grin. To Annalise she gave only an assessing look.

Nobody spoke again until she’d closed the door behind her. Then Cassian strode to the dresser, opened the drawer, and poured himself a glass of worm. He drank it back in a single gulp, and poured another.

“Will you tell me what she wanted, or is it not for me to know?”

He shook his head and looked at the bottle. “The bedamned worm’s all been drunk.”

“Cassian.”

He looked at her.

“Shall I go, as well?”

The answer she desired was no, and a kiss, and his arms around her. She got none of them. Cassian sighed and wiped his mouth.

“She came to tell me of the arrival of one of her Sisters, long gone from the Motherhouse in the service of a patron.”

Annalise didn’t want to ask but couldn’t keep herself from it. “Was she your lover?”

“Lover?” Cassian laughed. “No. She’s my wife.”

S
he was already with the boy. Kellen shared a room with Leonder, both lads asleep. Bertricia had lit a single taper and held back the glow further with the shield of her hand so that it might not wake him.

That she should sit so tenderly on the side of Kellen’s bed, that she should reach to stroke back his hair from his forehead, Cassian found unbearable. His shadow loomed in the doorway. Bertricia turned.

“Hello, Cassian.”

Kellen stirred in his bed, but didn’t wake.

“A word with you. Outside.”

She nodded and stood with a grace he recognized as the benefit of years of training. Age hadn’t stolen her beauty, though the years had given her features an edge they hadn’t, in the past.

He stood aside to allow her to pass. In the hall she looked him up and down. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s been overlong since I saw you last,” Bertricia said. “You look . . . well.”

He looked like he’d crawled up from the depths of the Void. Felt like it, too, his eyes sand-filled and aching from lack of sleep. Once he’d told Annalise of Bertricia’s return, she’d wanted to know all the details. Had demanded them, in fact. Cassian had kept his secrets so tight to his heart for so long he’d been unable to tell her more than the tale’s barest bones.

It hadn’t been enough for her. Had he expected otherwise? Annalise was not a woman accustomed to not being granted her way. It was what he . . .

“Cassian? I know this must be a surprise to you. In sooth, it’s a surprise to me as well. I’d not expected . . . well.” Bertricia gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “Old stories have familiar endings.”

“It would be ridiculous to assume otherwise.”

Her gaze hardened for a moment, but only just that long. She’d spent a long time in service. He wondered if it were beyond her to be anything but serene.

“Is this the game we shall play, then?” Bertricia said.

“This is no game.”

“Ah, yes. I remember overwell how you ever lacked a sense of play, Cassian. I plead your mercy for expecting anything different from you now.”

“As you said,” Cassian replied, “old stories.”

Bertricia drew herself up to her full height, which seemed taller to him than it had in the past. This, too, was because of Annalise, whose head reached the bottom of his chin at just the height to hold her to his chest so they might fit together just right.

“I didn’t come here to reconcile with you. That would be ridiculous and foolish, indeed. So if you’ve a mind to punish me for what happened all those years ago by refusing me, set aside your desire. It can bring you naught but disgrace.” Whatever expression showed upon his face prompted her to frown. “Were you hoping I’d come back to ask you for a second chance, Cassian? So that you might deny me? Or have you hoped to rekindle what we had? Have you been waiting for me all these years?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

In the dark and quiet hall, Bertricia’s laugh was so far from humor as to be laughable itself. “Yes. I believe I do. But you can’t blame me for hoping, at least a little, that you might have been waiting . . . at least a little. Woman I begin and woman I shall end, you know. No woman likes to remember she was cast aside by a man who once loved her above all else.”

“Not above all else,” Cassian said.

Bertricia nodded, her smile tightening. “Ah, yes, well. In that we were both fools.”

“Why did you come back here, Bertricia?” He had to ask, the question burning like bile upon his tongue. Her answer didn’t matter; he wouldn’t like it whatever it was. But he had to hear it from her lips.

“I came back because the Motherhouse always welcomes us when we need a place to go.”

“You’ve left your last patron, then?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Most in service don’t return to the Motherhouse unless they’ve finished their assignment. Then again,” he said, “most Handmaidens don’t take years to bring their patrons to solace.”

Bertricia had ever had a ready temper, smoothed though it may have been by her time in service. Now her jaw firmed and her eyes narrowed, but she spoke in the same cool voice. “This is for the Mothers-in-Service to judge, not you. You’ve chosen to give your life to the Order. Don’t blame me for everything you’ve not done these past years, Cassian. Nobody held you here. Nobody forced you to stay on. You might’ve had a full, rich life, perhaps even a family by now. You made your choices, and I don’t stand here and point out to you all the ways you’ve failed in them. Don’t seek to do so to me.”

“It’s not my place to judge, as you say, your failures. I just want to know what you intend by returning. That’s all.”

She laughed and glanced toward the closed door behind which the Blessings slept. “I owe you no explanations, not even in memory of what we once shared.”

She moved past him, the hem of her gown swirling. He caught a whiff of her perfume, something heady and full of spice, and entirely unfamiliar. Bertricia had ever smelled of lilies. If anything reminded him he no longer knew her, this was it.

“Just so you know,” he said to her back, “I’ll not allow you to take him.”

She paused in her retreat, her back straight, shoulders stiff, her long braid swinging. She didn’t turn to speak, but he had no trouble hearing her. “You had the chance to be the boy’s father long years past, Cassian, and you refused it. You’ve no claim on him, you said so yourself. Do not seek to go against me in this matter. You will lose.”

He had ever lost when it came to Bertricia, but as he watched her walk away, Cassian determined he would not lose against her again.

 

 

F
or an entire cycle of seasons, Cassian and Bertricia had been happy. He, at least, had been more than content with their life together. He’d been overjoyed. He had his beautiful wife and his service to the Faith. His days were filled with study and service and his nights with love.

He missed his brother, his blood, but Calvis had gone off at the bequest of a minor king who’d wished to hire Calvis’s skills with the Art to protect his princess daughter. He didn’t write, and no news came of him, but Cassian knew his brother lived. Would he not know if Calvis died? He’d feel it, he knew it.

So the days passed, and if Bertricia had regrets or complaints, she kept them from her adoring husband. They took the house in which he’d grown up, the one with the garden in which he’d seen her for the first time, and where they’d been married. His father died and his mother gladly gave over the household to Bertricia’s keeping, preferring instead to spend her days sewing or reading or gossiping with friends while her daughter-in-law made sure to keep everything running smoothly.

It was, Cassian knew, the only way they might have had the life to which Bertricia had always been accustomed. He’d told her his life with the priesthood would preclude large houses and the hosting of brannigans, that new gowns every season and the best of everything else wouldn’t be possible. Yet he knew it chafed at her to have to live in his mother’s house, even if the old lady had stepped aside as mistress. Bertricia had been raised a merchant’s daughter who lacked for nothing, and though Cassian would have preferred a small cottage with a vegetable patch and goat, his lady wife would never have settled for it. It made him love her all the more, that she’d agreed to wed him knowing he’d be unable to provide her with the life she’d always known.

He never asked himself why.

And then, his brother returned.