Page 17 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Dorset

K iss me?

Those words slipped free from my lips, almost unbidden.

Yet, as Gareth’s lips descended upon mine, I could not find a mote of regret in my heart.

This was what I needed, the assurance I sought.

After everything I had experienced, I had strayed into a darkness that had threatened to devour me. I could not see my way forward.

Still, there was a voice that called my name, and when I turned to it, Gareth was there.

I could not turn away from his gaze. As his scent surrounded me—the tinge of ocean and lavender—I found myself instinctively emerging from the shadows.

How could I reject his warmth when every part of me ached for his touch?

At the same time, my dark thoughts whispered to me. They pointed out that this might be another illusion. It could be. It might be. But… damn my heart, I wanted to believe.

So I asked. I yearned to make what I hoped for certain. And Gareth answered.

His strong lips pressed gentle kisses against my own.

He didn’t force his way and allowed me to set the pace.

As my own touches grew hungrier, Gareth responded, meeting each of my unspoken needs.

Broad tan hands rose to carefully cradle my lightly aching head.

Gareth deepened the kiss while his arm edged behind me.

That very hand ran down the thick robe I had woken up in, down to the back slit from which my half-dried tail now hung.

The feel of his fingers threading through my tail’s fur drew a soft moan out of me.

As my lips parted, his tongue swiped in, teasing my tongue into a dance. My fingers dug into his jacket as the kiss threatened to draw the very life out of us. I could scarcely remember to breath. When we parted, I sagged back against him, panting lightly. Black dots danced before my eyes.

For a second, I contented myself with just snuggling against his shoulder. Gareth’s shoulder. It was broad and strong and muscled. The perfect kind of shoulder a tom such as myself would enjoy leaning on. But could I trust Gareth?

I mulled over the question. Can I trust him? Meryn… What say you?

This is the light, Little Mouse of mine… the path…

The path to what? I pressed.

She would not say. I could almost imagine hearing her laugh. It was almost as though she had placed a hand on my head, ruffling my hair teasingly. As though I were a kit, wet behind the ears and only a few winters old. I growled a little.

“What is it?” asked Gareth.

“Nothing.”

“Did Meryn say something?” he pressed.

“How—“ I stared up at him. “How did you know?”

“You get this look on your face.”

“I do?”

“Well… in your eyes, really. Your face just turns… neutral, but your eyes… Hm. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Oh.”

Mourn and Shade had never said anything before about that.

I had not told them about the voice I heard.

Generally, in the Night Blades, fussing with magic and the old gods was best left to others.

Still, my two masters had never said anything to me.

Perhaps they were not expecting anything more than a neutral expression from me.

My heart warmed up at the realization: Gareth had noticed what so many others had ignored.

“You won’t leave me?” I finally asked.

“For my duties in the morning, but I shall return every afternoon,” Gareth promised. “I shan’t leave you alone in the dungeons. You have my word. I’m… I’m really sorry about what happened, Dorset.”

“I know.” I buried my head against his shoulder. “I forgive you, too. It’s-It’s not your fault.”

“It is, but… Thank you.” Gareth shifted a little, pulling me back onto my pillow. “Now, you best follow Aileen and Alan’s advice and rest. I’ll stay right here.”

With a put-upon sigh, I allowed myself to ease back on the downy pillows.

My eyes fluttered closed, as the weight of fatigue suddenly washed over me.

Alan’s elixir was now working its magic, I supposed.

Would Gareth really remain at my side while I slept?

That was the last thought I had as I wandered into dreams.

When I woke, those dreams seemed to pursue me. Gareth had remained at my side, perusing a small dark green book. It was a sight I could definitely become used to. And I did.

The following days slipped past, one after the other.

Morning turned to night, followed by another morning.

Each day began with warmth, with the increasingly familiar weight of Gareth on the bed’s broad mattress.

For the most part, Gareth kept to his side of the bed, but with each passing day, we drew nearer to each other.

One morning, I woke up, embraced within his strong arms. His soft breath brushed across my bared shoulder where my white cotton undershirt had slipped off.

I stilled, not wishing to wake him. Unfortunately, like me, Gareth was a light sleeper.

He mumbled something in my ear, buried his head in my shoulder, and tightened his grip about my waist. My tail shifted, brushing against the half-aroused length of his cock.

Gareth reflexively growled in my ear, pushed me further into the soft mattress, and pinned me in place.

I wasn’t going anywhere. Nor did I wish to.

Snuggling deeper into our now shared pillow, I drifted in and out of a light doze.

Half a bell later, the pale light of spring, reaching through the cracks of the shuttered windows, played a light across the bed.

Gareth stretched lazily, finally freeing me from his grasp.

Unwillingly, I released my own grip on his hands, turned over, and eyed him thoughtfully.

Gareth rubbed his eyes and offered me a crooked, unrepentant grin.

“I’ve been sleeping so well these days.”

“Same,” I said, softly.

I didn’t want the quiet of the morning to end, but already, outside the door, I could hear the rush of feet. The changing of the guards.

“It’ll be the same as usual,” Gareth noted, sliding to the edge of the bed and beginning his usual ablutions. “I’ll ask Alan to take you to the library or accompany you for a short walk in the garden. Or something.”

“Rolf said he might let me go out later this morning,” I noted.

“Good.”

After pulling on his breeches, Gareth paused to consider me thoughtfully. He rounded the foot of the bed to sit on the edge by me. His long, broad fingers rose to chuck the underside of my chin.

“I’m sorry about this whole thing,” he said. “For now, we have to keep an eye on you.”

“I am your prisoner,” I pointed out.

“Yes.” A grin lit up his face and then disappeared just as quickly. “I would prefer to give you your freedom.”

“I have never felt freer than at your side.”

The admission came without thought. As those words left my lips, I blushed. Gareth leaned forward, offering me a gentle morning kiss.

“I shall endeavor that it remain so,” he said, voice husky with desire. “One day, we will both be able to… truly see the world for ourselves. Together.”

“Yes.” I could scarcely find breath after his promise and the kiss.

“Until then, stay safe.” He pressed another kiss to my brow. “I will come in the afternoon as usual.”

There was a routine these days. Morning served in his spacious parlor.

It was a lovely room with massive windows now thrown wide to let the sunlight in.

The wood paneling and arching ceilings were simple, but the rugs and the hand-carved furnishings were lavish.

By the fireplace, stacks of books had been brought by Alan for my entertainment.

I would spend time, turning each page carefully and staring at the pictures and drawings with rising curiosity.

If only I could understand the lettering…

When I wasn’t resting in Gareth’s chambers, Alan, sometimes accompanied by Hugh, would come round for a visit.

At first, our conversation was strained, but overtime, the three of us found a middle ground.

We would sit and talk about everyday affairs.

Alan would share his recent discoveries in some potion he was developing.

Hugh would crack jokes at Alan’s expense—or share tasty tidbits about castle gossip.

Today, Rolf and Anderson promised to take me for a walk in one of the castle’s hidden gardens.

Just before lunch, I was lightly cuffed and then led to a square courtyard.

This yard opened to sky, surrounded by a covered walkway lined with sculptured pillars.

The faces were noble, and every statue seemed to bear arms.

Who are they? I wondered. They don’t look like the avatars of the gods. Perhaps they are heroes of a distant past.

Moving further in, now left alone by the guards who stationed themselves at opposite ends of the garden, I realized that the garden had not fully awakened.

Here and there, green buds now hung, big and small, still unfurled.

Various bushes had begun to show greenery, and the trees were also beginning to regain their verdant shroud.

At the roots of one such tree, I found the early blossoms of purple hunter’s bells.

They were still fairly small—delicate buds that swayed in the gentle wind.

From beneath them, the dark soil scented the air, rich and fertile.