When her mouth opened against his, he groaned. His tongue slipped between her lips to lightly caress hers. Her body pressed into him, the damp chill of the night fleeing before the sudden heat of her skin.
Barrow’s arms came around her back. He lifted her up, turning her so she was pinned against the stall door. His mouth left hers to trail down her jaw and neck. Her breath caught when his kiss followed the line of her bodice.
When he pulled away, she tried to bring him close again. He gently kept her apart, saying, “We shouldn’t linger here, Ember. Anyone could come upon us.”
“Where?” she asked, only caring to find a place quickly so she could feel his body against hers once more.
Barrow took her hand and began to lead her toward the stable entrance. “Are the Guard assembled in the barracks?”
“Most of them,” Ember said, feeling her chest hollow out at his question’s implication. “Must we join their vigil?”
He shook his head. “Tonight Lukasz informs our brethren of Sorcha’s death and of the disruption of the ritual of Fidelitas. A ceremony to honor her will take place in a few days after the appropriate preparations have been made.”
When they reached the courtyard, Barrow paused, drawing them into the stable’s shadow. His lips found hers, lingering, tasting before he broke away to ask, “What do you want, Ember? I won’t go any further until I know your mind.”
She was afraid to speak. To be honest was to lay bare her heart. “I don’t want to pass this night without you.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “And I do not think I could bear this grief if not for you.”
Ember laid her hands over his. “Will you stay with me?”
“I will.” He kissed her softly. “Go to your cell and I will come to you . . . if that is truly what you desire.”
“Not only what I desire, but what I need,” she whispered, and he kissed her again.
“Go now,” he told her. “I’ll follow shortly.”
She hurried across the courtyard to the barracks, shivering in the absence of Barrow’s warmth. The Guard’s quarters were subdued, wrapped in silence. Ember didn’t know if her companions had sought their beds or were still gathered in the hall, mourning Sorcha. She climbed the stairs, passing Kael’s cell on the way to her own, and wondered if Lukasz would spend the night with Kael—the two of them finding solace in each other’s arms behind closed doors. The same solace she longed to share with Barrow.
Taking a candle from the hall lantern, Ember stole into her cell, keeping her movements quiet for fear of stirring any of the Guard. What lay ahead for Barrow and her remained a mystery she wasn’t compelled to solve . . . at least not yet. Should anyone witness Barrow coming to her room at this late hour, it could raise questions she didn’t want to answer. She lit the candle that sat on the small table and restored the hall light.
In the soft glow of candlelight Ember unbuttoned her dress. She half wondered if she should wait for Barrow before disrobing. But her dress was mud-covered and still damp through to her kirtle. The fabric of the two garments seemed almost melded together, lying heavy on her chilled skin. As she was pushing her loosened gown and kirtle off her shoulders, Ember heard the door open behind her. Her pulse jumped but she continued to let the dress drop. It skimmed over her breasts, baring them, as she turned.
Alistair stared at her, eyes wide.
Ember gave a small cry and jerked her kirtle back up, pressing the fabric to her collarbone.
“Ember.” He breathed her name, taking a step toward her. “Oh, Ember.”
She backed into her pallet. “Wait, Alistair. What are you doing here?”
“Eira asked me to find you. She’s unable to come herself tonight, but what she wants to tell you is urgent. I’m here on her behalf,” he said. His eyes had fixed on the place that she’d just covered with the still-damp kirtle. “We need to talk.”
“But . . .” Ember groped for a way to get Alistair out of her cell before Barrow arrived. “It’s so late and I’m tired. Can you come in the morning?”
He shook his head. “It can’t wait.”
“Then let me dress again,” she said. “I can’t speak to you like this.”
Alistair came to her before she could object. His hands gripped her bare shoulders.
“Listen to me,” he whispered. “Hear what I have to say, please.”
He hurried on without waiting for her assent. “I understand now, Ember. I’m so sorry. I should have seen it before.”
“Seen what?” Ember glanced toward the cell door. When would Barrow arrive? What would he think when he found Alistair here?
“Why you felt you had to reject me,” Alistair told her.
His words drove thoughts of Barrow from her mind as her blood went cold.
“You came to be with me,” he continued. “Like we’d always spoken of since we were children. But of course you could never take me as a lover. And as a husband I have nothing to offer. No lands. No fortune.”
“Alistair.”
He pressed his fingers onto her lips.
“Let me finish. There’s another way.”
Ember couldn’t breathe. What was he talking about? Her pulse had become a steady drumbeat, low and hard, that echoed in her ears.
“Lady Eira is a great warrior and a leader like no other,” he said. His eyes had grown bright with excitement. “She is sympathetic to our plight. The life of the Guard is brutal. We give up so much and for what?”
His fingers dug into her shoulders. “We protect the world without acknowledgment. We give up wealth, happiness . . . love.” He lifted his hand to cup her face. “It doesn’t have to be so.”
“What are you talking about, Alistair?” Ember’s voice was shaking.
“A new order,” he murmured. “A world where we are honored as we should be. Where we are not subject to the avarice of men like Abbot Crichton or the dumb bloodlust of a peasant mob.”
Her skin prickled. “Tell me more.”
He smiled, encouraged. “Eira wished to speak to you of these matters herself. But things have progressed too quickly. Just know that when the time comes, you must ally yourself with her. To do otherwise would be the greatest folly.”
She didn’t understand, but the sharp, knife-like twist in her belly told her that something was horribly amiss.