Chapter 57: part II-1

Sharing a bed was not in the cards for Sam and Braeden, not this night. The forgotten kiss that could not be forgotten stood between them like an invisible elephant, and the pallet was scarcely large enough to fit one body, let alone three. After a brief argument, Sam took the floor, and Braeden the bed. He was the wounded one, after all, and needed rest far more than she.  She wouldn’t take no for an answer. The floor was hard and cold beneath her, and every time she shifted, a new piece of straw tickled her nose or feet or back. She wrapped a thin sheet around her, but it provided little comfort. It shouldn’t have mattered--with the marathon of events they’d had over the past few days, she should have been able to sleep standing up. But she was too rattled to sleep. Ever since Braeden discovered who she was, she’d been off balance, unsure of how to act now that her two worlds had collided.  She didn’t know how to be Paladin trainee Sam and Lady Samantha simultaneously. Sam had thought she’d left Lady Samantha behind for good when she joined the Paladins. She didn’t want to be a lady, she wanted to be a Paladin. And Paladins had no business going around kissing other Paladins. Not for any reason. Braeden’s voice echoed inside her head. Why? Why did she kiss him? Even when Lady Samantha was her only identity, she hadn’t been much of a romantic. She’d harbored a tendre or two over the years, but never had she acted on it. She hadn’t been the sort to pine over men or flirt or gossip with her friends about the fine turn of a man’s calves. Then again, she hadn’t had many friends to gossip with had she wanted to. From the cradle she’d been taught not to befriend the people of Haywood but to rule them. She was close with no one but her servants, and they were paid to like her. Until Braeden. At the thought of his name, a fresh pang shot through her chest. When she’d touched her lips to his, she’d crossed some murky line, trespassing into new territory that she wasn’t ready for, now or maybe ever. Their kiss had been wonderful and frightening and seductive, but it changed things between them irrevocably. Could a friendship survive such a kiss? They couldn’t do it again, that much was certain. For the sake of their friendship and Sam’s future with the Paladins. She’d made a choice when she’d discarded her life at Haywood for the Paladins. Lady Samantha might have loved a man, but Paladin Sam never could. Sleep did come eventually, or it must have, for she closed her eyes in darkness and opened them again in candlelight. She blinked, pupils adjusting. Tristan’s face blurred above hers and then sharpened. “Morning,” he said. “Urgh,” she grunted, not yet able to form coherent words. She arched her back against the hard floor, stretching, and then forced herself upright. Her eyes shifted right, to Braeden’s empty pallet. “Where is Braeden?” “With Asa, in surgery, I suspect.” Sam bolted to her feet. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?” She moved for the door. Tristan grabbed her arm, halting her in her tracks. “Braeden wanted to let you sleep. He said this was something he needed to do on his own.” “Oh,” she said. She was strangely hurt by that. It felt like a personal blow, especially after last night, like Braeden was excluding her from his life. “He’ll be fine,” said Tristan, mistaking her somber expression for worry over Braeden’s wellbeing. She should be worried--and she was, a good deal--not fretting over some perceived slight. “It’s a quick, easy surgery. Asa said Braeden would be patched up in time for breakfast.” “Good,” Sam said absently, surveying the destruction they had wrought to the small room. She couldn’t wait to get out of there, to put the evening behind her. “Impressive, isn’t it?” Tristan said dryly. “I’ve already remunerated Master Byrd for the damages. Cost me a pretty penny.” Sam reddened. “Last night was…not intentional.” Tristan’s face softened. “I know.” Then he grinned. “To be honest, I was far more reckless when I was a trainee, and for less reason. Most of the time there wasn’t a reason, other than my own amusement.” “I’m not much for rule-breaking,” Sam said. It was true, if you didn’t count pretending to be a man. Tristan snorted. “I’d hardly call you obedient. Have you ever accepted an order without protest?” Sam sniffed. “I don’t disobey your orders. I just vocalize my grievances.” Tristan’s rejoinder to that was simply to laugh. “Come on, let’s head to breakfast. Surely you can find no grievance with that.” “Only that I have to share it with you,” Sam said with syrupy sweetness. Breakfast was an elaborate affair: the usual bread and cheese accompanied by a rich, creamy butter, salted fish and a chine of beef. It was a meal Sam would expect to see on her father’s dining table, not in some backwater inn. She bit into a piece of heavily buttered bread, her eyes fluttering closed as the golden, flaky crust melted in her mouth. Pure heaven. Tristan was staring at her. “What?” she asked. “Your expression…” he said, pink tingeing his cheeks. “Never mind. Ah, here’s Braeden.” Braeden stood at the entrance to the tavern, light and shadow playing across his face, accenting the sharp angles. He searched the room, his eyes landing on Sam’s. After a tension-filled moment, Sam looked away, her gaze falling to his shoulders. His left hand was wrapped around his upper right arm, holding it gingerly. So he had done it, then. Tristan waved Braeden over. “How did it go?” he asked as Braeden pulled out a chair from their table. “Fine,” said Braeden. “The surgeon said that with the way my body heals, my arm should be fully mobile by tomorrow.” Tristan whistled. “Gods, that’s incredible. You’re a lucky man, Braeden.” Braeden gave him a flat look, and Tristan coughed awkwardly. “Well, I do envy your healing ability. The last time I was seriously injured, I was bedridden for a fortnight.” “What about your tattoo?” Sam asked, her voice rusty. “Damaged beyond repair,” Braeden said, pushing back his right sleeve to reveal thick white bandages. His eyes met hers again, drinking her in. “I’ll learn to live without it.” Sam wasn’t sure if he was talking about his tattoo or something else, but she nodded anyway. “That’s good.” “Can you ride?” asked Tristan. “I was hoping to leave Pirama today, but we can delay our departure until tomorrow if necessary.”