Page 43 of Esperance

He chuckled. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“No.” Amryn set the tip of her sword into the dirt. “How did your parents ever keep up with you?”

“I have no idea. But they wanted a full house.”

“Well, they certainly got that. Especially with four boys!”

“In our defense, the girls were just as unruly. But despite some occasional comments, my parents adore the chaos.” There was a slight pause, and he gentled his tone. “Your uncle brought you here. Are your parents . . .?”

Her shoulders tensed, and any trace of a smile vanished. “They’re dead,” she said flatly. “They died a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. Sorry for whatever loss she’d suffered, and for shattering the lighter mood they’d established.

Amryn brought up her sword, slanting it in a defensive pose. “Shall we try again?”

It was a very deliberate change in subject, and he decided not to press her. So he nodded, raised his sword, and continued their practice. And though the tension between them gradually relaxed, it never fully went away.

Chapter 13

Amryn

Amryn winced against her pillow.The soft cotton felt like rough bark against her sunburnt cheek. Yesterday, when Jayveh had suggested they join the men in the training yard, there hadn’t been time for Amryn to return to the room and apply the protective lotion Ahmi had given her after her first sunburn.

At the time, she hadn’t thought she’d be outside for long, but sparring with Carver had proved to be a surprisingly pleasant distraction. And she was always so hot and flushed in this climate, she’d hardly realized the sun had been burning her until it was too late. It had hurt last night when she’d bathed, and Ahmi had gently spread some aloe on her skin.

By all the Saints, it hurt even more this morning.

Her face and neck were on fire. The fresh dawn light that bled around the closed curtains proved it was early morning. She couldn’t wait for Ahmi to come; she needed the relief of that cooling aloe now.

She pushed out of bed, only to discover soreness in her arms, legs, and back. It was a good thing she’d enjoyed the sparring, because she was certainly paying the price for it today.

She stood, lifting the blue wrap on the end of her bed and gingerly shrugging it on over her white nightgown. As she padded barefoot to the door, she strained her ears for sounds beyond her room, but she didn’t hear movement. It was possible Carver was still asleep in the sitting room, though he was more likely in the middle of his meditation. She’d stumbled in on his morning exercises a couple of times now. Though, to be fair, he was generally such an early riser that he was usually finished by the time she came out and rang for Ahmi.

She unlocked the bedroom door and pushed into the hall, walking on cool stone toward the wash room. When she reached the open door, she stopped short.

Carver stood in profile, shirtless as he peered into the mirror and carefully dragged a long razor over his jaw. His bronzed skin, so much darker than her own, was on proud display. His arms were corded with muscles that jumped and rolled as he guided the razor across his skin, his gaze never wandering from the glass before him. Broad shoulders shifted as he leaned in, and she could see the curve of his spine, and the dip of his lower back.

She also saw scars. Some were nothing more than narrow white marks, clearly long-healed. Others were newer. Pink, and puckered. Some even looked like stripes. Were those . . . whip marks?

She must have inhaled too sharply, because Carver’s eyes snapped to hers in the mirror. He lowered the razor and turned to face her. It took considerable effort not to stare at his bare chest and the lined ridges of his abdomen, but somehow she kept her eyes on his face.

Mostly.

White cream still streaked the lower half of his face, since he hadn’t finished his shave, and his blue eyes were intent on her. “Amryn.” His voice was rougher than usual—probably still heavy from sleep. He cleared his throat. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” Her own throat felt dry, and if her cheeks weren’t already sunburned, they’d surely be flaming with her embarrassment. She clutched at her robe and took a quick step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t hear you. I can come back later—”

“It’s fine,” he cut into her rambling. “You just startled me.” His fingers tightened on the razor’s handle. “Did you, uh, need the room?”

His flash of embarrassment as he glanced toward the chamber pot only made her own flare.

She shook her head. “No, I . . . I just wanted to retrieve something Ahmi brought for my sunburn.”

“Oh.” His wave of relief might have made her laugh, under other circumstances. He shifted back from the counter, and she noticed his feet were bare beneath the black cuffs of his pants.

Saints only knew why that detail made this whole moment feel more intimate.

He gestured to the counter with his razor. “I’m not sure which one it is . . .”