The trio’s movement was uneven but continuous, pausing momentarily when Madison’s pace had exceeded Remy’s ability or when the boy slipped slightly in her frozen fingers. Worried eyes kept darting to his leg as the red liquid discolored his pants, soaked through the hasty pack of gauze and wrapping. The tourniquet loosened slightly but preventing a rapid flow of blood from running down his leg. Urgency kept her heart at a rapid pace, thudding, thudding, thudding against her rib cage. The huntress wanted to run, to get him back to the tavern as quickly as possible. Only once did she cast a hurried glance over her shoulder and saw the trail of hot blood soaking into the snow. Swallowing roughly, she resolved to only focus on the path ahead.
After what felt like an age, they found the dim streets empty of townsfolk with the bright light of the tavern calling to her, a siren song in the night. She had never been so happy to enter a town before. When she kicked open the door with her left foot, it slammed against the wooden wall of the tavern with a resounding smack. The silence of the patrons fell eerily and immediately upon them. Madison did not even consider how they might look as she jostled the sleeping boy just slightly, causing him to awaken. The dogs slipped between her and the doorframe, sitting just inside and flapping their bodies back and forth to release the snow that clung to their thick fur. Normally, their masters would have scolded them but now was not the time for such trivial matters.
The exchange before the boy and his mother might had made her smile, but her focus was singularly on getting Remy to a warm room as swiftly as possible. The thunk of his pack hitting the floor made her eyes flash upward to meet his. He was uncharacteristically pale and looked at her through a half-lidded gaze. The long, chestnut hair on his neck clung there with sweat, the excess trailing down beneath his collar. Fear wound itself into a tight, unyielding knot in the pit of her stomach. Don’t you pass out on me, Remy Sterling. I can’t do this without you. Suddenly, she was wrapped in someone else’s arms and every muscle visibly stiffened. Madison was not exactly a fan of unsolicited physical contact by anyone other than her traveling companions.
The sound of the tremor in Remy’s voice only solidified her oppressive sensation of dread. The bright brass key shone in her hand, a glimmer of hope with no strings attached to it. Maybe saving people wasn’t all bad. She clutched it as the lifeline it was and felt the weak squeeze of the doctor’s hand against her arm. Nodding solemnly, she kept her tone curt but kind with the innkeeper. “Clean cloth. Broth. Hot water. Whiskey.” The words were said over her shoulder as they ascended the steps. The woman’s stout form teetered off, clutching her child to her side. With the key in one hand, she clung to him tightly with the other, taking on the majority of his weight. Just one more step. Almost there, my love. Almost there. The dogs padded behind them and slipped in first after she unlocked the door and allowed it to swing wide.
The room was the largest single bedroom she had seen in the entirety of her short life. The bed to the left was canopied and could have easily fit a full family and a half. A plush, down comforter in a deep green that bordered on black covered the bottom half of the bed with sheets that whispered how soft they might feel against bare skin. A fire already roared in the hearth with two chairs positioned on either side. A delicately carved, intricately fashioned table rested between the broad-backed chairs. For a second only, Madison was awestruck by the opulence of a tavern’s bedroom.
The sound of Remy falling to the bed’s corner drew her back and she leapt into action. She removed his pack and dropped her own bag beside his feet. Without another moment of dalliance, Madison drug the little table to reside close to where he laid back on the bed. She emptied the items she’d need onto it. Fresh gauze. Sutures. A fresh needle. Hemostats. Scissors. The antiseptic recently purchased from the apothecary. It took her a moment of rummaging to find the dried snow caps. The sight of his heavily chest from her position below him sent a surge of adrenaline through her. Don’t pass out. Not yet. Please, Remy, please. She did not fail to notice the discernible grimace as he sat back up, knowing eyes watching her movement. She produced one of their soup bowls, setting it with a quick motion onto the table so that it kept spinning for a few moments. His joke made the corner of her mouth turn upwards. If he could tease then he wasn’t too bad off. “Exactly. I can’t have that.”
Cleaning her hands in the antiseptic, she began to crush the mushrooms between her palms, letting the powder slip from her grip into the bowl below. Deft fingers retrieved and pulverize any pieces that were too large. She unscrewed the liquid antiseptic cap, letting the liquid flow slowly into the bowl. Mixing the concoction with clean fingers, Madison made a paste. She allowed it to mix thoroughly when she turned her attention to the door that creaked open further with a gentle knock. The innkeeper’s husband appeared in the doorway she had left open, carrying a large tray and jug full of hot water cradled in a towel by another servant. Madison tossed her head without a word to the small dining table a few feet from her.
“Anything else you need? We put some food on the tray as well. Please do not hesitate to let us know. We are so grateful. So grateful. Our boy...”
“Thank you, no.” The man got the message that she was not in the mood to talk and backed out of the room and let the door shut with a click behind him and his helper.
Madison produced the small knife from her boot, shook off her jacket and pulled off her sweater. The formed a discarded pile on the back of the chair. The heat from the fire was too much. Sweat began to prickle the back of her neck and run down to touch the top of her black camisole. How can I do this? I’m not the doctor and if I mess it up...then Remy...She undid her hair with practiced hands and then swept it into a messy bun on the crown on her head, out of the way. She cleaned her hands again, this time using some of the hot water the innkeeper had brought. She positioned everything in just the right order that she would need it. Hastily, blue eyes ran over everything. I can do this. I can do this. He told you how to do this. Part of her allowed herself a drop of confidence, only to be quickly shut down. Yeah, but he told you how to do it. He never showed you. You’ve never done this on a living being - on him. A shaking breath was taken to steady herself. With skilled movements, the blade slide through the remaining fabric of his pants on the left side. Modesty was beyond her now as the task lay before her.
The fabric split apart, soaked with blood and the gauze came with it. It fell with a grotesque splat on the floor by her foot. Thick crimson stuck to her fingers and coated her nails by the time she had finished removing his pants up to the tourniquet. The muscles beneath rippled in pain and she could tell it hurt him. Am I even doing this right? He would tell me...wouldn’t he? Placing one of the clean cloths provided by the inn on his wound, Madison applied heavy pressure. “Deep breath in.” She said and as she heard him inhale, she released with rubber of the tourniquet. She could feel the immediate pump of blood beneath her hand but kept her pressure firm. “Can you feel your toes?” The inquiry hung between them as her free hand scooped up the poultice of mushrooms and antiseptic. She withdrew the cloth and wiped away some of the blood. The flow slowed and she looked him in the eyes quickly. I’m sorry. This is not going to feel very good. I’m so sorry.
Madison shoved her fingers as gently as she could into the wound, retrieving more when needed. Snowcap mushrooms, she recalled from their lessons walking through the woods, were a good hemostatic agent. They required a wetting agent to be mixed in and applied inside the area of concern. However, if not done properly they could result in a severe rash to the patient around the surgical site. She placed more and more until it just began to reach the edges of the laceration. The collagen-like quality of the mushroom caused the poultice to expand slightly but not touch the skin beyond the wound’s borders. The blood turned to an extremely slow trickle and she readily wiped away any excess with a cloth damp from the hot water. Careful not to meet his eyes again, Remy’s student sliced up the side of his other pant leg and severe the connection at his waist delicately. With a bit of help from him, she pulled his pants off of him entirely. She had thought about this moment a thousand times, played it over and over again in her mind.
This was not at all how she imagined it.
She waited a long moment, watching as the clot began to form. They would let the packing sit there for a few minutes, making sure she had placed enough before she would begin the rather uncomfortable process of suturing. Madison poured two shots of whiskey into the glass and held it out to him in anticipation of the discomfort she was going to cause. Worried crystalline gaze met his and she searched his face, finding it weary and worn. I love you, you idiot. Please, please let me do this right. The only desire she held was to brush his hair from his eyes, tell him how much she loved him. She longed to kiss his pain away and to take back every bad thing that had ever happened in his life. But now was not the time for that.
“Are you okay?” She finally asked, after all the time that had passed since he had been stabbed defending her life. It was her fault he had gotten hurt. All your fault. If he dies of sepsis, it will be all your fault. Foolishly, she had been too focused on the child to hear the watchman’s approach. If she had heard him, Remy wouldn’t have had to intervene. Lowering herself to her knees in front of him, she supported herself with an elbow on the mattress, reaching for the sutures and holding his gaze. “I need to suture it now. Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” he managed in response to her question, flexing his foot. “I can move my toes just fine.” He reached slowly down to tug loose his laces, then pressed his opposite toe to the heel and slipped the boot free. With a wince, he lifted his lower leg and rotated his ankle. No numbness, no loss of motion—but the act of tensing his thigh muscle sent another rivulet of blood bubbling from the wound, and another flash of pain down his leg and up into his hip.
A wave of lightheadedness washed over him, and he blinked back static at the edges of his vision. The fire burning on the hearth had at first filled the room with a welcome warmth, but now he felt overheated in spite of the cool clamminess of his skin. As Madison prepared the mushrooms and the antiseptic, he shed his coat and sweater, tossing them unceremoniously to the floor. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, mopping his brow with his forearm. He braced himself with his hands flat against the mattress, then looked up at the ceiling. “Okay,” he said tightly, sucking in a deep breath and holding it. “Go ahead.”
The sensation of her fingers inside the wound was as strange as it was painful, and he let out an involuntary low growl with his exhale. But what was perhaps worse was the sting of the alcohol in the styptic tincture, sharp fireworks of pain sparking an unpleasant brightness to the deeper, persistent ache of the laceration. But it worked quickly to staunch the bleeding; he looked down through narrowed eyes to see that the gushing stream had diminished to some minor pooling deeper in the gash. Small waves of pain rippled beneath Madison’s gentle touch as she mopped at the blood with her warm cloth, allowing both of them to inspect beyond the superficial cut.
“At least the fucker kept his knife sharp,” rasped Remy. The smile he attempted twisted quickly into a grimace. It was surreal, being the patient and seeing his own layers of skin and fat and muscle; he’d suffered his fair share of injuries over the years, but never anything quite like this. He looked up and searched for Madison’s gaze, but she pointedly kept her eyes from his as she worked to cut away what remained of his shredded pants. Modesty was the farthest thing from his mind as he shifted his weight and helped her slide the bloodied garment off completely; rather, he was more concerned with Madison’s sudden lapse into worried silence.
“It’s not far into the muscle, and only at the entry point. He didn’t have a great angle.” Trying to keep his voice calm for his companion’s sake as well as his own, he cleared his throat and continued, hoping his words might settle her obvious nerves. “A vertical mattress stitch should be okay for this. The skin above the knee…is a little more forgiving.”
He took the proffered whiskey with a shaking hand, at last meeting her blue eyes with his own. “You can do this, Madison,” he told her matter-of-factly. “You’re my star student, remember?” He tipped the glass back and downed the amber liquid in two quick swallows, the pain in his leg momentarily replaced by the burn of the booze in his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “I’ve lost too much blood…I’m not steady enough to do it myself,” he said apologetically. “I’m going to try my best to stay still, but it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker. Be prepared for that. Approximate the edges as best you can. And don’t pull so hard that the edges turn inward.”
A flare of nervous anticipation cut through the whiskey’s warmth in his belly as Madison lowered herself to the side of the bed and prepared to stitch. The unguarded anxiety in her blue gaze startled him, and he reached out with trembling fingers to brush a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “I’m ready,” he said at last, drawing a deep breath.
But he truly had not been ready. The bite of the needle in already-angry flesh sent a whole new shock of agony rocketing down every nerve fiber in his thigh. He gripped the edge of the bed with white-knuckled force as Madison took the first stitch and began to draw the flesh together.
A deep, agonized groan escaped unbidden from his throat, but he forced himself to look down, watching as the huntress’ deft fingers manipulated the instruments and thread. “Good,” he encouraged, the word barely intelligible. His exhale hissed through clenched teeth as she took the next stitch, and he was forced to close his eyes against the onslaught the sensation brought. “Don't be...afraid...to go deeper...as you keep going...”
The fact of it was that he had indeed lost too much blood. If she had just wrapped his bandage tighter, positioned the tourniquet more securely, then perhaps he wouldn’t be in such a sorry state. Madison shook her head imperceptibly at herself. She could drown in her own thoughts after she sutured the laceration. She could apologize after he was tucked up into the bed, ready to sleep and recover. The words of readiness did not match the quaver in his tone. How she longed to be able to soothe him at this very moment, rather than the be source of more pain for him.
Madison did not waste a moment of hesitation as she drove the needle deep into one side of his flesh. She sought to ignore the noises of protest her uttered, but keep feeling them reverberate through her. Down and up on the opposite side of the wound, a few millimeters of space and she let it bite back down and pulled again on the other. With slightly shaking fingers, the huntress tied the ends of the first stitch together. She trimmed the ends, keeping them short so as not to snag on any other fabric as it healed. The vertical mattress suture held, not too tight but not to loose. It bound the two edges of his torn, reddened flesh together securely. Appraising eyes roved over her handiwork, waiting for it to burst at its seam. When it did not, she moved on to the next stitch. One after another with delicate, but firm, fingers reinserting and then drawing the silk thread through.
As she worked, her confidence grew but his demeanor did not improve. Biting the inside of her cheek, Madison tried to ignore the growing sense of dread at what would happen if one of the suture failed. What if she had not crushed the snow caps correctly or applied to little antiseptic? What if bacteria had already worked its minuscule little talons into his bloodstream? What if she had to watch him waste away, fever growing and body deteriorating from sepsis? A nervous resolve flickered in the pit of her being, fueling the fire inside of her that burned just for him.
Although she did not dare look at him, the healer’s apprentice knew the pain that was etched into the beautiful planes of his face. If any artistic talent rested in her body, she would have been able to draw every whisker, every line on his lips. Finally, she placed the eleventh suture, the final one, and tied it off. Using the cooling water that the innkeeper had sent up, she wet another clean cloth. As gently as she could, she dabbed at the dried blood on his leg until none remained. Madison admired the work she had done. It was good work and pride swelled inside of her chest, until her eyes drifted up to him and saw how pale he was and the slight sway as he sat there.
“Fuck. Remy? Remy!” She whispered his name as she shook his shoulder gently. She used the damp cloth to dab at his forehead and then against his neck. When she finally received some semblance of a response, she sighed softly. Relief slid across her body like a lover’s caress, like his hand across her abdomen in the cabin loft. “You’re burning up. Let’s get you away from the fire. You need to rest. Come on.” Madison helped him hobble, shakily around to the side of the bed. All he had on were his briefs and his thin shirt and still she could feel the sweat dampening his skin. “Let’s get you comfortable so I can continue to berate you for your ridiculous act of heroism.” She teased gently, to hide her concern and her relief that the physical trials were over. Each movement, however small, hurt him and she had felt each needle insertion in her heart. Madison drew back the thick covers, tossing them to the opposite side of he massive bed.
“There we go.” She murmured, lifting his leg up and onto the mattress. “Breathe through it, if you can.” Once he was positioned, laying back on multiple pillows, she retrieved and unused one and slipped it under his leg, to keep it bent and keep his thigh from flexing. Madison took a moment for herself then, brushing back a strand of his hair. Delicate fingers brushed his warm forehead. The amount of love she held in her body was only portrayed a fraction through her gaze. “I could have lost you, you idiot.” She moved to sit by his head, back straight. Gently, she brushed her fingers across his forehead, moving his hair away from his face, looking down at him. The tension in all his limbs began to melt away and she felt a little more at ease, though not out of the woods.
“I’m sorry...” She whispered the words, the tight ball of worry bound up inside her core squeezed the breath out and the apology followed. “I should have...I should have paid more attention.” The worry moved to her throat, constricting and contorting her voice so that it can out shakily. Blue eyes lifted to the ceiling, searching for the right words to say amongst the light wood pattern. They did not come. “I...I don’t know what I would have done if he had killed you.”
As the smattering of scars across his body would attest, this was not the first time Remy had found himself waylaid by an injury. But despite the fact that he’d felt worse acute physical pain in his lifetime, nothing quite compared to this particular breed of sustained torment. Compounded by exhaustion and blood loss and the vicious bite of the sutures themselves, the agony built up in a relentless crescendo that the whiskey couldn’t touch.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his temples. He couldn’t watch her anymore; instead, he clenched his watering eyes closed and counted each time the needle punctured his skin—four per stitch, two in and two out. Three, four… He gritted his teeth. Five, six, seven, eight. It took all his willpower to keep the muscle relaxed beneath Madison’s touch. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…dear god, let this be over soon. His breaths came ragged now, and he recognized the sorry state he was in even if he couldn’t vocalize it.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. He had stitched his own flesh once before, as an apprentice; Dr. Sterling had insisted on taking full advantage of a minor cut young Remy had sustained while sharpening his knife. It was an excellent opportunity for a student, his teacher had argued, not only to practice on living tissue, but to learn what the procedure might feel like to a patient. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three. Of course, that had been a considerably smaller injury, and he’d had the benefit of a weak anesthetic to take the edge off the pain. Thirty-five… It had left him with the crooked silvery scar on his left wrist—and a lot more empathy for future wounded patients in his care.
Thirty-nine, forty…
But it certainly had not prepared him for an injury of this magnitude, and imagining it now, he coughed out a laugh that was so strangled it may as well have been a cry. From what seemed like a million miles way, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. And someone was speaking his name through the murky blur his thoughts had become.
Oh… “Shit,” he swore, forcing his eyes open. The sight of Madison’s face just inches from his own would have been a pleasant way to return to reality had her expression not been so dire, and his pain not so overwhelming. He draped his arm over her shoulders and hoisted himself upright, biting his lip against the vertigo that threatened to topple him as she guided him to the opposite side of the bed. The distance from the heat of the fire was an immediate and welcome relief. “Do…do you have any water?” he rasped.
With steadier hands this time, Remy took the canteen she offered him and downed several large swallows of cool water. “Better me than you,” he replied, the matter-of-factness of his tone belying the deep ache that had settled in his thigh. His stormy eyes met hers, and a pang of warm affection cut through the physical anguish. “Madison,” he whispered, reaching out weakly to trace a finger along her jaw. “No, I won’t let you apologize. You were doing your job, talking to the kid. And I was doing mine. Protecting you.”
A smile that looked more like a wince curved his lips. “If he had killed me,” he speculated, “you wouldn’t have had to haul my bloody ass back here. You could be sipping a bottomless chalice of wine in the bath right now, with the Graftons waiting on you hand and foot. Living like a queen, instead of kneeling in a pool of my blood.” He reached out and took her hand, their bloodstained fingers intertwining effortlessly. Gratitude shone in his eyes when he looked up. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for fixing me up…and for, you know, not leaving me for the wolves and all that.”
Madison retrieves the canteen for him, making sure to remove the lid herself. His little remaining strength should be reserved for healing. The loving look in his eyes warmed her heart but also sent a pang of distress running straight through her body. The urge to lean into his touch, to slide her body down beside his, nearly overwhelmed her. She sought to be close to him, to cradle him in her arms to keep everything bad that had ever happened to him at bay. She contained her baser desires, opting instead to stroke his damp forehead, brushing his hair back one strand at a time. His tease brought out a nervous bark of laughter that dissolved into a soft giggle.
“Mmm, you paint such a beautiful picture. Maybe I should have left you to die out there so I could reap the benefits for myself. I could be sitting in that chair over there,” she gestured towards the fire with their bound hands, “bathed and refreshed and eating the innkeepers out of house and home.” Fingers unlaced and bound back with his, over and over, bits of dried blood drifting down to the sheets with her movements. “I’d have servants brush my hair with a hundred strokes and the plait my hair in a braided crown. Queen of this little town.” Madison smiled down at him, heart thudding in her chest.
“But you don’t mean that, Remy.” The volume of her voice dropped low, a murmur above the crackle and hiss of the fire across the room. Bright blue eyes pricked with emotion at the thought of actually losing him, of leaving him behind amongst the tall, rustling pines and the blood-soaked snow. “Your life has far more value than mine.” Brown head tilted back, resting against the intricate carved headboard of the large bed. A slow inhalation through her nose and she raised back up to meet his half-lidded gaze. “You are so important.” She could tell, from her vantage above him, that he didn’t believe her. Stubbornly, the huntress tore her hands out of his and shifted from beside and behind him to rest in front of him. Concerned eyes searched the depths of his, placing her hand against the stubble at his cheek.
“Listen to me very carefully, roadwalker. Even though you have about as much self preservation instinct as a newborn puppy, you are worth so much more than another woman with a vendetta.” Madison utilized some of the vocabulary words garnered through their evening reading lessons over the previous months. “You can do so much more good in this terrible, horrible place than I can. So do not, ever, throw your life away. Do you understand me?” She brought her lips to his forehead, to his cheek, to his lips. Each touch was brief, loving and gentle. “And if your vastly superior worldly worth doesn’t convince you, then just don’t throw yourself in front of men’s sharp knives because I love you. And I don’t want to be without you for a single second.” Releasing her hold on his face, she moved away. The emotions overwhelmed her and she needed to step away lest tears trickle down her cheeks.
Madison stripped down, feeling suddenly very hot. She kept on her camisole, wearing only her leggings on her bottom. The woman born of cold and ice even removed her socks and let her bare feet tread across the wooden floor beyond the carpet. Dirty fingers wet another cloth in the water that was nearly room temperature. She wiped her face and then hands, cleaning beneath her fingernails. As she worked, her mind raced over his conviction that her life was more important than his. How ridiculous did he have to be to believe that a hunter was more valuable than a doctor? How addled his weary mind must be to think someone as broken and twisted as she had more worth than the kind, giving heart that he possessed? The influence he could have, the positive effect on the people of this godforsaken world so far outweighed hers. Madison sighed, and looked down.
Hungry eyes drifted over the pile of food sitting on the tray beside the water jug. Slices of bread and cheeses and....Madison poked the cured meats and little glass containers of jam. Everything suddenly smelled fantastic and her stomach grumbled at the idea of eating after the strenuous day they had. She pushed the food aside mentally, moving back to Remy. “Give me your hands.” Taking them carefully, she cleaned them thoroughly before returning with a selection of the food on a provided plate.
“Think you can eat?” She dipped a piece of the bread into what must have been an apricot jam. Madison tasted it and gasped, surprised. Surprise flickered across her worn face and a smile lit her lips. She had read about jellies and spreads but to taste something like this. It was sweet and a little tart at the same time. The noise she made after the gasp was a soft groan of pure pleasure. “You have to try this though. It’s like...” she shoved another piece smeared with a form of apple butter into her mouth. “Ohmygod.” The word was an amalgamation of three separate ones and then the final syllable drawn out in an orgasm of the palate. Eager to share it, she held some out to him with a small smile.
“That’s not true. It’s not.” His throat tightened against the words, and he leaned his head back against the pillow, avoiding Madison’s earnest gaze. “My life is not…” He paused, strained. “My life is worth no more than anyone else’s. Especially not yours.”
He stared at the smooth cloth of the bed canopy above, his own blue eyes stormy with emotion. In that moment, with the residual pain of his wound throbbing in his leg and the sheer exhaustion of the day catching up to him, he wanted nothing more than to reveal it all—to tell her exactly what his life was worth, and precisely why he deserved none of her kindness. After all, he’d heard the words from her own lips: her mission was not only to kill the commander, but also to put an end to his son. By virtue of his vicious pedigree alone, he deserved to have been left to exsanguinate in the snow. Especially at her hand.
Instead, the woman to whom the world had been so unspeakably cruel had saved the life of the very man she’d vowed to eliminate.
Would you still love me if you knew I have the blood of a monster in my veins? His eyelids fluttered closed against a wave of pain, but this time the ache was not a physical one. Madison deserved to know. She had become his friend, his partner, his confidante…and he loved her in a way he hadn’t known it was possible to love. He had taken a knife for her in the forest, but he would have just as readily given his life. It wasn’t fair to keep his past from her…and yet, he had fought his entire life to make his true identity irrelevant. To that cursed existence he would never return—Gregoray Remington Walther II was as good as dead.
Madison’s featherlight touch against the stubble of his cheek forced him to lift his head again and meet her gaze. The affection in her bright azure eyes was shadowed only by genuine concern, which simultaneously prompted a bud of warmth in his chest as well as a pang of renewed guilt. “I would do it again,” he murmured with immutable certainty, “I would do it a thousand times to save the woman I love.” His words buzzed with the same deep intensity that gleamed in his eyes, and he pressed his cheek against the soft pressure of her palm until she pulled her hand away.
The gentle crackle of the fire filled the quiet that settled between them with a soft percussive rhythm. Remy obeyed when Madison returned with the water and cloth, gladly surrendering his hands to her impossibly gentle touch. He watched her face as she worked, her eyes downcast as she focused on scrubbing away the last of the crimson stains between his fingers. Unabashed affection and gratitude shone through the exhaustion in his expression. When she finished and came back with the plate of food, he offered her a weak smile.
“I don’t want to overdo it. Some bread, maybe, plain,” he said, selecting a piece from the tray. The agony of the suture’s needle still haunted his nerves like a specter, and combined with the blood loss and general weariness, the thought of consuming anything at all made him feel nauseous. But eating would keep up his strength and his blood sugar, he reminded himself, so he took a tentative bite. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had good bread,” he declared, more than a little amazed. This particular slice was so soft it practically melted on his tongue. His small, exhausted smile broadened at her adorable reaction to the jelly, and he leaned forward—not without a wince—and placed a hand firmly on her knee.
“Madison, listen…I…” He looked down, then back up again, blue eyes dark with feeling. “I can’t imagine a world without you in it. After you fell in the river…” His breath caught at the memory. “I was lost. When I didn’t know if you would make it, I was lost. So I will protect you until my last breath, Madison Gallow, not because you need it, but because I need you. I love you. Okay?”
The flavor of the jellies and butters lingered on her tongue as the whisper of her anxiety over his condition lingering in her core. After shoving a number of bites of food into her mouth, attempting to quell the emotion rumbling inside of her, Madison made sure that he ate some of the plain bread. It was more than he likely wanted to eat but he needed his energy so his body could heal while he slept. “Isn’t it just the best bread you’ve ever had?” She said between mouthfuls, honestly but also encouraging him to consume more of the soft food with the perfect crust. Pale sapphire eyes shone brightly at him, trying to keep his spirits up even though she had not missed the winces of pain and grimaces of discomfort that flickered across his features.
The way he said her name, the soft cadence as it rolled off his tongue caught her attention, as it always had and always would. She paused brining the yellow cheese to her lips, lowering her hand back to the plate. And where is hand usually conveyed a gentle warmth, she felt a searing heat combine with the weight of what he wanted to say. Each word that left his mouth made her heart swell, larger and larger, until she knew that she would do that same for him. Madison would die for him if he asked for it, if the opportunity came to choose her life versus his...it would always be his she’d save. And how could she not expect him to say and do the same? Their love transcended logic and reason and was reciprocated and compounded upon exponentially.
Madison would never love anyone the way she loved him. If love had to power to be physically manifested, the huntress would move mountains with a flick of her wrist. She’d summon great floods with a twitch of her fingers and set the world ablaze with but a thought. So great was her love, that it sent a shiver down her spine to hear the feelings she carried inside echoed by his lips. A heated blush arose on her cheeks and rushed back towards the tips of her ears. She looked down, almost embarrassed but her own emotions. “Okay.” She whispered, softly, in response. Silence enveloped them for a moment as emotions raged inside of her, tumbling about like a barrel down a turbulent stream.
Rising, the plate was discarded to the bedside table. Madison took his face in her hands, as gently as she was able and kissed him - long and slow with all the love she had in her. It was not passionate the way their fevered embraces were in the cabin. A gentleness flowed from her mouth to his as one hand moved from his cheek to his chest. She drew back then and slowly pushed him back onto the pillows. “And I love you, roadwalker. Always.” She smiled at him, brushing back his damp hair on his left side. “Forever.” Affection swept through her as she gazed at him. She repositioned herself beside himself, resting one elbow on the plush pillow above his head.
“Now sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything.” And she was. Madison sat beside him, gently brushing the hair across his forehead in a comforting, repetitive motion, until Remy’s eyes grew heavier. She watched as his body struggled to fight it at first before all the tension slipped away like a ship into the night. Remaining there until she heard the repetitive breathing of his slumber, Madison thanked whatever was out in the universe that it was his outer thigh and not a few more inches inward to severe his femoral artery. Madison busied herself with feeding the dogs the remaining food and the cooled water. They happily ate and settled themselves on the rug in front of the fire, snow melting around them onto floor from their paws. She looked at herself, blood on her camisole and a smear on her leggings. Sighing, she stripped down, her back to Remy just in case as a flush of embarrassment shot up her spin. Madison dressed in a loose shirt that had a fading image of a sunset on it and the only other pair of leggings she possessed. She picked his ruined pants from the floor and tossed them into the pile of soiled rags and cloth. A number of tasks raced through her mind as exhaustion extended his slow claws into her. A stretch lengthened her body and she crawled on the other side of the bed and did not even recall closing her eyes.
Morning came and went. Still they slept. The thick, presumably velvet curtains, kept the light at bay and Madison was only awoke when Damien began to pace and low whine beside her. Blearily, she looked at him and then the curtains. It had to be nearly midday. Adrenaline surged through her suddenly at the thought of having slept so late, before she recalled all the events of the previous day. She was safe. He was safe. She twisted to look at him, seeing the easy rise and fall of his chest. With a delicate hand, she drew the cover back from him to see his leg. Sutures remained securely in place and the tissue showed no signed of infection or atrophy. Smiling at her handiwork, she allowed the cover drift back down. With all the stealth she could muster, she slipped from the bed and walked towards the door, clicking softly for the dogs to follow. Magnolia looked terribly skeptical at leaving Remy alone but complied begrudgingly.
Already patrons were seated at tables, conversing and eating their noontime meal. When she descended the stairs, disheveled and loosely garbed, everything stopped. Dozens of eyes fell on her and the dogs. Movement ceased and she felt heat rise on the back of her neck. Apprehensive at the attention, Madison moved quickly towards the back door, partially blocked from view of everyone, and allowed the dogs to rush out, sniffing and searching. Noise resumed but in hushed tones and she was not so foolish as to believe they’d discuss anything other than her. As she stood partition, Mrs. Grafton came bustling back, drying her hands on her apron.
“Mrs. Sterling. Mrs. Sterling. How is the good doctor? Was everything to your satisfaction? Is there anything you need?” The slurry of questions fell upon her light snow sliding and crashing off a rooftop. Blinking rapidly, the supposed doctor’s wife tried to figure out what to say.
“Uh....yes...we are fine.” Magnolia was already back at her side, whereas Damien searched a bit further off. Trapped, waiting for him, Madison continued, “But is there somewhere to bathe? And I’ll need some fresh clothes from the tailor for my husband. Where is the tailor so that I can go find something.”
As she talked, Mrs. Grafton already began to wave her hands in dismissal of the other woman’s request. “Notta worry, Notta worry. We will bring the bath to you with the hottest water we have. More food, of course, you must be half starved. And I will send the tailor to your door. And you shall not pay a cent, no a single fleck of copper shall exchange hands. We shall take care of it all. “ She snapped her fingers at one of the serving boys and whispered into his ear. He darted off like a jackrabbit among the brush and Mrs. Grafton smiled at her broadly. “The boys will be up with the bath in moments and some food. We’ll fetch the tailor straight after and you both shall have new clothing. Then, perhaps, at dinner, you both could tell us...what occurred. My son...does not speak about it yet.”
Madison’s blue eyes flickered over the woman and her overtures of generosity. “I- that isn’t necessary. Really. The room is enough and the food.”
“Notta worry, Notta worry. My boy is worth the entire contents of this town. You just take your gorgeous dogs up and they’ll follow shortly.” She shooed Madison away in typical motherly fashion and Damien can bounding in behind her.
Opening the door again, Remy still lay sleeping, thought turned now and again. Madison had barely moved to close the door behind her and three men appeared, rolling a large basin big enough for three people into the room. She motioned to the sleep doctor and the servants moved silently. They placed the extravagant tub in front of the dwindled fire. One man quickly stoked the embers back to life, adding logs and kindling to send it roaring. They moved with silent efficiency, filling the basin with steaming water. The fluffiest blankets- no towels- were placed on one of the chairs. More towels than a whole family would need to utilize.
At last, the silent workers finished by placing a large platter of soup, bread, cheeses and dried fruit. There was even a bottle of what she could only assume was wine beside the platter when she finally had a moment to take it all in. Madison looked down at the steam rising off the surface of the massive tub and the urge to strip and slip inside welled up inside of her. Pale skin felt coated in a thick layer of grime, a mixture of snow and sweat and blood. The sensation of clean skin lured her towards the water. To scrub it off with the offered soaps and perfumes and to wash her hair and let it dry by the crackling fire. A sigh escaped her.
The examination of the additions to the water began and she found a nice smelling salt that said simply “add to water.” Dropping a few of the pieces in, a pleasant aroma wafted towards her and bubbles dappled the surface of the water, coating it in a froth. Smiling, she was thankful that she had been able to read the inscription after all the repetition of their books. Casting a quick glance over at Remy’s stirring (but still slumbering) form, Madison stripped from her clothing and into the bath. Heat suffused through her and she felt the tension in her stomach melt away into the warmth. All of the tight knots in her body began to uncoil, loosened by a little bit of relaxation. Madison tilted her head back so her head rested against the rim of the tub.
Now this she could grow accustomed to.
Sleep overtook him easily. The harder Remy fought to keep his eyes open, the faster he succumbed to its call. And it was little wonder—between the day’s travels, the injury itself, and the agony of unanesthetized sutures, his abused body had little choice but to shut down in order to jump-start the healing process. He slipped into a blissful, pain-free unconsciousness, the stress and anguish etched on his features dissolving away along with the tension in his muscles.
He stirred once several hours later, prompted awake by the throbbing in his thigh. The fire had dimmed to faint glowing embers, which painted the room in a low, steady crimson light. Disoriented, he propped himself up on his elbows with a grimace and peered through his lashes in search of Madison. Damien perked his head up from his position near the hearth and regarded him curiously, then lowered his snout back to the floor in disinterest when Remy made no further movement.
The huntress slept at his side with her back to him. Half-asleep though he was, he smiled to himself at the sight of her, warm affection blossoming in his chest and momentarily dampening the pain that had roused him. Her long hair had come unfastened from its knot and spilled over her shoulders to rest on the cloudlike pillows at the head of the bed. He watched her shoulders rise and fall until his eyes slowly closed, and he drifted back asleep to the soft, reassuring rhythm of her breaths.
His slumber was dreamless, at first; his tired brain seemed too spent to conjure even a fleeting picture. But as the night brightened to dawn behind the thick velvet curtains, vivid images flickered to life behind his eyelids.
—
The scene was blurry. Remy couldn’t seem to focus his eyes; no matter how rapidly he blinked, a bright white haze persisted and shrouded any recognizable clues as to where he stood. Nevertheless, a feeling of unsettling familiarity settled heavily on his shoulders, like a wool blanket—reassuring in its warmth, yet its scratchy texture itched just a little too much to get comfortable.
It dawned on him suddenly that it wasn’t his vision that was the problem, but rather a murky fog that hung thick in the air. He narrowed his eyes and peered through the mist, which now billowed inexplicably like clouds on a breeze he could not actually feel. Tentatively, he took a step forward. His feet were bare and met a cool, hard floor—tile, he realized, a mosaic of small hexagons outlined in dark grout, stretching in all directions into the abyss.
Another step. And then another. Before he realized it, he was running blind through the steam, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead. A dark outline emerged from the bleakness in the distance, indistinct until it moved. A person, crouched low, head bowed.
He came to an abrupt halt before the figure—a woman clad in a forest green robe, kneeling on a plush crimson rug. “Are you all right?” he tried to ask, but when his mouth opened, a gasp loud as a thunderclap echoed into the nothingness instead.
The trembling woman who looked up at him was his mother. Or at least how he remembered her…her face was hazy around the edges, not unlike the fog that pressed in around them on all sides.
“Please, Gregoray,” she pleaded, panic in her wide eyes. The velvet carpet beneath her knees melted into a shimmering liquid of syrupy scarlet blood, a little too bright to be real. Still, a wave of terror seized him.
“Mother,” he tried to say, but no sound left his throat. He reached out to her. Was his mouth even moving? “Is this your blood?”
He jumped at the pressure of a rough hand on his shoulder, and when he turned around, it was a face whose sneer he dimly recognized—the watchman from the woods. A toothy, animalistic grin curled the man’s thin lips over crooked teeth. “Who’s this we have here?” the vile watchman sneered…
…but it was the commander’s voice that came out when he spoke.
Remy’s eyes widened in horror as the watchman’s round face elongated and sharpened, sculpted by an invisible hand to become his father’s stately visage. The barbaric grin smoothed into a calm, charismatic smile that might have put a stranger at ease, but turned Remy’s blood to ice.
His mother fell forwards onto her hands as though shoved from behind, palms completely submerged in the tidepool of impossibly-red blood. “Gregoray,” she repeated, voice cracking. “Please…”
It was no longer clear to whom she spoke—Remy, or to his father.
Remy tried once more to speak. “Are you hurt?” He was screaming now, throat aching with the force of it, but still no sound departed his lips. “Mother, are you hurt?” He dropped to his knees at her side, sending a wave of thick vermillion washing over the commander’s polished boots.
The commander looked down, his smile quickly replaced with sour disappointment. “Zinnia is an awfully pretty name for such a wretched whore,” he drawled. “Don’t you think so, son?”
Remy draped an arm over his mother’s shoulders, trying to lift her to her feet. She remained where she was, impossibly heavy, hands submerged and head down. Silent tears plummeted unceremoniously to the blood below. If he could just get her to stand, maybe they could flee. Maybe he could save her.
His father chuckled, the type of tricky, disingenuous laugh he performed at dinner parties—a convincing charade to all but the very few who knew him best. Rage bubbled up in Remy’s chest. But before he could react, the commander drew a pistol from the gilded holster at his belt, outstretched his arm, and pulled the trigger.
The shot erupted from the short barrel with a perfectly hushed muzzle flash. Remy’s scream was equally silent as he watched the soundless bullet perforate his mother’s skull. She crumpled to the ground, hitting the hexagonal tile where the red puddle had been only seconds before—or at least she would have, had her body not blinked from existence, as though she had never been there at all…
Remy collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands where his mother should have been. When he looked up, unbridled fury burning in his blue eyes, his father no longer stood over him.
It was Madison.
Confusion flashed across his features, and then relief. “Thank god,” he breathed, at last able to speak again. He rocked back onto his knees and smiled, drying residual tears from his cheeks with his stained sleeve. “Madison.”
She stepped up to him, drawing her long Bowie knife from its sheath in her jacket.
His brows knit together. “Madison, what are you doing?”
The knife was at his throat in an instant, its needle-sharp tip sinking delicately into the skin beneath his jaw. He inhaled with a hiss and threw up his hands defensively. Heart slamming against his ribs, he tore his attention away from the silver glint of the blade and desperately sought Madison’s gaze. But her unwavering expression startled him…her blue eyes gleamed with unmistakable bloodlust, and her mouth was set in a hard, merciless line.
“This is for my father,” she whispered, voice completely devoid of emotion. She slid the blade surgically along the underside of his jaw. Hot, wet blood spilled from the shallow wound and ran down his neck. “And this…” She paused.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Remy tried to whimper, tears spilling from his eyes. Didn’t she know him? “Madison, it’s me!” he wanted to roar. “I’m not the watchman…I’m not the commander…” Could she even hear him?
“And this is for my mother.” She thrust the deadly weapon upward, burying the blade in Remy’s flesh to the hilt—piercing below his jaw, cleaving the roof of his mouth, shattering bone. He could feel the warmth of his blood on his knees as it pooled on the floor. “It was your blood all along, Gregoray,” she murmured in his ear as he faded, the last words he heard before surrendering to the cold, unforgiving blackness.
—
Remy opened his eyes slowly, as though afraid to find he might still be dreaming. He blinked dazedly against a narrow sliver of warm daylight that slipped between the thick draperies on the window. Reality ventured back to him with a wave of relief so powerful he almost welcomed the dull pain that returned along with it. He was safe in their suite at the inn, tucked into the luxurious bed, surrounded by four painted walls and warmed by a heartily crackling fire, and…
“Madison?” the physician said out loud, sitting up abruptly. He winced against a shock of pain at the sudden motion, and when he opened his eyes fully, he saw the gargantuan basin—the stack of towels—the back of the young woman’s head and neck and bare shoulders—oh.
“Sorry.” Startled, he quickly averted his gaze. He stared straight ahead and ran a hand through his unruly hair, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes with balled fists. Whatever residual fear and uneasiness might have lingered from his nightmares quickly dissipated at the sight of her in the bath, the surface of the water obscured by tufts of scented white bubbles.
He cleared his throat and swung his legs carefully to the side of the bed, sliding from beneath the silken sheet and resting his feet on the floor. He wiggled his toes and rotated his ankle experimentally, then examined his sutured wound as closely as he could. The flesh near the laceration was swollen and pink but not enflamed, and Madison’s meticulous stitches had approximated and everted the edges to near perfection. A kernel of pride swelled in his chest.
Careful to bear his weight on his good leg, he rose to his feet and stretched. As he lifted his arms and felt the air on his midriff as his shirt rose, he was suddenly keenly aware that he wore only his sweat-stained tee and briefs—and Madison, well, presumably she wore nothing at all.
Gingerly, he took a step forward, bracing himself on the canopy bedpost. He gritted his teeth against the ache, but it was nothing compared to the previous night. “Your sutures look damn near perfect,” he told her as he made his way around the foot of the bed, approaching her with a look caught somewhere between mischief and uncertainty. He sat on the edge of the mattress closest to the tub now, angling his thigh to show her the site. He cleared his throat again. “It’s a good thing you’re having a bath,” he said teasingly. He shook his head back and forth to drive home his point, his long hair a wild halo around his face, which was also in desperate need of a shave. “You were starting to look pretty rough.”
The huntress soaked in the steaming water, her skin turning pale pink at the heat that coated her in the liquid comfort held by the extraordinarily large bathtub. Brown hair streaked with ribbons of gold hung over the side of the basin as she basked in the pulses of flickering warmth from the fire, blissfully unaware that her lover was imagining her revenge played out on his body in the precise manner that she had ended the pedophilic watchman’s life. Thoughts of Remy occupied her own mind, but they were much more....pleasant that what he was currently dreaming of. A different sort of heat flared across his hipbones and she submerged herself in the bath to shake the sensation. Emerging once more, long tendrils of wet hair clung to her back. Madison sat more erect than before, her upper body partially out of the water, facing the fire. Slender fingers ran through her hair, working on the knots as she barely registered her name filling the room.
Madison blinked and turned slightly, lowering herself back into the basin enough to cover the upper curve of her breasts. The bubbles lapped at her collarbone as the water was stirred to life by her movement. Crystalline blue eyes turned to watch him avert his stormy gaze and a blush danced across her nose to her cheeks. A turbulent swell of emotions rocked her as she felt embarrassed at the luxuries she had taken while he rested, anxiety at the thought of being completely bare in the same room that he occupied and excited at some unknown possibilities that hung between them in this expansive, private room they shared. Swallowing, she slipped under the water to bring her hair back and away from her face.
Wary gaze watched his movements like a mother bear monitored her cubs. Each step he took, a muscle in her legs twitched, ready to propel herself from the bath to catch him if needed. He made surprisingly good progress and she relaxed back a little. Damp arms rested on the tub’s rim, bent at the elbow so that she could rest her chin on her stacked hands. Madison tried to pointedly ignore the thin white shirt and briefs he wore, but it was possibly one of the more difficult tasks she had undertaken. Adamant gaze remained trained on his face, taking his appearance in only through her peripheral vision. Until, of course, he indicated his sutures. The bathing huntress lowered her gaze down to the sutures and could not suppress a beaming smiling of pleasure at his proud words of approval. Only to quickly turn her mouth downward into a mock scowl.
“You’re one to talk.” She retorted as she dipped a hand into the water and threw it out at him, a few droplets splashing against his sweat and blood stained stained shirt. A mischievous grin set itself on her lips. Madison’s chest swelled with happiness at his teasing, knowing that it meant his pain was not nearly as great as the previous day. “You look like a cross between a human and a grizzly bear, resembling one of the fae creatures that’s more animal than man. We could remedy that...if you’d care to join me?”
Drifting across to the opposite side of the tub, she leaned her back against the warm metal, cocking one eyebrow up. She kept her eyes trained on him, but allowed them to explore the length of his body. The bubbles floated in quickly to cover the surface of the water and she absently played with them with her hands, before reaching for a bottle of shampoo. Before dispensing it into her hands, she brought it to her nose. It smelled of lavender with a touch of mint, so pleasantly so that she closed her eyes as she inhaled. Working the product through her tendrils, she let it soak up all of the dirt. A slow, suggestive smile slid across her lips, before it turned into more of a teasing smirk.
“How are you feeling?” Madison allowed her attempt to seduce him into the still warm waters to disappear with the same sudden pop as the bubbles in the bath. “Can your leg bear any weight?” She began to ask the slew of questions he had told her were important after such traumas. As much as Remy teased her, she really was his star pupil. “You should also eat. “ A flick of her wrist at the table to the side, stacked with an assortment of foods. “They brought fresh food this morning when they brought up my bath.” At the mention of the basin again, the thrilling ache of desire flickered to life in her center. It was often said that near death experiences made people crave being alive, feeling alive. All that kept coming back to Madison was the need to be close to him. She stamped it down like she would the last embers of their evening fires.
Now was not the time.
“The Graftons are sending a tailor after we bathe, to make you some new clothing. Though, honestly, this is not a bad look on you.” The itch to kiss him came back in full force as she allowed her gaze to drift over his bare legs. What is happening to me? Madison slipped beneath the surface of the water again in an attempt to hide the heat that rushed up her neck and across her face. The shampoo rinsed from her hair and left a silky sensation to the strands as she rose out of the water again, closer to him this time. “But you really do need to take a bath before the tailor arrives or they may be unwilling to make you pants.”
“Hey!” he protested, lifting his arms futilely against the foamy splash propelled by Madison’s playful hand. The water, warm and lightly scented with lavender, spattered across his chest, sparing the opulent bed from their giddy antics. He looked down at the damp stain with mock betrayal, barely suppressing a grin. “Look what you’ve done!” he declared, stretching out the fabric of the grimy tee. “You’ve ruined my best shirt.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I guess I have no choice now but to do this…”
He reached back and tugged at the threadbare fabric, pulling it up and over his head in one fluid motion. He tossed it unceremoniously to his feet, where it landed in a small heap near a small streak of scarlet on the floorboards. His eyes hovered upon it for a moment—clearly the spot where his saturated gauze had fallen, discarded, and Madison must have scrubbed the worst of the stain away as he'd writhed obliviously in pain. A disconcerting vision of the vermillion pool of blood from his nightmare flashed unbidden before his mind’s eye. It was your blood all along, Gregoray.
But it was gone in an instant, and Remy swallowed away the lump in his throat as quickly as it had lodged there.
The half-smile on his lips broadened at Madison’s expression as she perched with her chin on the metal rim of the tub. He remained seated on the edge of the bed, his back safely out of sight, but now they were one step closer to being in equal states of undress—he in his briefs alone, and she clothed solely in swirls of perfumed bubbles. His torso was certainly not unfamiliar territory to her eyes or her hands, yet judging by the crimson in her cheeks that deepened as her eyes unabashedly traversed his bare body, their mutual near-nakedness was as thrilling for her as it was for him. A blush blossomed across his own cheeks, mercifully hidden beneath his thick stubble.
“Can I put weight on it?” he repeated, tapping a finger to his chin in mock thought. “Let’s find out.” He rose to his feet and took a confident step toward her, wincing only a little as the muscle flexed. He limped a little on the leg but closed the gap between them in just three more steps. Then, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Madison’s head, he leaned down and captured her lips in his. “Yes,” he said, pulling away just far enough to speak, “it looks like the answer is yes.”
Straightening again, Remy angled himself toward the table where Madison had gestured to the food. The lean muscles in his chest and abdomen were rendered sharper by dehydration and hunger, the gentle firelight outlining his physique in dancing shadows. Now aware of the presence of food, his stomach rumbled as the prospect of a meal. He shuffled carefully to the table, sat in one of the upholstered dining chairs—his back once again safely facing the wall—and began to help himself to the veritable banquet waiting there. He tore pieces of the soft bread with the flaky trust and dipped them in the soup broth, pacing himself until his empty belly got used to the idea of something being in it once again.
He watched as she worked the shampoo and conditioner through her water-darkened locks while he ate, a smile curling his lips. “If I wasn’t injured,” he drawled between alternating mouthfuls of cheese and fruit, “I hope you know I’d be jumping right in that tub with you and showing you my appreciation.” The casual matter-of-factness of his tone summoned another blush to his cheeks, as though he couldn’t quite believe he’d been so forward. He took a swig directly from the bottle of wine and leaned back in the chair. “A tailor, huh,” he said, a small part of him relieved for the change of subject. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t scare away a tailor. Although…” The other part of him, the one that had fervently meant every word he’d spoken, produced a mischievous grin, and he rose to his feet to approach the tub once more. “I can’t say I’m not glad you approve of the look…”
Remy slipped his hand just beneath the surface of the water and sent a small retaliatory splash to Madison. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of her knee beneath the ripples; the bubbles had begun to dwindle on the surface, and would soon be leaving far less to the imagination.
“Looks like your cover is disappearing,” he said, making a show of his lingering gaze with a grin. He grabbed two of the plush white towels—one he draped over his own shoulders, not only to conceal his damning tattoo but also to ward off the chill of being unclothed with a belly full of sustenance; the other, he opened wide to act as a privacy curtain while Madison exited the water. When she stood, he wrapped the cloth around her tightly and pulled her into his arms. Her lithe body was warm in his embrace, and he breathed in the scent of lavender and mint with the steam that emanated from her skin.
“Look at us,” he chuckled, “a wild grizzly and a regal queen.” He pressed his lips to her damp forehead. “Are you up for helping this wounded bear scrub the mountain off?”
Remy tasted of salt and familiarity, even though she only received a quick second to savor the flavor of his mouth before he had drawn back. His actions did little to dampen the fervent desire that coursed through her body, settling with a lusty weight between her hips. The lean appearance his muscles had taken over the past few hours were only fuel thrown directly onto her fire. Even stabbed and desperately in need of a shave, the doctor was the most magnificent creature she had ever laid her eyes on. It was also the most undressed he had ever been around her. While he had not given her the opportunity to touch him, Madison’s gaze devoured him from head to toe. She knew what a man looked like, but she did not know it would conjure these lascivious thoughts and desire so urgently. Everything was covered by the thin fabric and left little to her imagination.
And his words. Fuck. He would be her undoing. A languid smile came to her face and she reached out to try to graze his face when he splashed her once more. Laughing, she looked down at the vanishing bubbles. The soapy army that provided her only defense against complete nudity had begun their retreat and Remy had noticed. A blush dappled her cheeks again, becoming a nearly ever-present rosy mask on her face. Each insinuation he made, every syllable that left his alluring lips, only left her filled with an aching need. So consumed with her impure thoughts of him, she stood without registering why until he had wrapped her in the softest, whitest towel she had ever used. Falling into his embrace, her delighted laugh filled the room again.
“Now, good sir,” Madison stepped into the role of regal queen easily, like falling asleep after a strenuous day, “whatever will my husband say if he finds me helping such a beast bathe? He is a renowned doctor and extremely well respected. If he heard all the salacious things you had been saying to me...” The huntress employed one of her favorite new words that she had not yet had the appropriate opportunity to use. “To even consider such an act is unbecoming for a woman of my high station.” Bright eyes beamed up at him, accompanied by a roguish grin. She tucked the corner of the towel in on itself to secure it in place, freeing her hands to rub up his shoulders, skin contact prevented his his own towel. Fingers danced up the sides of his neck to tangle in the mess of hair. Lifting herself lightly on the balls of her feet, she brought her mouth millimeters from his own.
“But I won’t tell if you won’t.”
All willpower failed her and her mouth ravaged his. She felt him eagerly part his lips beneath hers and she readily seized the chance. The taste of fresh bread and wine flooded her, drawing a moan. The noise of pleasure was stifled only by the proximity of their mouths. Madison’s breath quickened as the entire length of her body remained separated from his by a mere towel and his briefs. Thinking was impossible and she gave herself over to her basest desires, leaving her to later wonder who was more of the beast - Remy or her?
Yearning touch could not explore his body fast enough. With careful guidance and support, she maneuvered them to the edge of the bed. Madison allowed him to lower himself to a more reclined sitting position before she straddled him, supporting her own weight. Her ravenous mouth left his, trailing down his neck. The descent of kisses and nips left a red line in her lips’ wake. “Remy.” His name was a heady caress. “I want you.” The words came out of her mouth in an exhale of desire. She slipped her hands underneath his towel, ready to push it off to the covers behind him. He could clean himself later - she was going to take this as far as he would permit. He was alive, he was whole, he was hers.
A knock thumped at their door. Once, she ignored. Twice, she tugged at his earlobe. On the third knock, she exhaled against his jaw. The huntress drew back, heavy breaths leaving her as an irritated expression flickered across her features. Defeated hands dropped from beneath his towel and inquired who was at the door.
“Mrs. Sterling, it’s me.” Mrs. Grafton’s voice traversed through the closed door. “The tailor will be here in about two hours time. Is there anything that you need before then?”
No, you horrible, ill-timed woman. Go away. Madison longed to shout to the door, to tell the innkeeper that they were not the be disturbed under any circumstances. But Remy needed a bath and his wound needed the appropriate environment to be used in order to stave off any infection. Sighing, she kept one hand against his lower abdomen, thumb toying with the elastic of his briefs before she stepped back. Wanton gaze met his with an apologetic gleam.
“Yes, actually.” The woman could not believe the words were leaving her swollen lips. “My husband is now awake. He needs fresh bath water and a razor with cream to shave. Perhaps some waxed paper as well, for his wounds. Thank you.” She waved a playful hand as though she truly was the queen bidding a subject to do her will. Madison smiled at Remy as she tore herself away from him. Mrs. Grafton acquiesced, advising them the servants would be up to clear the bath and provide new water within a few minutes.
Madison grabbed one of the robes the innkeeper had provided, rounding the corner of the room to the small latrine present that was clearly not up to the late 20th century standards that it had been constructed in. Dropping her towel away from his eyes, she stood and let the cool air rush over her heated skin. Fuck. The nearly constant thrum of need pulsed between her thighs and she looked at the ceiling exasperatedly before resigning herself to tie the robe around her. Reappearing, she smiled at him, biting her lip quickly. “Well, I can assist you with your bath when they arrive.”
The pain in his leg was a distant ache even as every muscle in his body rippled with excitement beneath her roaming touch. Where his bare skin had moments ago prickled with gooseflesh in the mild chill of the suite, it now blazed hot with a familiar desire—a flame that had burst into life at their first tentative kiss in the mountains and had burned unextinguished since.
“You’d better be careful, Your Majesty,” the physician said, his voice a low, feral growl in his throat. “I hear the wild animals in this region can be especially…ravenous…” He dipped his head to the huntress’ neck, nipping at the hot skin beneath her jaw even as she eased him backwards onto the bed.
He reclined slowly beneath her, Madison’s mouth leaving a scalding trail from his mouth to his jaw. His chest heaved beneath her lips, and his hands buried themselves in the wet waves of her brunette tresses that tumbled over her tantalizingly bare shoulders. Coherent thoughts—ones that might have warned him against too much physical strain in wake of his injury and blood loss—were snuffed out before they could manifest as the yearnings of his body seized the reins and snapped his pulse to a thundering gallop.
A shudder shook him at the silken purr of his name on her ragged breath. With both arms now free, his fingers trailed featherlight over the perfumed skin of her shoulders and traced over her sharp clavicles. I want you. The declaration sent an electric surge of hunger throttling through every nerve fiber of his being. One hand moved daringly to cup her breast, while the other slipped just beneath the edge of her towel to untuck the twisted fabric that held it in place. “Then take me, Madison Gallow,” he breathed, their eyes locking. “Take me, and—”
The knock at the door cut off his words just as Madison tugged at his earlobe with her teeth. The same utterly exasperated expression crossed both their faces at precisely the same moment as Mrs. Grafton’s mellifluous—and decidedly infuriating—voice rang muffled through the solid door. He audibly groaned when Madison pulled away, and the look the huntress shot him was so severe that he nearly broke his silence with a bark of laughter. But the way her fingertips played irresistibly with the elastic band of his briefs, he had half a mind to…
She stepped out of reach just before Remy could pull her back into his desirous embrace, but that didn’t stop him from grinning as she gestured to the closed door like an overconfident royal with her voiced demands. He drew a deep, anticlimactic breath as she disappeared into the bathroom, resting his head back on the pillows and staring once more at the bed’s draped canopy above. Each molecule of his body ached for her in her absence and quivered with unfulfilled need that slowly, but not completely, began to recede.
The servants returned some moments later with a heavy knock. Remy pulled the sheets over himself as Madison answered the door. In a flurry of activity, they rolled in a second tub that they efficiently filled with steaming water while a young boy dressed in clothes two sizes too big deposited a tray of grooming supplies next to the basin. A new stack of fresh towels appeared on the chair, the cloudlike pile topped with a layer of the waxed cloth the huntress had requested.
The servants departed in the same whirlwind in which they had come, taking Madison’s used tub with them, and the room settled back into peaceful quiet punctuated by the gentle crackle of the newly-fed fire.
Remy swung his legs to the side of the bed and reached for the waxed canvas, running his fingers over its sticky textured surface. “This should work to keep the water out if I don’t dawdle too long,” he confirmed. While Madison emptied fresh epsom salts and bubbling soap into the water, Remy tore the canvas into three long strips that he layered carefully over his wound. Over those, he placed one larger piece, which he secured around his thigh with a tight band of cotton for good measure.
Gritting his teeth, he rose to his feet and paused at the edge of the basin. The new pressure of his waterproof dressing was not exactly comfortable, and the thought of swinging his leg over the edge of the tub was enough to make him cringe in advance. “I might need a hand,” he admitted, flashing a crooked smile born of a wince.
He stepped in with support from Madison’s sturdy shoulder, his knees disappearing into the hills of fluffy pearlescent bubbles. He let go of her shoulder and stood steadily on his own, the hot water prickling the skin of his feet and calves. “You know,” he drawled, lowering himself beneath the scalding surface, “this is highly improper…” With a gentle splash, his hand resurfaced with his briefs, and he dropped them unceremoniously on the floor near his t-shirt. “We just might have a scandal on our hands now if your husband finds out.”
The tub, though impressive, didn’t feel quite so immense when it was his own larger frame taking up the space inside. Nevertheless, the hot water felt almost too good for words on his exhausted muscles, and he slouched gradually downward until his breath parted the perfumed suds. He grinned up at Madison between the bubbly mountains…then exhaled sharply, sending a small explosion of froth at the huntress. Before she could retaliate, he sunk below the water completely—and the world went silent.
He remained submerged in bliss until his breath ran out, his long hair floating in ethereal tendrils around his head, then resurfaced with a hearty gasp. He felt lighter already as the sweat and grime and dried blood lifted from his skin. “This beats an icy stream any day,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the rim of the basin. “Maybe we should stay here and rule the town. And never get out of the tub.” A hum of pleasure resounded from his throat, which transitioned to a groan of mock-annoyance. Knowing it was better to minimize his chances of the waxed dressing soaking through, he sat up a little straighter and began to work the delightfully scented shampoo through his sopping locks.
When he was through with his hair, Remy reached to the grooming tray and picked up a small gilded mirror. “Could you hold this up for me while I get rid of all this scruff?” he asked with a grin, gesturing to his face. He loaded the coarse shave brush with the cream, which smelled of cedarwood and mint, and brushed it liberally on his whiskers. “What do you think? Think you’ll still like me when my face returns to civilization?”
Take me, Madison Gallow. Each syllable echoed in her mind, a mantra that kept the fire burning white-hot inside of her. Take me and what? What had he been about to say? Mind reeled at the unrealized possibilities of where his enticing verbiage had been leading before they were so rudely interrupted. His acquiescence of her unspoken request had coaxed the storm of desire inside of her that would take longer to be quelled than she would like. He had made her a resounding promise in the loft of the cabin that she would never forget and that he had been ready to fulfill until the damned knock on that door.
Continual focus centered on maintaining control of her still erratic breathing as she watched the servants come and go. Madison attempted to concentrate on them, but her mind kept whispering seductively to her in his husky voice. It recounted each of the precise spots on her body that he had kissed, hands held above her head to permit him unencumbered access to her flesh. Thoughts danced to an excessively fast tempo, drifting towards the sensation of the physical manifestation of his own excitement as she had straddled him minutes ago. Heat exploded up the back of her neck and every single nerve tingled with anticipation at the thought of having him to herself again. Love swelled in her chest, mingling with the lust coursing through her limbs. The tightness of the muscles between her sharp hipbones spread down and outward. The need to be so physically close with him, so much so that she was replaying moments of their previous intimacies in her mind’s eyes, startled her.
Blinking, realization dawned that the servants had departed and Remy was speaking to her. Madison smiled at him, watching him prepare his wound and assisting with the preparation of the bath. She moved as though her mind was initially elsewhere, split between the tasks at hand and the moment on the bed. Finally, she came fully to herself when her assistance was needed to ease him into the bath. She wrapped her arm around his back, focusing her eyes on his leg, unknowingly covering the commander insignia with her rough fingertips.
Soft, delighted laughter left her at the mention of her husband. “Let’s hope my virtue can remain in place and my husband none the wiser of our affair.” Madison bit her lip gently, lowering herself down to his level. And then his briefs were gone. Wide eyes followed them as they landed with the earlier discarded shirt and she knew, logically, she should have been prepared. But she hadn’t been. A heavy lump formed in her throat, constricting, before bubbles splashed across the bridge of her nose and she swatted him back with the top layer, seeing his bare legs briefly beneath the water’s surface. His army of bubbles was much more stolid than her own and they quickly covered the opening she had made.
The mirror was poised carefully before him, elbow leaning on the basin’s smooth edge. “We could rule over them all, a queen and her consort. My husband, after all, might allow me to keep a lover...” Madison laughed as he covered his long beard with the cream. She would miss it, but had forgotten what the feel of less facial hair against her mouth, ear and throat would feel like. Long tendrils of his now darkened hair clung to his neck and bright blue eyes admired him as he began to trim back his scruff. “Though it remains to be seen if her majesty will still be willing to keep a hairless beast in her bed.” The tease slipped out as her free hand brushing the sopping locks across his shoulder. Patiently, the huntress waited until he was done with his trimming and clean skin visible. Minutes passed and she kept her gaze trained on him, affection evident on her features.
Setting the mirror on the small side table, she turned to look at him full-on. “What is this treachery?” Madison exclaimed with mock fright, placing one hand against her chest in alarm. “My husband was hiding beneath all that hair all this time and testing her loyalty? You scoundrel...” A blissful smile played on her teasing lips and delicate hands reached out to stroke his face, savoring the feel. Her gaze flickered down to his mouth and then up again. Forgetting herself, one thumb tracked just beneath his lower lip. Hungry eyes met his, direct and wanton. I need you. For fuck’s sake, Remy. How do you do this to me?
Clearing her throat, she drew back, mindful now of the covered sutures beneath the water’s surface. The physician had trained her well enough to know it should not get wet. She held a towel out for him, as he had for her, though when he stood to accept it, she lowered it slightly so she could fully view his dripping chest. “Slipped.” She grinned, laughing as he took it from her. Turning, ready hands held out his own plush, white robe to him. “Now we’ll match. A true married couple taking advantage of all of the kindness afforded to them from the innkeepers....despite Mrs. Grafton’s consistently poor timing.”
Madison watched him dress, noting the careful way he removed his towel only after the robe was secured. He then removed the wax wrappings and she didn’t look away from him when they were discarded on the small table beside the forgotten mirror. Pointedly, plump lips turned into an obvious pout at the way he kept himself fully covered. It was meant to be in jest, but the veracity of the expression reflected in her eyes. The very tips of her fingers tingled. “We do have a little time before the tailor arrives...” She trailed off, whispering into the limited space between them. “Perhaps...” Nervous energy ran through, a vibration humming beneath her skin in anticipation of the action she had planned. “If you’re willing....” The huntress was drawing the sentence out to the length it would take an orator to read an entire chapter of a novel. “You could take me back to bed?”
Raising herself on her feet, she captured his mouth. Compared to the fevered caresses after her bath, she allowed her mouth to open slowly for his. The scent of cedarwood and faintly of mint surrounded her and she inhaled deeply through her nose to keep their lips from separating. It was a long, leisurely kiss. After minutes, the huntress drew back. Madison stepped back to stand just before him, lower lip caught between her teeth. Shaking fingers, trembling with trepidatious excitement, began to unknot her robe. The fabric loosened, parting on her chest first and revealing the delicate sliver of previously unseen skin that ran just between her breasts. Hands moved to pull the tie completely off when someone knocked at the door.
Madison froze. No. She had certainly imagined it. Not again. Sapphire gaze flicked to the door and back to him. “I am going to burn this entire tavern to the ground, Remy. The entire thing.” Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and was only met with the arousing smell of his aftershave. The words hung between them, weighed by her desire, her need for him and the multiple times that she had been prevented from showing him how much she loved him in the most intimate of manners.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sterling? The tailor and seamstress have arrived early for you.” The deafening sound of Mrs. Grafton’s voice permeated the room and Madison decided that she had never heard something so unpleasant in her entire life.
Though his focus was on his reflection in the small mirror, Remy was keenly aware of Madison’s wanton gaze upon him as he worked his way through his beard. He was meticulous; the last thing he needed was to lose any blood, however miniscule a nick from shaving might have been. But it had been a long time since he’d had any real grooming supplies, and gliding a properly weighted straight razor over his cheeks was a luxury he certainly had not expected to find here. Finishing up at last with a flourish, he deposited the honed blade back onto the tray and dipped his head into the warm water to rinse away any remaining cream.
When he resurfaced, a crooked, suggestive smile shone on his newly-bare features. He moved to the opposite side of the tub, resting his elbows on the edge with his wet face just inches from the young woman’s. “The secret is revealed at last!” he exclaimed melodramatically. “You’ve discovered me…your husband all this time…”
His eyelids fluttered momentarily closed at the gentle pressure of her fingertips against the skin of his jaw, and he instinctively leaned his cheek deeper into her touch. Their playful role play forgotten in an instant, he reached up with a dripping hand to trace the bones of her knuckles and the slender wrist that protruded from her sleeve.
A sigh escaped unbidden when she pulled away, and he sunk back down in the water until she returned with a towel. He stood, accepting her coy “slip-up” with a grin, and wrapped himself in the matching robe beneath her watchful eye. Warmth blossomed on his damp cheeks to be the object of her rapt attention, and he made quick work of removing his waxed bandages so he could swiftly close the gap between them. Madison must have had the same thought, because they stepped toward one another to meet in the middle before the gentle flames.
The kiss they shared was slow and sultry, simmering with a keen desire that thrummed in their bodies like a smoldering fire. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, their flesh separated solely by the sumptuous robes draped across their chests. Heat that had nothing to do with the warm bath crept up his neck and rocketed down his limbs. He inhaled sharply when their mouths at last separated, and his stormy eyes darkened with want as Madison loosened the belt at her waist. He traced a delicate fingertip down the sliver of skin that revealed itself between the flocked lapels of her robe, slipping his finger beneath the material with every intention of hastening its removal…
“Mr. and Mrs. Sterling?”
Remy let out a groan of irritation before he could silence himself. With his heart slamming wildly against his ribs, his blood pumping with lust, he would have readily joined Madison in her efforts to commit vengeful arson if it meant Mrs. Grafton would go away. He let his arm fall reluctantly back to his side, and he tamped down his raging hunger with only moderate success.
Tearing his body from its proximity to the huntress was a struggle against an inexplicable magnetic pull, but he limped to the door and did his best to wear an expression that would not betray his irritation at their unfortunate punctuality.
“Oh!” Mrs. Grafton exclaimed when Remy opened the door, clearly taken aback by his clean-shaven appearance and slicked-back hair after their drastically different interaction the previous night. “Well, you’re looking alive now, aren’t you!” The physician opened the door wider, revealing a stocky older gentleman in thick glasses and a well-fitting suit which looked entirely too fine for practical use in such a rural town. Behind him stood a tall young woman, her blonde hair intricately braided against her skull, her eyes downcast. “Mr. Sterling, this is our village’s finest tailor, Gyrard Hastings. And his daughter, Penelope, one of the Hastings family’s many talented seamstresses.”
“Come in,” Remy instructed, not quite able to keep the stiffness from his voice. If the tailor or his daughter detected the annoyance in his voice, they made no indication. They waited until Mrs. Grafton’s servants had cleared away the tub and bathing supplies, then gestured to the clear area before the hearth.
“I understand you’re in need of new slacks after your…misfortune in the woods.” The tailor slid a flexible measuring tape from his pocket and allowed it to unroll in his stout fingers. “Penelope, the stool, please.”
The young seamstress looked up, her pale face flushing crimson as her eyes momentarily caught Remy’s. She unfolded a small metal stepstool and gestured shyly to its platform.
Remy lifted himself first with his good leg, unable to suppress a grimace of pain as the injured muscle tensed. “Just be careful,” he warned. He lifted the hem of his robe to reveal the long sutured wound in the firelight. Mr. Hastings tried to disguise a gasp with a gruff cough, but his daughter was not quite so adept. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Remy smiled in an attempt to be reassuring. “You probably use the mattress stitch pattern in your line of work too. It’s the same, only with skin,” he offered, realizing as he spoke that this particular tidbit of information was probably not helpful in putting the surprised young woman at ease. He glanced helplessly to Madison, whose expression was caught somewhere between fury and mirth.
The tailor coughed again, which seemed to spur his daughter into action. She cradled a large notebook in her arm and poised a pencil in her grip as Mr. Hastings began taking measurements. He rattled off the numbers as he went—waist, thigh circumference, calf circumference, inseam, outer seam, ankle—while Remy perched self-consciously on the stool. He couldn’t turn to look at Madison, but he was certain she would be watching on with amusement. Deservedly so. The last time he’d posed for a real tailor was as a child, and he didn’t remember it being quite so…awkward.
“Very well, Mr. Sterling,” the tailor announced, winding his tape measure with practiced ease and slipping it back into his pocket. “I’m told to make you the finest pair of trousers I’ve ever crafted. Mrs. Grafton will spare no expense. Penelope will show you my inventory swatch book…Penelope, if you please.”
Remy stepped down, cinching his robe a little more tightly at his waist, and beckoned to Madison. When the huntress joined him, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side.
The seamstress fumbled to retrieve a thick tome from her bag and placed it heavily on the table, rattling the two chalices of wine leftover from their off-timed meal. “Th-these are samples of everything we have in stock,” stammered Penelope. “The choice is yours.”
Remy reached out, running his finger along the first two cut squares of fabric. The book seemed to be arranged in segments, with finer, lighter silks and linens in the front, and utilitarian swatches in the back. “Well, Mrs. Sterling,” he said, arching a brow at Madison, “what do you think?”
The gentle tip of his finger left an electrical trail of gooseflesh down her chest, ceasing just above her naval. And erratic beat stammered in her ribcage and all she could hear was her blood rushing in her ears as they separated. The sound of blood pounding in her head was an amalgamation of her stifled, roaring desire and boiling rage at the consistent interruptions by the innkeepers. While their intrusions were well-intentioned, Madison could not suppress the urge to seek her revenge upon them.
Despite her anger, a pleased smirk found her lips when he groaned frustratedly. It was the verbal expression of her own vexations and her heart thrilled that he was just as hunger for her as she was for him. The huntress lasciviously eyed her prey as he opened the door, an invisible thread tying them together. She reclined back into the high-backed, heavily embroidered armchair, taking the position resembling a regal queen surveying her kingdom. From her royal position, Madison took in the arrivals with a feline attention – aloof but aware. Damien came over to her and laid at her side, desiring for his head to be scratched. Magnolia sniffed at the hem of Penelope’s skirt as the girl shied away. Madison clicked her tongue and the female dog slunk back to her brother’s side.
The tension between Penelope and Remy was mostly one-sided. The embarrassed seamstress snuck glances at him before turning away, the rosy hue of her cheeks deepening beneath the smattering of freckles across her nose and shallow cheeks. Snagging his gaze momentarily, she rolled her eyes in annoyance but also amusement at the shy tailor’s daughter. Madison watched the process of the pair with interest, never having seen such an affair before. Mrs. Gallow had made most of her clothes for her from scraps and such. They had only ever managed to purchase clothes of various sizes making the actions of the tailor and seamstress all the more intriguing. As she watched, mind absently traveled to a place where she would be the one exploring his body but with her hands instead of a tape measure.
Without a second’s hesitation, the doctor’s lover slipped towards him. Leaving her robe looser, she let it sway with the movement of her hips as she sauntered. As easy as breathing, she found her place at his side, a perfect fit against his lithe form. Heat washed over her when he called her Mrs. Sterling. While they teased each other mercilessly, Madison still thrilled at the prospect of being his wife and hearing it from his own mouth. “My love, you know I am terrible at this kind of thing.” She reached out and flipped through the swatches towards the more practical fabrics. A deep gray wool interspersed with midnight black caught her eyes and she trailed her middle finger across it. It was thick but soft and would be beneficial when the snows returned. “I like this one. It would suit you.” Curious, Madison flipped back to some of the softer, lighter fabrics. Her unoccupied hand rested on his back, tracing absent shapes on him away from the prying eyes of their visitors. Teasingly, she began to write words on his robe. Slowly, so he could decipher them, she wrote I need you. Always but... She paused. “Would you be able to make him a second pair – something to relax in, that won’t cling so tightly to his leg?” But now most of all.
Mr. Hastings nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Sterling.”
Penelope had been staring, slightly opened mouth, at the pair of them before she came to her senses. “Papa, Mrs. Grafton mentioned clothing for…for Mrs. Sterling, as well.”
“Ah yes, how could I have forgotten.” He withdrew his tape measure once more from the pocket he had placed it in. Madison appeared startled and shrunk back slightly into Remy’s warmth. “Please, Mrs. Sterling. If I might take your measurements.” Remy nudged her and she looked at him with surprise and a bit of a stern purse to her lips. Nervous energy filled her but she stepped up onto the stool. Mr. Hastings measured carefully over her robe, feeling for her hip at one point and her waist. The woman tensed slightly but permitted him to finish, calling out measurements to Penelope’s waiting hand. Bashful gaze met the physician’s and she bit her lower lip, before mouthing “I love you,” behind the tailor’s back and when Penelope was focused on the notebook.
Stepping down, Madison resumed her position at her fake husband’s side. The timid, mouse-like seamstress returned with a different book, one of fine and soft and delicate fabrics. They were the most beautiful she had ever seen, bright blues and browns of every shade. There was even a brilliant emerald that nearly shone in the flickering firelight. “These are far too fine for me. I don’t really need anything like this. Perhaps just a new sweater in something warm? A new pair of pants made of something durable. Really, I don’t want to be any trouble.” All the talk of being royalty, the attention and repayment by the Graftons was unnecessary.
All she desired was a few hours with just Remy, without any interruptions.
“I’m sure my husband would be better suited to choose for me. He is well acquainted with what clothes suit me.” And which are best left in a pile at the end of the bed, she thought. Bright eyes met his with a promising smile.
The physician knew little about fabric—and what he did know about sewing was limited to skin and muscle—but the vast range of options contained within the swatch book was impressive. He pulled Madison tighter against his side, an excited shiver running down his spine at the sensation of her touch on the small of his back. They perused the samples while the tailor oversaw, and Remy quickly realized that the patterns the huntress traced with her finger were not random at all, but rather the slow curves of letters. He pursed his lips tightly together to suppress a grin.
The tailor provided commentary on each page as they flipped through the samples, but Remy heard none of it; he was focused on maintaining a neutral expression while also deciphering Madison’s sensory note. I need you. His breath hitched as the message became clear, and Madison did not fail to notice his reaction—the rest of the words came with an increasing urgency that sent tantalizing warmth blooming beneath her touch. Now most of all, she finished. Remy’s pulse accelerated sharply, and he tightened his grip on her shoulder. Christ…
The blushing seamstress’ nervous glances up at him were becoming longer and more frequent as they browsed, which made it all the more difficult to battle the suggestive smirk that threatened his lips. “Agreed. This one,” he declared tightly, moving the thick gray wool Madison had selected between his thumb and forefinger.
Penelope, startled out of her wide-eyed trance, tore her gaze away when her father spoke. She sprang once again into action as Madison took her place on the stepstool before the fire, scribbling down the measurements as Mr. Hastings announced them. Remy, at last allowing himself a coy smile, lowered himself to the edge of the bed to rest his leg and watched as the huntress had her turn beneath the measuring tape. His grin broadened when he caught her eye, and he returned her silent sentiment with his own mouthed I love you.
He stood again when Madison stepped down, joining her once more before another overwhelming volume of fabric swatches. This collection, however, was far more sumptuous—silks and satins in a spectrum of colors, velvets of all sheens and thicknesses, and breezy linens woven in geometric patterns. The huntress’ uncharacteristic humbleness indicated to him that she, too, was taken aback by the fine choices. He placed a reassuring hand on her back.
“What about these?” he suggested, flipping to the middle section of the binder. “You would look beautiful in anything from this book. But this…” He ran his finger along a knit swatch in deep forest green, possibly the softest wool he had ever touched. “Feel this, my love. Imagine it…” A pause. “…Against your skin.” When he looked down to meet Madison’s gaze, a dark flare of desire glimmered in his blue eyes.
“A good eye, sir,” Mr. Hastings proclaimed, oblivious to the flirtation. “Our finest angora wool. One of the most durable fibers, but also the softest. Write that down, Penny.”
Judging by Penelope’s cheeks, which had flushed an even richer shade of scarlet beneath her freckles, she was not so unaware of their salacious exchange as her father. Remy smiled crookedly. His hand upon Madison’s back turned to fingertips, a featherlight touch spelling out his silent response in three simple letters: N. “If it’s not too much trouble…” he continued aloud. His touch formed a lazy circle, counter-clockwise. O. “Perhaps…” He used his free hand to turn the pages to the front of the collection, gesturing to a rich, deep crimson silk that shimmered in the firelight. “…a fine new camisole?”
He paused his message teasingly—NO—and then filled in the final letter with an emphatic full-stop.
W.
The pressure on her shoulder as she finished her writing sent a surge of anticipatory excitement through her. Remy seemed significantly more competent in finding little sources of pleasure for her so this small victory bolstered her confidence. And he loved her, he loved her, he loved her. Madison would never tire of seeing his lips form those three perfect words, directing them at her with all of his heart’s intentions.
All of the choices before her were overwhelming and far too fine for someone of her standing and occupation. She reached her hand out over the green fabric, it reminded her immediately of the tall, snow-covered towering trees that resided outside of their cabin. Their evergreen needles rustling in the wind that beat against the wood of their humble abode. Eagerly, her mind darted back to that time and all the heavy whispers into the darkness of their shared evenings.
Seductive words jolted her roughly back into the present with a flare of heat from her core to her toes. Hungry eyes flashed to him, tilting her chin upwards. Fuck. Madison released a slow, caught breath as her fingers explored the chosen fabric with little actual interest. “I think it will be perfect, both soft and warm.” The huntress was immediately determined to find the quickest possible method for extricating them from their visitors. Eyes still hazy with a flare of need, she did not fail to notice Penelope’s blush - causing one of her own to dance across her nose.
Straight away, realization dawned on her at the ministrations of his fingers through the plush fabric of her matching robe. Her focus shifted to it. N. O. Madison’s muscles tightened, the taut emotion of rejection sliding through her as though she was doused in ice cold water. Confusion filled her gaze as she took in the most beautiful fabric she had seen. She reached out, almost shakily to test the fabric despite his refusal of her. Camisole. It would be lighter than her current one. It would be easier to feel his kisses through the delicate crimson silk. Swallowing tightly, her perplexed expression shifted drastically to one of need.
W. Now. NOW.
If she could have melted, the huntress would be reduced to nothing but a puddle at his feet. Static buzzed around her, drowning out Mr. Hastings as he rolled up his tape measure and the scratch of Penelope’s pencil against the parchment. Warmth started as a kernel inside of her - her inner flame having initially retreated at his teasingly fake denial of her written request. It flared, growing stronger each time she repeated the word in her mind. Now. Now. Now. Now. Madison’s attempt at concealing the roaring ache inside of her was abysmal at best. Penelope noticed and the huntress was sure that Mr. Hastings had as well. Frankly, she didn’t give a single damn about what they may think.
The tailor cleared his throat. “Another fine selection. Your wife is quite right about your eye for fabrics and the best article to fashion with it. We will work on these straight away and should have them completed within two days time. Mrs. Grafton was adamant about having these for you as swiftly as possible. If there is any other services we may provide, do not hesitate to let us know.” He collected their things and instructed Penelope with a firm hand to her shoulder when she did not look away from the enamored pair.
“That is so kind, Mr. Hastings. Thank you.” Madison said, not tearing her gaze away from Remy’s tumultuous eyes. “We are so grateful for your willingness to come to our room after the events of yesterday. It was quite a trying experience, and as you can imagine, my husband needs plenty of rest.”
“Of course, of course. Come, Penelope, we must get started straight away.” Mr. Hastings moved to the door, all of his fabrics packed back up on his case and his tape measure hanging slightly out of his vest pocket. Penelope’s face was dappled with red, splotchy and embarrassed by the overt sexual tension between the supposedly married couple. The doctor’s star pupil finally managed to extricate herself from her partner’s emotional sway, as heat coursing through everY nerve in her body - alight and tingly with desire. She walked them to the door, opening it wide for their guests. The seamstress exited last, but Penelope’s curious eyes cast a glance back at Remy as he sat on the bed. Unfortunately for the young woman, Madison promptly shut the door and severed the poor girl’s view.
Madison leaned her back against the closed door, locking it without bothering to look at the bolt. Blessedly alone. Tension billowed from her to him and back again, filling the gilded corners of their expansive bedroom. “Now?” The whisper left her lips as she surveyed his robed form. The loft’s promise was the invisible string that tied them together at this precise moment, pulling her towards him. One agonizingly slow, tantalizing step after another she made her way over to him. Her movements stopped before him, hovering just out of the physician’s reach. A delicate exhale escaped her, limbs burning with a cold fire and everything feeling too much and not enough all at once.
“Now?” It was the softest she had ever spoken. Yet, it was the most weight a single word had every held. She offered him an out with her question. The traumatizing and physically draining events of the previous day were not to be lightly overlooked. The magnitude of what he was offering was not to be handled lightly. Even though it has been offered to her thrice in the span of a few hours, she would not hold him to it. Even with his whispers of take me, with the groan of annoyance and finally with a slowly written NOW, Madison wanted him to be certain. There was plenty of time for such things, she thought when logic returned in fleeting, pulsing increments. Questioning eyes flickered across his face before holding his stare.
As much as she craved him, to bind herself to him inextricably, she wouldn’t demand anything he was not ready to give.
The door clicked firmly shut behind their unwanted guests. In their wake, the air stilled to a peaceful silence punctuated only by the whispered crackles of the fire. Remy drew a slow breath and held it, reveling for a moment in the stillness.
But the calm that filled the room belied the electric thrum of desire that tethered them. His blue eyes locked on Madison as she sauntered forward, her pace torturous. Her loosely-tied robe moved sensuously with her lithe form, causing the V at her sternum to deepen and reveal another maddening glimpse of the fair skin between her breasts. A ferocious, familiar hunger flared as the glow of the fire highlighted her alluring frame with its shifting shadows. He caught his lower lip in his teeth and took two steps toward her, closing the gap she’d left until they stood just inches apart.
Resisting the magnetic pull that drew him to the indomitable huntress proved nearly impossible. Still, he paused before her, maintaining the minute space between them with more than a little difficulty. His heartbeat percussed against his ribs with such fervor that he was afraid it would burst clean through his sternum. Stormcloud eyes fiercely met and held her cerulean gaze, and reflected in her expression he discovered the same impassioned need gleaming back at him from the depths of her stare. His breathing deepened abruptly, heat rising from his neck to his face and back again until every inch of his skin was aflame with want.
And then Madison spoke—her voice hardly more than an exhale—and Remy knew in that moment he was undone.
His absolute certainty was etched on the taut lines of his clean-shaven face, and his eyes roamed the length of her body before meeting her desirous gaze once more. Surely she had not needed to posit that particular question, but the single imploring syllable that fell from her parted lips—now?—prompted a swell of warmth that crashed through him like an ocean wave. It was somehow as terrifying as it was comforting; he was powerless in the pull of her current, but there was no reason to fight the tide…not when the only person he trusted in the world was there to keep him safely afloat in the tempest.
Wordlessly, and without breaking their eye contact, he reached out to the plush belt at her waist…and tugged the knot slowly free. The material fell open gently over the supple curves of her body. His hands moved to her shoulders, where he pushed the garment slowly free to fall midway down her arms. With one featherlight finger, he drew a straight line from her chin, between her breasts, and toward her navel, tracing the descending trail with eyes that had darkened with lust. His hands found hers at her side, and he guided them to the loose tie of his own robe as he bent his head, bringing his lips first to her collarbone, to her neck, to her jaw, to her ear…
“Yes, Madison,” he confirmed in a husky whisper. “Now.”
Sapphire eyes shimmered in the firelight of the room, searching his face for the answer she so desperately sought. The pang of need deep inside of her pressed itself against her rib cage until her body nearly vibrated with a fervent need to hear him acquiesce to her request. Madison tried to keep her face neutral, to keep him from feeling coerced into anything, but she struggled. The space between them remained infinitesimal, the soft white of her robe brushing his with each calculated breath she took in a feeble attempt to hide her desperation for him.
Their eyes were locked and yet she felt his hand at her waist. The huntress’ eyes flickered with surprise and she wondered if she was imagining the motion. The knot released and her clothing swished audibly in the encompassing silence of their deadlock. Madison’s breath hitched, caught in her throat as cooler air immediately rushed against her skin. The chilled sensation lasted a fleeting moment before heat exploded across her shoulders and her cheeks. The robe slipped down her back and rested at the bend of her elbows. Lust swelled inside of her, mingled with a nervous energy. He could see her for the first time and she struggled to maintain her confidence. Bringing her lip between her teeth, she attempted to regain the prior control she had over her breathing.
Her feeble attempt failed the moment Remy touched her chin.
A gasp escaped her and she closed her eyes, losing sight of the storm building in his own gaze. Gooseflesh erupted along the trail of his finger and eyes. It exploded outward across her chest and shoulders, tightening the skin across her breasts. Lascivious gaze flashed open when he placed her hands on the tie of his robe. Shaking fingers twitched as she tentatively held the fabric in her hand. His mouth was suddenly everywhere and he whispered against her ear. Yes. Now. Now. Now. Now. Blessedly now. Electricity sped along her spine, starting with a buzzing behind her earlobe and traversing the length of her back in milliseconds. Every nerve fiber began to tingle in delighted anticipation.
At the feel of his mouth forming those words, a surprised exclamation left her lips, bordering between an elated groan and a nervous hiccup. She pulled back from him, looking at his freshly-shaved features and separating his lips from her ear. The strong line of his jaw appeared sharper when the firelight flickered across his skin. The man’s eyes glimmered with the force of a thousand hurricanes, swirling deep waters of gray and a slate, bordering on black with his need. Madison had never seen anyone more handsome in her entire life and he was entirely hers. Soul, mind and now body. Love mingled with desire into a haze that blurred her vision at the edges, leaving the doctor as the sole focus of her gaze. Spurred by his words, she released the knot of his belt with a deft twist of her fingers. She stepped back and lowered her arms completely. The fabric fell to the ground, swishing and ending in a heap at their feet. She stood completely bare before him, her chest rising and falling as she took deep, concentrated breaths. Pale blue eyes look down at her bare feet momentarily, toes moving nervously against the faded carpet beneath them.
Madison raised her gaze upward once more, catching his stare, and gave him a bashful smile, ending with biting the left corner of her lip. “I thought you’d never say yes, roadwalker.” She whispered in return, closing the distance between them again. The final word was uttered with all the endearment in the entirety of Northam. Breaking their stare, her eyes ran down to the robe that hung loosely around him. Heat rushed across her cheeks but the sight of him, all of him lingering just beneath the cloth, thrilled her. Hands slipped up his chest, eagerly under his robe.
Her lips captured his fully, savoring the lingering flavor of wine that was readily fading. Deep kisses were hungry but far more timid than they had been before due to the proximity of the bare bodies. A sliver of space remained between them, humming with an ecstatic anxiety. One calloused hand slipped up into his long hair, sending the strong scent of cedarwood into the air around them. Madison inhaled deeply and whimpered against his mouth. Taking care to make sure he did not trip, she eased him back, step after step, until the back of his legs touched the bed.
They stopped against the bedframe and Madison pressed the full length of her body against his still slightly clothed one, some skin touching skin and some touching plush cotton. Her mouth left his, trailing down his neck as her hands explored the slightly hidden skin beneath his robe. Featherlight touch started at his chest and worked her way down, teasingly and slow. Devastatingly delicate, she felt the taut muscles of his abdomen. Fingertips grazed his hipbones and paused as her lips met his ear. “I love you, God, how I love you.” She breathed against him. Her mouth nipped at his neck, before kissing it, leaving a trail of love bites along his clean flesh. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach and she was amazed they hadn’t burned into bright, beautiful sparks with all the fire burning hot between her hips. Apprehension mingled with her need into a tumultuous ball of chaotic emotion.
Dancing fingers resumed, running down the outer side of his leg as far as her arm would reach. They brushed delicately against the cloth bandage he had placed over his expertly secured sutures. Her thumb turned and traced up the middle of his thigh, coming to rest at his hipbone again, in an attempt to conceal the minor tremors as trepidation alternated with desire. Cerulean eyes flickered to catch his eyes as she reached up and gripped the lapels of his robe. Applying slow pressure, she twisted her wrists and brought the robe to his elbows. She raised herself on the pads of her feet to capture his mouth in a bruising, demanding kiss. Chest pressed to chest, exchanging body heat.
Taking a ragged breath, Madison smiled as the heat finally reached her eyes, tamping down the fear, that he might not enjoy it as she would - that she’d do something horribly wrong and he’d change his mind about her. But for one night with him - one night wrapped in his arms exchanging soft nothings against tangled sheets - it would be worth it. The hesitation vanished and she pushed his robe off, enjoying the delightful sound of its thump on the ground.
“Take me to bed, Remy Sterling. Make me yours.”
The distant pain of his wounded leg was overpowered by an altogether different ache, one whose roots were anchored in his very soul and tangled inextricably around his heart. And though he undeniably lusted to know every inch of her body, it was not the promise of heated intimacy alone that set him hopelessly aflame. Every piece of him longed for a piece of her—every sharp edge and gentle niche of her mind, the warm safety of the soul she’d selflessly opened to his, the steady reassurance of the future she’d promised. The huntress had become his beacon of hope and warmth in the cold, heartless world—his companion, his partner, his confidante.
And now, at long last, his lover.
The huntress stood before him completely bare, golden light clinging to each sumptuous curve of her lithe frame. It was as though the robe pooling at her feet had stolen the oxygen from the room as it fell. A ragged inhale hitched in his throat, and not only was it impossible to breathe, he found didn’t want to—she had, in the most literal of senses, taken his breath away. And Remy could have gazed upon her in the stillness until the end of time, never once tiring of the sight.
It was Madison who closed the space between them then, knocking him from his hypnosis with a voracious kiss that he passionately returned. Her fingers tangled in his still-damp hair as his hands traveled the full, unobstructed length of her spine. The silken feel of her perfumed skin was intoxicating beneath his touch, and it bewitched his own nervous insecurities until they no longer occupied a space in his mind. All he could think about was Madison Gallow—her skin, her breasts, her deft hands, and the hidden places he had not yet explored. She consumed him utterly, and he could scarcely wait to devour her in turn.
He stepped carefully backwards with Madison’s guidance until his legs brushed the edge of the opulent bed. She pressed herself against him there, the heat of her skin scalding as it met the blaze of his own, but it was not nearly enough…not when a cascade of fabric, thick as a universe in that moment, still kept them apart. As the huntress pushed the plush robe from his shoulders, he slipped completely free from the restricting garment and wrapped his arms around her, bringing his mouth to her neck as the full length of their torsos met unhindered for the first time.
A shiver of ecstasy traversed the length of his spine, and he shuddered against her with unadulterated pleasure. But he was wholly unprepared for the feeling that blasted like hot lightning down his limbs at the sound of her voice…and at the very request she uttered.
Make me yours.
And he couldn’t wait one more second to oblige.
He wrapped Madison in his grasp and lifted her easily from the ground, lowering her to the waiting sateen sheets on the mattress. He met her azure gaze through eyes half-lidded with desire, and he reached out, brushing a few loose strands of her brunette tresses from her forehead. His featherlight touch belied the storm that raged inside, but the pattern of fervent kisses that followed spoke true to the tempest. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, voice barely audible even as he brought his lips to her ear. He pressed his mouth to hers hungrily and moved to her other ear. “I love you, Madison,” he whispered, while one quivering hand slid across her abdomen to rest upon her breast. They lay there for a moment together, each bare and vulnerable to the other, until the raw anticipation was simply too much, and Remy thought he may burst with the tension.
They shared another ravenous kiss with parted lips. Remy’s hand ventured downward, skimming across Madison’s hipbones and lower still…pausing only when his fingers brushed the inside of her thigh. His touch explored this new territory with a delicacy that gradually became more impassioned, and he reveled in the carnal thrill of the reaction his fingers coaxed from her body.
When Madison sought his lips once more, her hands tangling insistently in his hair, he wholeheartedly gave in to the demand. Lost in the sensation of her, drunk on the feel of her body, he moved automatically to lay atop her, supporting himself with his hands on either side of her frame. He hovered there, his heartbeat a deafening thunder in his ears, his clean-shaven face just inches from hers.
And then, clad in nothing but the glimmer of sweat and the glow of the dying firelight, their bodies came together at long, long last…and moved together like silvery waves crashing upon a shore.
