Chapter 38 - Fin (Epilogue)-2

To her surprise, her father turned to Braeden. "I heard what you said, boy. I will not fight for a man who holds the demons in his pocket." So it had not been about her after all. Sam bit back unfounded disappointment. "Good of you, Father," she muttered. As if he read her mind, the duke said, "I have always been a politician first, father second. My hand is forced in this matter." His face softened. "But even if it weren't, I would never fight for the side that named you traitor." She ducked her head so he couldn't see how his words affected her. "Thank you, Father." The duke cleared his throat. "May I say goodbye to you properly? I would part on better terms than we did last." "You may," Sam said in a small voice. The duke extended his arm towards Braeden first, clasping his free hand in his. "It's Braeden, isn't it?" "Aye." "Do you love my daughter?" "Father!" she exclaimed, blushing to the roots of her hair. "Braeden, you don't have to answer that." Braeden ignored her. "I do, your Grace." "And does she love you?" "So she says, your Grace." "I'm right here!" Sam complained. She punched Braeden in the shoulder. "And of course I do, you idiot." "Good," said her father. "You'll take care of each other then." Braeden and Sam glanced at each other. "Aye, we will," she said. Braeden squeezed her hand. The duke turned towards her and bowed his head. "Be safe, Samantha." "And you, Father." She meant it. After goodbyes were exchanged, her father and his men departed, leaving the road open for Sam and Braeden. Once they crossed the rickety suspension bridge that separated Luca from the mountains, they kept the pace of their horses at a near-gallop, far too fast for conversation. Sam welcomed the solitude; she needed to think, to prepare herself mentally for what lay ahead. This thing between them was still new and fragile, and Braeden and Sam had been too caught up in the newness of passion to hash out what they were to one another. What did I love you really mean, anyway? Were they friends who were lovers? Lovers who were friends? They would not have the luxury of discovering each other slowly, not alone on the road with only themselves as company. Good or bad, there were no more barriers between them—no secrets, no lies, no misunderstandings, no silly rules of propriety, no people. A little past dusk, Sam and Braeden dismounted their horses by the small wood hut that Tristan had shown them in the Elurra Mountains. They almost hadn't found it, so covered was it by snow. If winter had hit Luca, it had hit the mountains doubly hard; Sam's fingers numbed through the leather of her gloves. They dug their way through to the door and pushed into the small hut. And then they were alone, utterly alone, on the inside of the sturdy door. Sam was shy, suddenly, an emotion as foreign to her as the Rheic Ocean. "Hullo," she said softly. A trace of a smile touched Braeden's lips. "Hullo." He frowned when he saw her shiver. "Are you cold?" Sam hugged her elbows to her chest. "A little." She suspected her shivering had less to do with the cold and more to do with Braeden than she cared to admit to him. Braeden rummaged around in their packs until he located the blankets. He arranged one blanket on the floor and then glanced over at her, as if asking her for permission. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. His cheeks stained red, as no doubt were hers, Braeden carefully laid out another blanket next to the first. He crawled underneath the blankets, facing away from the door, for which Sam was grateful. She slipped in beside him, lying on her side. It didn't matter that their bodies did not touch; an electrical charge filled the space between them, sending a tremor down her spine. "I'm going to turn now," said Braeden. "Okay." He turned over, so that their bodies faced each other. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Braeden pulled her close, cradling her head to his chest. "Is this okay?" She nodded, the tip of her nose brushing against the V of tattooed skin at the opening of his robes. The tattoo was smooth now, no longer raised and angry; it had become a part of him. "Do you feel it?" she asked, her fingers following the trail where her nose had been. The muscles in his chest jumped under her touch. "I'm not dead," he said, his mouth crinkling at the corners. Sam blushed, retracting her hand. "That's not what I meant!" "I know." His smile faded. "It's strange. I haven't felt anything since the High Commander ordered me to kill you." "Maybe he's given up." "No," Braeden said firmly. "He's biding his time, waiting for a weak moment. My master concedes nothing." "I wish you'd stop calling him that," said Sam. "He's not your master anymore." A bleakness entered his eyes. "He is my master as long as his ink is in my skin." Sam angled herself so that her lips pressed against the place where his neck met his shoulder. None too gently, she bit. Braeden glared down at her. "What was that for?" "I'm leaving my mark on your skin," she said, "so you know that you belong to me." "It will fade," said Braeden. "Then I shall have to do it again." Braeden dipped his head and closed his teeth around her earlobe. "Ouch," she protested. "What was that for?" She felt his lips move against her ear. "You belong to me, too." Sam and Braeden slept in each other's arms that night, and for many nights after. And Sam, who was both warrior and woman, finally found a place where she belonged. The end.