X. LOVER
Consumed by his thoughts, Richard had no idea how many circles he walked around the camp before he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. His hand flitted to his sword as he listened, only to let go a moment later. He knew the sound of those soft, even steps better than the beating of his own heart.
She called his name, and despite himself, he turned to face her.
In her white dress, Kahlan stood out pale as a spirit against the night. Her voice was breathless, as if she'd walked awhile to find him, "What happened back there?"
Richard shook his head, staring past her at a large knot growing on the trunk of an oak tree. There was nothing he wanted to say. And she belonged back at the camp, safe and resting, not searching for him alone in the woods. Kahlan slipped closer, reaching out with a questioning hand to pluck at the fabric of his shirt. He had yanked it open to let the cool night air soothe his chest, but it had done little for the searing pain running the length of the Keeper's mark. He flinched at her touch, and she nearly shied away like a frightened animal, her fingers just barely clinging to the fabric's edge.
Her eyes met his. "Let me see," she said, her voice determined, yet afraid. He did not know how to refuse her. All he could do was nod and stare entranced as Kahlan pressed her hand tentatively against his chest, fingers sliding over skin to line up with the imprint left by Rahl. She gasped and pulled away, "Richard!" she said. "The mark is red hot."
He turned from her, drawing fabric back over damaged skin. "It's nothing," he muttered. "Just a dream."
She huffed a soft sound of disbelief and followed after him. "How could a dream leave your skin hot as poker?"
"I must have slept too close to the fire," he said, struggling to forget the haunting laughter that had filled his head just before waking. Kahlan shifted to the left so she stood in front of him again, so near to him that he could smell her. He breathed in the strong scent of wood smoke mingled with the pine boughs she'd spread her bedroll over, and then he bowed his head and took in the ground.
"If it was a dream, tell me of it?" she asked. He did not want to, but she was so tender with him, overpowering him with nothing more than the warmth of her body, and the memory of her hand on his chest, that he could not help but comply.
"I saw Darken Rahl," he said and hoped it would be enough to satisfy her.
"A nightmare then?" said Kahlan. Richard shrugged his shoulders – she would pity him if he shared Rahl's words, and he did not deserve that. He could feel her eyes searching his face, trying to get him to look at her. She sighed when he did not, "Zedd is worried about you."
He saw again the Sword of Truth cleaving a path through his grandfather's head, splitting his brow, his nose, his chin in two. Richard closed his eyes and struggled to repress a shudder. "I shouldn't have yelled at him," he said. "I'll apologize."
Kahlan frowned and stepped closer, moving back into his space so she became all he felt or knew. "I'm worried about you too," she said. This time she rested a hand on his arm, and desire quickened in him despite how hard he tried to fight it. "You weren't like this earlier tonight. What did Darken Rahl say to you?"
He looked away from her. "It was just a bad dream."
"One that you refuse to speak of."
"I haven't refused—" he began.
"You have." It was the voice of the Mother Confessor she spoke with – sharp and sure and wise beyond her years. And in the next moment, she was Kahlan again, full of worry, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "Richard, you're nothing like him."
He scowled bitterly. "If you knew my thoughts…"
"I know your heart," she said, staring up at him with eyes that seemed suddenly, fiercely bright. As if he could drown or burn or disappear to die a thousand happy deaths in their depths. "And it is a good heart," she added softly. Again she reached to touch him, her fingertips brushing over his cheek. Her thumb slid across his jaw, until it just grazed the edge of his lower lip. A shiver ran through him, and he knew she felt it.
He pulled away to try to kill his longing for her, some undying fire that never went out, and Kahlan's face fell. Her hand dropped to her side. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought there might be tears in her eyes. Rahl's laughter lurked beneath his skin. All he ever did was hurt her.
She sucked in a shaky breath, twisting her hands together. "Are we…Is it always going to be—" She sounded mournful and terrified, her voice a strange, strangled whisper, "Are you ever going to want to kiss me again?"
Richard gaped at her. His jaw worked, but no words came out. He stood as stunned as if she'd struck him. "How can you ask me that?" he managed at last.
Kahlan shook her head, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, and he had to strain to hear her answer, "Because you used to, sometimes. Before…"
He remembered a handful of stolen kisses, brief and fleeting, in those rare, splendid moments when Zedd and Cara weren't around. Because he'd liked her reaction. And because she had the most perfect mouth.
But that had been before. Before he'd held her down and raped her. The others never used that word to describe what had happened that day, not once. Even he hadn't dared to say it out loud; he couldn't bear it, not when the reality cut like a knife. But Rahl's voice echoed inside his head, and he knew his brother was right. It fit the revulsion he felt towards himself far better than anything else.
Tell me, brother, did she weep? Most women weep.
He retreated another pace. "Kahlan," he begged.
She pursed her lips together and spoke hesitantly, "Do you still think of me…that way?" Dear spirits, she was doing this to torment him. Except Kahlan barely knew how to flirt, let alone how to play those sorts of vicious games with a man's heart.
She would know if he lied, and so he didn't. "I try not to."
"Oh." A look of pain flashed across her face right before it tore through his heart. She went white as the moon overhead, and her lower lip trembled. "I wish you wouldn't try," she said in a small, small voice. "I still think of you that way."
Richard shook his head. His mind was full of the memory of her – the tumble of her hair, the warmth of her flesh, the wet of her mouth – and it was too much. "I imagined killing Zedd with the Sword of Truth!" he blurted out. "When he touched my shoulder tonight, I thought of cutting him in two." He didn't know why he said it, except in the desperate hope that she would loathe him.
Instead, Kahlan cried his name with something that sounded like understanding, and ended months of distance in a single moment by wrapping him up in her arms. She was all that was warm and wonderful, and, against his will, his head dropped to rest on her shoulder. He felt a hot tear leak from the corner of his eye to land on her bare skin. She said nothing of it, just pressed against him even more.
His hands hung at his sides – he would not let himself hold her – but he could still feel the softness her body had gained. It was all but imperceptible when he looked at her, but she felt different than she had the last time she'd been so close. She was softer and fuller now where before she'd been toned. And he could feel the gentlest swell to her stomach – not yet enough to strain the fabric of her dress. Another tear fell against her skin, and this time she murmured his name. It was all he could do to keep from weeping openly.
"Hold me, Richard," she whispered. He obeyed.
She leaned into him as he closed a cautious hand around her waist. Her breath was hot against his neck. She said something that might have been his name, but it didn't really matter because the point was not the word, but the sound. Her blue eyes were inky in the night; her fingertips busy burning a trail down his spine. He could feel her breasts mashed against him, and he looked down despite himself, captivated by the way they rose and fell with each breath she took. She watched him stare, and they breathed the same air in ragged gasps.
He did not know how not to want her.
"Kahlan…" He found her eyes again, his voice gone husky and low.
She kissed him then, her mouth warm and wet and open against his, and spirits forgive him, he kissed her back. He clutched her to him as tears oozed from the corners of his closed eyes, delving into her mouth with a hunger he had not known since the very first time they'd kissed. Back when her magic had been a mystery, and she simply the most beautiful, perfect woman he'd ever seen.
He ran his hands through her long hair, countless strands whispering past his fingertips, and for a moment, he let himself forget why he shouldn't, why he didn't deserve to do this. He just pulled her closer and drank her down. Kahlan moaned into his mouth, and then they were staggering backwards together, their feet trading ground. But when her back bumped up against the trunk of an oak, catching her between him and the towering tree, he felt her tremble and freeze. Her mouth stilled half open against his.
Richard pulled back, and he saw in her eyes an echo of that same frightened way she'd looked at him when pinned to the ground. He swore he could feel her heart racing. Her breath came in little, pitiful gasps, and though she tried to smile at him, it didn't fit.
"Kahlan, I would never…" he said, voice cracking as he backed further away from her. He wished a rift to the Underworld would open up right beneath his feet to swallow him whole.
"I know," she said quickly, nodding too many times. "I know. I'm fine, please." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm sorry. I don't know why…" She sagged against the tree, whispering, "I didn't mean to do that."
Richard stared at the ground because the sight of her with swollen lips and a dark, tangled halo of hair was too much to bear. "Don't be sorry," he said. He forced himself to stagger backwards more, away from her. Far away from her. He had often wondered if she feared him now, and now he knew she did. Maybe not all of her, but some part of her did. Deep down inside, she was afraid. It had stopped them even before her magic would have forced them apart. "It's my fault," he said. "I had no right."
"But I love you!" she said in a wobbly voice. "You had every right."
"Kahlan, no, I don't. Not anymore." His words came out rougher than he intended, but he could not forget what it felt like to be buried deep inside her when she said things like that, and that was a memory he was never allowed to find so much as a moment's pleasure in. Richard gripped the hilt of his sword in desperation, welcoming the punishing, painful wave of anger that swept through him.
She tugged a hand down her hair, taming it. He could tell by the look on her face that only his tone had stopped her from saying more. Kahlan straightened her dress and – two deep breaths later – she looked composed again, if a little shaken. "Zedd and Cara will be worried by now," she said softly.
"You go ahead," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. He didn't want to face the others tonight, especially Zedd. And sleeping was out of the question anyway, so he might as well pace the woods until the sun came up. Kahlan would probably rest easier herself if he wasn't near. "I might go hunting," he offered as an excuse, though hardly a convincing one without his bow.
But she crossed her arms over her chest, and the strength that used to be so predominant in all that she did seemed to snap back into her. "I'm with child, and you're going to let me walk back alone?" she asked. "In the middle of the night?" Kahlan raised an eyebrow in a delicate arch, her voice sharp and humorless. "I could get eaten alive by gars."
He knew what she was trying to do. Kahlan was no damsel in distress and never one to play at it either for attention. But her words were more than enough to shame him into returning to camp. Richard tightened his grip on the sword, letting the wash of angry magic rushing through him clear his head. Though she held no true qualms about walking the short distance back, there were dangers enough in the Midlands ready to strike at those who traveled alone or unwary, and that was without a prophecy heralding her death. He shuddered at the thought and moved a cautious step closer. He had to keep her safe.
"You're right," he said, and their eyes met all too briefly before they both looked away. "Let's go back." The forest was dark and tangled and cold, and they walked through it in silence, side by side.