Page 109 of Pippa of Lauramore
I shake my head and take a step back, willing the tears to stop. This isn’t how I want to spend our last few hours together. I swipe at the tears, but Archer nudges my hand to the side and wipes the drops away with his thumb.
A crash of thunder immediately follows a bright flash of lightning. A raindrop falls on my arm, and then another lands in my hair. Moments later, the sky opens up, and great sheets of rain pour from the clouds.
“Come on.” Archer grabs my hand and pulls me to the cottage. He throws the door open, and we dash under the door frame. “Pippa, I don’t know?—”
I shush him, pressing my fingers to his mouth. With a trembling hand, I trace his lips, and he inhales sharply. Gathering my courage, I stand on the tips of my toes and lean in.
He stops me, setting his hands on my wrists. “No, Pippa. We can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask, though I can think of several reasons myself.
He gives me a wry smile. “The ring, for starters.”
I step away from him, never looking away from his eyes. I tug the gold ring from my finger, hold it front of him, and then throw it into the rain.
Archer watches, almost emotionless. We stare at the ring, half-sunken in the mud. The firelight reflects the droplets of water beading on the metal surface. I glance back when I feel him turn toward me. In less than a heartbeat his hands are on my waist, and I’m against him.
“Pippa,” he says, his voice deep and almost irritated.
He holds me tight, and I wrap my fingers in the short, rain-damp hair at the base of his neck.
“I have thousands of lonely days stretching in front of me,” I say. “Millions and millions of lonely minutes where my only happiness will come from memories. I’ve never kissed you, Archer. How can I be happy with memories if none of them are of being kissed by you?”
There’s a war in his eyes, but he’s close enough that his breath tickles my lips. So close—but so far if he changes his mind.
“I want your lips to be the first to touch mine. The only ones that will ever matter to me.” I tilt my head up slightly closer, and my voice breaks. “Please, Archer.”
He groans, setting his forehead against mine. “Do you know how I’m going to miss you, Pippa? Do you have any idea? How am I going to go on?”
“With memories. If you love me,kiss me.”
And he does.
His lips barely brush across mine, and then he angles back. His hand trails from my back to my hair, and then he meets my eyes. He looks dark and reckless, and I can barely breathe.
“Archer,” I say, feeling weightless, tingly, and desperately wanting more.
“Pippa, you have no idea,” he says. He kisses the cornerof my lips. “How long I’ve wanted that.” His lips move to the other side of my mouth.
I sigh in answer. I can’t speak. I’m too overwhelmed by the fierce emotions churning inside me.
Both of his hands are in my hair, twining the strands through his fingers, and then once again, his lips are on mine. Years of longing bubble from me, and I move into the kiss, feeling like everything we’ve ever been to each other finally makes sense.
There’s nothing else, only Archer. No tournament, no Lionel—just me and him and this moment hidden in the cottage in the forest.
When he pulls away, I sigh and melt against him. My heart is beating at a wild, chaotic pace. Diving from cliffs, racing Willowisp through the forest—nothing compares to this heady feeling.
His arms wrap around me, holding me close. I lay my head against his chest. I can feel his heart through his tunic, and it’s racing like mine. We stay like this until the lightning is distant and the thunder is only a far-off rumble. The rain still falls, but it’s a gentle shower instead of a torrential downpour.
He finally pulls away and fetches my ring from the mud. The metal is far from tarnished, even if it has lost some of its luster.
Archer takes my hand in his and gently slides the ring on my finger. I close my eyes, feeling the ache of longing. I never knew I could regret the loss of something that was never mine.
I look down, studying the gray boards under my feet. “Never once have I thought of leaving and never coming back.” I look up, meeting his eyes. “Not until tonight.”
His lips are on mine again, soft and sweetly possessive. “You say the words, and we’ll go,” he answers, his voice serious. “But know there will be repercussions.”
The insult would be too great. Vernow would declare war against Lauramore.
