IV. Mercy Kiss

Aichlan sucked his teeth, frustrated with his lack of coordination as the needle pricked his thumb for the hundredth time. He turned his dejected gaze to the pile of garments that remained to be washed and mended. The washing would have to wait until Dawn, even now that they were so close to the river’s mouth and the sea, he didn’t trust that the maiden wouldn’t attempt to drown him if he attempted to wash after dusk.

Aichlan sighed, resigned that he lacked the skill to do so, yet determined to try as he attempted to stitch his breeches once again. Despite the moon casting a golden glow, he still struggled to see what he was doing, not like sight would make up for his decided lack of skill. His clothes were on the verge of being little more than rags however, and he couldn’t afford to put off the task any longer. Incidentally, he believed he had just made things worse by trying to fix them, and would likely have to continue on in his underwear. Aichlan glanced over his shoulder at the thought. It was hardly proper to be sitting in his underwear in the middle of a forest as it was.

Both his mother and Renata had attempted on numerous occasions to teach him how to sew, but both women had resigned in frustration at his lack of progress. Aichlan snatched his finger back with a startled yelp as the needle dug into it, drawing blood once again. He was ready to call it quits as well.

“Ye know,”

Aichlan craned around to see who had spoken, finding Ashe leaning against a nearby tree. Her features were severe and accentuated, as was common for the elven races; though she had a softness of face that was almost imperceptible, yet warm and disarming all the same. In any case, the sharpness of her facial features was more than offset by the well-defined curves that made up the rest of her.

“Fer such a scrawny thing, yer more cut than a diamond. And I ain’t talkin’ bout the scars.”

Aichlan smiled sheepishly, well aware that he was essentially naked, and unsure of how long she had been watching him. The elves, he had noticed, had the unsettling ability to move silently through the woods.

“Scrawny? I beg your pardon.” He retorted, drawing himself up and flexing his sore muscles with some difficulty. “The term you’re looking for is Athletic.”

Ashe laughed and rolled her eyes. “Half the men in this camp got at least five stone on ye. From my perspective, it’s scrawny.”

Aichlan smirked, even though her statement was mostly true, her eyes were telling a very different tale. “Oh? Should I be worried then?”

Ashe pushed off the tree and ambled over, her hands clasped behind her back. Each step, methodical with one foot put before the other, caused her hips to rock and sway in a hypnotizing fashion, dragging his eyes back and forth in time with their sashaying. Aichlan laughed to himself, amused that some conventions crossed the boundaries of race and culture. Her next move would be to find some pretext to touch him.

“Nay. I’ve seen plenty o’ runts take down giants.” Ashe smiled coyly as she bit her lower lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Aichlan offered an exagerated frown in repsonse, enticed by her playful provocation. “Now I am offended.”

Ashe conjured a fire in her hands and set it atop a pile of stones. “Why? I happen tae like scrawny, boyish looking fey.”

Her lyrical voice was enchanting, despite her accent being crude and uncivilized by southern Aes Sidhean standards. In spite of this bias, he got the impression that she was an intelligent and competent woman, one whom he yearned to continue speaking. Even if it were at his expense. Aichlan tossed his breeches into the pile of clothes and fished out his tunic. It was quite literally shredded. He groaned and threw it back, tempted to just throw the pile to the fire. If he was going to be taken seriously as a knight, it was very important that he looked the part. Right now, he looked like a hobo. Or a corpse.

Beside him, Ashe stood with her arms folded under her chest as she chewed on her lower lip ring. Even a blind man who’d never even smelled a woman before would recognize the come hither look in her eyes. It was suddenly no longer a game or harmless flirting, and he found that prospect as unsettling as it was enticing.

“A blue eyed fey…”

“Pardon?” Aichlan asked, suddenly concious of how he might smell and his lack of clothing.

Ashe smiled and leaned in closer, poking him in the cheek with her finger. “Your eyes, most fey have green.”

Aichlan looked away, suddenly aware of how his lack of trousers may give away how intriguing he found her. He had never given much thought to his eye color. It was always just accepted that he had inherited his father’s eyes, who was only a quarter fey. He flinched as Ashe began to trace the scar on his shoulder with delicate fingers. While it was still sore, the wound had healed nicely, though he would wear a rather gnarly scar for the foreseeable future.

“How are the others mending?” she asked with genuine concern.

Aichlan’s muscles tensed. “Well enough.”

The gash on his abdomen had closed cleanly, his ribs had fused back together and the various stress fractures in his arms and legs were no longer an issue. He had healed brilliantly; thanks to whatever it was she had been feeding him and those herbal mixtures. Yet for whatever reason, he couldn’t tell her that.

Ashe laughed and brushed a curly strand of hair from her face. “May I see them?”

She continued to trace the contours of his back with her finger as she circled behind him. Aichlan took a deep breath, there was no denying the signs at this point. She was definitely interested in him. Normally, he’d have taken the lead long ago, yet he hesitated now.

Between Garrick’s accusations that he had failed the Priestess, and the heartfelt promises he made to Renata the night before marching to his death, he was paralyzed by guilt. Renata hadn’t been his first, she hadn’t even been his last, but somehow, this situation was different.

“What for?” Aichlan snapped, instantly regretting his tone.

Ashe clicked her tongue and smacked him playfully on the back. “Cheeky! Just tryna help, yeah?”

Aichlan turned his head towards her and pursed his lips together, forcing a smile. “I am quite well, thank you.”

He felt like kicking himself.

Ashe turned the corner of her lip in a frown and grumbled under her breath, confused and dismayed by his counterintuitive behavior, but not deterred. She drew herself closer and continued to trace his muscles as she circled around to his front. He looked up from his previously forgotten task to find her chest mere inches from his face, and quickly looked away.

Why damn it? If it had been but eight years earlier, he would have pounced upon her in a heartbeat. And why shouldn’t he now? In their eight years together, what had Renata truly given him? His death?

When she was in the mood, he was lover, but when she was displeased or generally disinterested, it was always Grandmaster. He had never been on equal standing with her, she was always the Priestess, and he the servant.

When the cardinals discovered their affair thanks to that loudmouthed handmaid of hers, Renata could have easily overruled their decision. Yet she did nothing. She stood idly by as they sent him to his death. Worse yet, he was so foolish as to still hold her upon an ivory pedestal till the end. Still foolish enough to deny the obvious, to ignore what he had known all along. If she could not be faithful then, why should he be now?

Ashe ran her hand through his hair, gingerly tracing a scar with her thumb. He shivered. Mistaken the gesture for him being cold, she pressed up closer against him and expanded the flames hovering over the flames. Despite being a negligible act, he rarely viewed such empathy from Renata. Yet I loved her. However, he had seriously begun to question whether he truly did or not.

“Yer a sturdy one, aren’t ye Aichlan.”

Ashe was damn near cradling his head against her breast. If he but twitched his head slightly, he’d have found a nipple in his mouth. He could even tell that she had hers pierced. The Colby-Nau certainly had odd practices.

Aichlan raised his gaze to hers once more. He could think of nothing better than her touch, and judging by the look she gave in return, she’d have loved nothing more than to give it. It would be perfectly reasonable to take her in his arms. The same way he had taken Renata. Aichlan abruptly stood in disgust and paced before the fire.

He had no idea what he was doing there, with her, with them. Garrick had been cryptic, but he had been clear in one regard; his mission was to save Renata. From what, Aichlan could only speculate. The why was a mystery as well. Even if Renata were to die, another would inevitably pop up somewhere to take her place. It had been that way for centuries.

So why now? And why me?

“Aichlan? What’s the matter?”

Aichlan smirked. Renata hardly if ever showed so much concern for him. Now some elf woman he had just met showed more warmth in three weeks than Renata had in the eight years she had him. Granted, some of his complaints could be chalked up to the secretive nature of their relationship, there were many that couldn’t. Renata was Priestess, leader of a celibate order with the birth rate of a small kingdom. She could have been with him more openly if she wanted to.

If.

Aichlan clenched and unclenched his fists as his eyes reflected the silent raging fire before him. She didn’t want to.

“Aichlan?” Ashe asked as she reached out to touch his shoulder.

Aichlan spun around and batted her hand away with his own. His eyes flashed with the madness only a woman in control of a man’s heart could elicit.

“What’s wrong?” Ashe asked as she clutched her hand to her chest.

“I…Don’t know…”

And truthfully, he did not. He didn’t know why he was there, denying himself the touch of a woman he desperately craved. He didn’t know where to go or what to do once he got there. He was a ship without sails, adrift in a sea of his own regrets.

“Right then.” Ashe said, crestfallen. “I’ll just leave ye be…”

It happened before he was fully aware that she was even leaving, yet somehow, Aichlan found himself holding her. He couldn’t be sure why, in fact, he wasn’t sure when he did it. If at all. Yet there she was, her warm flesh pressed up against his, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

He reached up and brushed a tangle of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. It was an untamed jumble of curly tendrils, framing an angular face with soft features, like the flames that danced atop the pile of smooth river stones. He felt her breast rise and fall with each short, shallow breath she took, and became aware that he was holding his.

Aichlan was well aware of what was supposed to occur next, yet still he allowed the seconds to tick by like hours. He hoped that someone, anyone, would stumble upon them and they’d be forced to spring apart and offer awkward apologies for the intimate way in which they were found. Yet no one stumbled upon them, accidentally or otherwise.

There were less than six inches between them. Six inches stood between her lips and the eight years spent with the ghost of a woman he once professed his love to. A ghost was very likely what she was at this point too.

Ashe however, was alive and well. Warm, both physically and emotionally. With her, he felt as an equal for the first time in nearly a decade. With her…

Her kiss was unexpected; most women didn’t take the initiative like this in Aichlan’s experience. Her lips tasted like cinnamon, her body both soft and firm. The jeweled stud in her tongue clicked against his teeth as she found her way inside of his mouth. Aichlan jerked in surprise when her hand clasped his rear, only for her to quickly pull him back into her.

Aichlan realized that his own hands hungrily groped her well-toned and very rounded bottom. Who started fondling whom first however, couldn’t be determined.

I should stop. Yet no sooner he thought this, his hands had already undone her top of their own volition.

I can’t.

“What d’ye mean ya cain’t?” Ashe breathed in response to a statement he was not aware he said aloud. “I can feel it.”

“I can’t Ashe. I’m sorry.” Aichlan said, still grasping her bum.

“Why?” Ashe spat with justifiable vehemence. “Because of that priest woman? She’s dead Aichlan.”

Aichlan reluctantly let go of Ashe and took a hesitant step back. “I don’t know that for sure…”

Though secretly, he wished that she were. He didn’t want this weight hanging over him. If she were dead, so be it, just so long as it were over and done with.

Ashe snorted in disgust and angrily retied her top. “Fuckin’ tease. If the broad ain’t dead, I’m of half a mind tae do it meself.”

Aichlan weakly held out his hand, but let it fall in defeat. “Ashe…”

Ashe threw up her arms. “If ye wanna play hard tae get, fine. But ye’d best be makin’ up yer mind before we reach Rhode, my blue eyed fey.”

Ashe pushed her way past and stormed back to camp before he had a chance to reply. Not that he had anything to say. Abruptly, Ashe turned around and quickly snatched up his pile of clothing.

“Hey!”

“Ye can get ‘em back in the mornin’. Either that or keep prickin’ yerself raw.” Ashe spat, jabbing him in the chest with her finger for emphasis.

Her emerald eyes showed both frustration and genuine concern. The cold, sinking knot of guilt struck gnawed at his heart again.

“Ashe…I—“

Before he could finish formulating a hackneyed apology, Ashe grabbed him roughly by the hair and forced her tongue into his mouth once more.

“Next time ye get cold feet without at least getting yer fingers wet,” She warned “We’re gonna have problems.”