Her hands twisted together. “But…you just said that you didn’t think I trusted you.”
“I know that you do not.” He stared down at the cloth. “And I do not blame you for that. I have given you little enough reason to trust me.”
“Cuan. You are literally sitting there covered in whip-marks. And I—” Tamsin stopped abruptly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Wait, how has this turned into me defending you?”
He had to laugh at that, even with the leaden weight in his stomach. “Your heart is so great, you cannot help but leap to the defense of anyone in pain. Even me.”
Tamsin muttered something under her breath. It might have been the word glamour.
Then she dropped her hand. Her mouth firmed.
“You’ve done so much for me, Cuan,” she said. “But I saw how you looked back there, when I told Aodhan that there was a way for me to get back home.”
He had to forcibly relax his fingers before he shredded his shirt. “I know what you saw. And you read my reaction correctly. I can only say that I am not proud of it.”
Tamsin breathed out a long sigh. “I trust you to keep me safe. I’m not sure whether I can trust you to let me go.”
He didn’t answer straight away. He concentrated on wringing out the cloth and trailing it once more through the tranquil lavender water of the pool. He wished he could smooth out his jumbled mind so easily.
“Tamsin,” he said, aware that the silence had stretched too long. “I am high sidhe. I cannot lie. It is impossible for me to put on a false smile and claim that the thought of you leaving fills me with joy. But I swore myself to your service. If it is truly your heart’s desire to return to your world, I will do all in my power to fulfill it.”
“Even though that means losing me?”
His throat tightened, but he got the words out. “Yes. Even so.”
Tamsin didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she leaned over, taking the cloth from his hands.
“Here.” She moved round behind him. “You’ve got a lot of bruises back here that you can’t reach. Let me help.”
Cuan felt the wet, heated fabric press against his shoulder blade. Tamsin slid the cloth down, sponging his back with tender care.
His knotted muscles eased…and other parts tightened. He shifted his weight.
“Is this okay?” Tamsin asked, sounding worried. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“Not…exactly.” The ache in his shoulder was now of significantly less concern than the growing pressure lower down, at least.
“Uh. It’s just that your magic…tattoo…thingies…whatever they are, they’re glowing.”
He dug his fingernails into his newly healed palm, trying very hard to ignore her proximity. His body had not felt so out of control since he’d been a youth in the first flush of manhood, when a stiff breeze had been sufficient to light him up.
I am as randy as a satyr in springtime. Control. I cannot make her uncomfortable.
“Faemarks,” he said, struggling to get a grip on himself (and not in that way, which would admittedly have been a lot easier). “Not tattoos. They are the unique to the high sidhe. We are born with them.”
“Oh! They’re natural?”
He sucked in a sharp breath as her curious fingers brushed over the marks twining down his bicep. A lightning bolt of desire struck down his spine, straight to his groin.
“Ah—yes.” He shifted position again, in a futile attempt to ease the sudden tightness in his trousers. “Every sidhe has different markings. The patterns reflect our souls, indicating our powers. Some believe they tell our fate, as well, if one has the knowledge to read the lines.”
Tamsin caressed one of his marks. She might as well have reached down and firmly gripped his shaft.
Shining Ones, give me strength.
“This one looks like a running wolf,” she said, oblivious to his growing predicament. “Do you have a horse somewhere too?”
“On my other shoulder.”