Page 114 of Paladin's Faith

“Dreaming God, no. I’ve never…” He raked a hand through his hair, not even sure what to say. “I…that is…no one’s ever…” He swallowed and tried again. “I knew what I was supposed to be doing.”

Which was a bizarre thing to say, he realized, even as he said it. But it was true. The Saint had given him certainty, which Shane had always lacked, and he felt that lack keenly every moment the Saint was gone. But with a length of red thread, she had given him a different kind of certainty. Be here, right now. Touch me like I show you. Don’t break the thread until the end.

He’d heard about such things, of course, but the notion of being restrained had never struck him as interesting. He’d assumed those people enjoyed being immobilized. He’d had no idea at all.

It was terrifying and glorious and he hardly knew how to feel. Astonished that he had found what he needed. Appalled to realize how much he had needed it.

Marguerite did not laugh or scoff or demand that he explain himself. She simply nodded. “Good. And you did it perfectly,” and it turned out that he had needed that, too.

A thought occurred to him suddenly and he turned toward her. “Should I be calling you Marguerite?”

“Hmm?”

“You, um, said it wasn’t your real name. Would you rather I call you something else?”

Her body tensed just slightly. If he hadn’t been pressed full-length against her, he likely would not have noticed. Damn, that was the wrong thing to say. He stroked the curve of her back hesitantly, hoping to soothe her and cursing his misguided impulse.

“I’ve used a number of names,” she said. “Different names and different…personas…for different jobs. But Marguerite is the one that I’ve been the longest and like the most. Marguerite is the person I want to be.”

Her back was smooth, the hollow of her spine leading to the warm curve of her buttocks, and Shane ran his fingers along it, trying to decide what he could say that wouldn’t ruin the moment.

He wanted to say, I am desperately in love with the person you are. But he could not imagine that she felt the same way, and the thought of driving her away horrified him.

Marguerite stretched again and propped herself up on one elbow. She had a slight, inquisitive smile on her face. “Better than a stone floor, I trust?”

Answer her, for the Dreaming God’s sake, he ordered himself. Say yes. Make a joke. Tell her she’s beautiful. Say something.

“I will serve you,” he said hoarsely, “however I can. As long as you’ll have me.”

...or you could say that, I suppose.

Marguerite set her fingers against his lips. “That’s a dangerous thing to promise,” she said. “I might take you up on it, and then where would you be?”

He thought about answering her. Then he thought about just how badly words could ruin what lay between them, and instead he reached out and gathered her up in his arms, turning so that they lay curled together on the bed.

“Mmm,” said Marguerite sleepily, and that, it seemed, was answer enough.

FORTY

It was difficult to tell the time of day underground, but it still seemed very early to Shane when someone tapped on the door. Marguerite had moved away from him in her sleep and was now a lump of covers that growled when he touched it.

“It’s time to get up.”

“Nnnrrrggg.”

“We wanted to make an early start.”

“Rrrrrrr.”

“There are bad people after us.”

“Ggghhh…” She shoved the covers back and scowled at him. “They’re very bad if they’re taking me away from this bed.”

“No question there.”

Her scowl softened. “You should do that more often.”

“Do what?”