Page 149 of Bound

Even Wren was beginning to feel it. She’d spent so long lazing about—for that’s what it had become, regardless of what Braum said about mending and healing. She was well strong enough for mucking stables and cooking meals and all the rest of the little duties she’d foregone.

Braum answered for her, much to her relief. “We’ve made a promise to be back tonight,” he informed them. And although there were a few quizzical looks, none of them dared to press him further.

Which meant bundling back into the cart. With a lantern to guide their way, and blankets to keep them warm. And if Braum had any hope of company, he would be sorely mistaken, for she nodded off before they’d even left the city walls.

???

She was being carried. Which was all right, because she knew the scent tickling at her nose. Knew the arms that held her, and she would not fall. “’m awake,” she insisted. And it was rather rude of her words to slur when she was perfectly rested. She hadn’t meant to sleep the whole way, truly.

But that was her bed behind her back, and it was her boots he was trying to wrestle off her feet, which was wholly unnecessary because she was awake. “You’re undressin’ me.” It was a statement as well as a complaint, her eyes squinting and far too dry, and it left him all in a blur as she tried to make sense of him.

She wiped at them, frustrated at the pain of it, and tried to conjure something sad so her eyes might well and alleviate the discomfort.

But all she could think about were moonstones and spiced nuts and the feel of Braum’s hand in hers, and there was really nothing to cry over when those were the memories first in her mind.

His fingers stilled. “Would you rather I not?”

Always so careful of her.

And that did the trick.

So she swallowed and this time she could see him clearly. He looked tired. She wondered if the borrowed hesper still needed to be stalled or if he’d already seen to it. She should get up. Help.

Or...

She could let him ask. If he needed it. Wanted it. Could trust him that he could set his own priorities.

“I’ll allow it,” she said instead, holding out her foot a little further for his attention.

She’d do the same to him. Help him out of the buttons of his wrap. His boots too, if he wanted it.

Wren was rewarded with a chuckle as he went back to work on her laces. “How magnanimous,” he countered dryly.

He conquered the first boot. It went to the floor with a mild thump, but he did not immediately release her ankle. Instead, she caught him looking at it, still encased in her thick stocking.

A perfectly ordinary foot, really. The stitches perhaps were not. Or maybe it was the colours he found strange—a hodgepodge of all her different scraps that she couldn’t bear to waste when they could be something useful.

His scrutiny was almost enough for her to withdraw. To tuck and curl and ask him what he found troublesome.

She did not expect his thumb to come to the ball of her foot. For his eyes to glance toward hers as he pressed firmly.

Any less, she would have squealed and possibly kicked him.

But it wasn’t a tickle. Wasn’t a sensitive brush that made her shiver. Just a persistent rub that felt...

Rather glorious.

She hadn’t even realised her feet had begun to ache. It was her lazing; she decided. That’s what had done it. Never before would a walk on hard cobbles have tired her feet so, and it was almost an embarrassment that he’d noticed at all.

Might have been. Except that he was persistent, finding the tightest coils of tension and pressing his thumb just so, his attention on her face all the while.

While she tried not to squirm. Tried not to groan because of how lovely it felt.

There were no rules about this, surely. It wasn’t like the kisses where she should consider being careful. This was... this was like her baths. Or not even a bath. This was a favourite meal prepared, or an extra cup of tea on the porch when the last had gone too quickly.

She sighed.

A soft sound that wasn’t a whimper. It wasn’t. Just the release of breath and yes, perhaps a hint of pleasure as well, and she could not help but notice the way his eyes warmed. The way he allowed his other hand to grip her ankle. Even... to skim slightly upward, his thumb brushing upward along her calf.

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