Cradling Cosmina against him, Henrik nodded, then put his feet to good use, and got moving. No time to waste. She’d agree to talk. He accepted the terms—no kissing until she allowed it. He could live with that. At least, for a little while. Pace even, he crossed the quad, skirted the wall, and stopped in front of the cottage door. Juggling her in his arms, he palmed the peg doubling as a handle. He lifted it free of its cradle. Wood scraped against wood. Neglected hinges squeaked as the door swung wide. Dipping his head beneath the lintel, he strode over the threshold and into a cobbler’s paradise.
Tools lined the walls. Shoe molds sat in deep wooden bins, sharp tacks in shallower ones. Rolls of felt were stacked in one corner. Piles of tanned leather lay scattered in another, as though the shopkeeper had left in a hurry. No doubt close to the truth. The desertion of White Temple after Ylenia’s death hadn’t made for a tidy retreat. More of a mass exodus, by all accounts. So aye, the mess made perfect sense. So did the dust on the large table occupying the center of the room. Stepping over a pair of abandoned clogs, Henrik headed straight for it. Cosmina tensed as he set her down on the table edge. Taking the cue, trying to respect her space, he backed up a step.
“Nay,” she whispered. “You don’t get to back away, Henrik. Not yet.”
Henrik blinked in surprise.
Hooking her calf behind his thigh, Cosmina brought him back, keeping him close, refusing to allow his retreat . . . messing with his head as she wrapped both of her legs around one of his. Her heat bled through his leather trews. Desire went on the rampage, elevating need until he throbbed with it. Taut muscles pulled at his hip bones. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her hips, pulling her closer as she raised her hand. Gentle and sure, her fingertips touched down, then drifted, tracing his cheekbone.
“You came back.” Her voice shook a little. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you would.”
That made two of them. “I tried so hard to stay away, but . . .”
She raised a brow, asking without words.
Henrik gave it up without a fight. “I want you too much. I can’t stay away.”
“Good to know,” she said, nearly breaking his heart. Jesus. For all her strength, she looked so vulnerable right now. “I seem to have a similar problem when it comes to you.” She frowned. Her fingers stilled, then drew a gentle circle on his temple. “I could live without you, Henrik. I am strong enough to go on without you if need be, so be honest. Tell me true . . .”
She paused, her hesitation palpable.
“Ask,” he said, heart thumping, hope rising. “Ask me anything.”
“Did you mean it?” Looking worried, she released a shaky breath. “What you wrote in your note . . . did you mean it?”
“Every word. Every last one.” Cupping her hand with his own, he turned his mouth into her palm. “I love you, Cosmina. I want to stay and build a life with you. I don’t care where we live—here, Drachaven, the Limwoods. It doesn’t matter. Please forgive me. Please take me back. Please be mine, iubita. I need you too much to ever let you go.”
“’Tis forgiven . . . forgotten.” Fingers playing with the hair at his nape, she tugged, bringing him even closer. Nestled against him, she whispered, “I love you too, Henrik.”
“Then you’ll have me as husband?” Bumping her cheek with his own, he turned his head and stole the kiss he craved. It wasn’t much. The barest brush of his mouth against hers. Not even close to what he wanted, but ’twas enough for now. Raising his head, he met her gaze, trying to gauge her reaction and his chances of success. A pang tightened his chest as tears pooled in her eyes. So strong, yet undeniably soft too. She was a gift. One he didn’t deserve, but he couldn’t resist. “Will you wed me, Cosmina?”
“Anywhere. Anytime,” she said, smiling through her tears. “Just tell me when.”
Awe circled deep as gratitude hit hard. Inconceivable. Mind-boggling in so many ways, but he saw the truth in her eyes. She loved him. His throat went tight. He was lucky. So goddamned lucky to have found her. To be loved. To be accepted. To be wanted, valued, and needed. Naught compared to that, and as he set his mouth to hers—and she opened to accept him—Henrik thanked God for his good fortune and pressed deeper. Cosmina responded, tangling her tongue with his. Hot. Wet. Delicious. He accepted everything she gave, then demanded more. Kissed her hard. Skimmed over her curves. Craved without conscience as she caressed him back, pushing him past arousal into explosive need.
Breathing hard, he lifted his mouth from hers.
She grumbled, protesting his retreat.
“Goddamn, I want you.” Sucking in a desperate breath, his love for her spilling into uncontrollable desire, Henrik looked around the cottage. Shit. Of all the rotten luck. No cot shoved into any of the corners. Nothing soft to lay her down on at all. “I cannot wait, Cosmina. We need a bed.”
Eyes full of mischief, her mouth curved. “Well then, lucky for you . . .” Trailing off, she fingered the links of her necklace. With a tug, she pulled the delicate chain from beneath her tunic. Impishness blooming into a full-blown grin, she rocked her hand, making the chain—and what it carried—swing like a pendulum between them. “I have the key that unlocks every door inside White Temple.”
“Keeper of the Key,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.
Both hands buried in his hair, she nipped his bottom lip. “It does come with certain advantages.”
“Beautiful.”
And so was she. Beyond beautiful with her sassy mouth and quick wit. One hundred percent committed and all his. Every gorgeous inch of her. The fact she loved him added fuel to his fire, astounding him even as he thanked his lucky stars. Her forgiveness was nothing short of a miracle. He didn’t deserve the second chance, never mind her. Henrik accepted both gifts anyway, feeling gratefulness rise as his love for her grew. His past no longer mattered. Neither did all the blood on his hands. His future began today. Every moment of it now belonged to her. And as he scooped Cosmina off the table and headed for the door, Henrik let his bitterness go.
His history with White Temple be damned.
The Goddess of All Things had finally gotten something right. And Henrik finally understood. The deity wove a crooked trail, pulling cosmic threads, adjusting outcomes, making amends in strange ways. All things happened for a reason. The goddess’ mantra, not his. But as the heavy weight surrounding his heart lifted and Cosmina kissed him back, Henrik acknowledged the truth. His pain. All the strife. Every bit of uncertainty and fear couldn’t touch him anymore. Not while he had Cosmina in his arms and the promise of her love to uphold.
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