Page 44 of Paladin's Faith

“Uh…” Marguerite had to swallow several times. “Uh. No. Nobody’s under attack.” Dammit, this is not the first bare chest you’ve seen, she told her libido, annoyed. It just happens to be a particularly fine one. Get yourself together.

Whoa damn, her libido replied, not listening.

It was a particularly fine chest. Shane was so self-effacing and so inclined to fade into the background that you forgot how large a man he really was. His shoulders were easily twice as wide as Marguerite’s. Her gaze traveled downward, admiring the sleek indentations of muscle under the skin. A line of dark blonde hair vanished under his waistband. It might as well have been a signpost reading THIS WAY TO THE GOOD BITS.

“Ah…” said Shane.

She realized that she had been staring shamelessly and coughed. Deflect, she told herself. Deflect. Otherwise this will be rather awkward. Pure of heart, doesn’t trust you. And unlike Davith, not really the type to enjoy casual ogling.

“You have a lot of scars,” she said.

He grimaced. Ah. Well, now it’s awkward in a different way. Well done. Fine smooth-tongued operative you are.

It was true, though. White lines scored his skin like a playing board, some following the line of his ribs, one slashed down across the left side of his chest from the collarbone almost to the nipple. Her hands itched to touch his skin and feel the texture there, wondering how it would change across the scar, like the nap of velvet rubbed a different direction.

“My shield was low,” Shane said, tapping the slash mark with his free hand. “The other fellow’s sword went right over the top. I’m lucky it didn’t sever the muscle.”

“It looks that way.” She focused, with difficulty, on his face. “I wanted to ask you about Wren.”

“Wren?” He frowned, glancing in the direction of the main room. “Is she well?”

“That’s what I came to ask you about. I was…ah…” He put the sword down, and bending brought new muscles into prominent relief. Goddammit. “Do you think you could put on a shirt? Otherwise I’m going to stand here ogling your chest and losing my train of thought.”

Something flared in his eyes. For a moment, they were no longer the color of ice, but the blue of a very hot flame. Marguerite felt her pulse jump.

Then he took a half step back and the moment passed. She wasn’t sure if she was glad of that or not.

Shane reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. Marguerite gazed at the wall, attempting to think virtuous thoughts and mostly failing.

“How may I be of service?” he said, once he’d gotten his arms through the proper holes.

“Wren’s miserable,” said Marguerite bluntly. “It’s barely been a week and we’re looking at potentially months of doing this. Am I going to break her just for the chance she hears some relevant gossip?”

Surprise flickered across his face. He opened his mouth as if to argue, then paused. “I don’t know,” he said, after a moment. “Wren is excellent on a battlefield. She has quite fine control over the battle tide. That’s what we call the, ah, berserker state. I would not have put her up against a demon otherwise.”

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Are there some paladins that you would suggest not fight demons?”

He nodded. “I would not allow Stephen or Galen to do so. Marcus, I would watch closely. Wren or Istvhan, I would have no fear. Judith…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Now that’s interesting. Possibly not of much use at the moment, but Marguerite could easily see it being so in the future. “Is it all a matter of control, then? Willpower?”

“Not willpower. There is no lack of will in any of them.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The god’s hand lay more lightly on Wren and Istvhan, that is all. Or perhaps they are simply better adjusted than the rest of us. Unless their emotions are very deeply involved, the tide is not such a danger to them as some others. Regardless, if you are concerned about Wren going on a rampage through the court, do not be.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” said Marguerite dryly.

Shane actually smiled a little at that. Somewhere in there is a rudimentary sense of humor, and I will drag it kicking and screaming into the light. “Honestly, it’s not a rampage I’m worried about,” she continued. “I’m more concerned that she’ll wind up curled in a ball sobbing at night because a pack of spoiled beauties are being cruel to her. Some things cut deep.”

His smile was replaced with grimly set lips. “That may happen,” he admitted.

“I don’t want that to happen.”

“Nor do I. Nevertheless, our orders are clear. She will not thank you for removing her from the assignment.” He folded his arms. “The cure may be worse than the disease, in this case. She would never admit that someone else’s words had so much power over her.”

“The whole world is made of words,” said Marguerite irritably. “Treaties and contracts and secrets and laws are nothing but words, but everything runs on them. Of course they’ve got power.”

He inclined his head politely. “As you say.”

“Right.” She sighed gustily. “Well, you know her better than I do. Just…keep an eye on things, and if you think she’s starting to crack, tell me immediately. Hell, tell me if you think she just needs a break for a day or two. Beartongue told me that Wren will never admit when she’s overmatched, but that you can tell.”