Agreement - Wynter

Wynter tried not to react to the light touch of the man. She fixed her gaze on his shoulder, rather than the way he eased the thorns away from her flesh. His fingers grazed against her skin leaving her mouth dry. Her stomach turning uncertain flips.

‘No,’ she answered his question, ‘I’m not from around here,’ she had always been shy but in his presence she was struggling to think and form sentences. Raised as a noblewoman, even the most innocent touch on her form was forbidden.

But once innocence was lost it could not be regained. And she had thoroughly given her innocence to Malachi. She’d given her body along with her whole heart. Which is why I’m nervous, she thought. Because no one had ever laid hands on her, apart from Malachi.

‘Local’s don’t come into these woods,’ he replied, his voice a low growl. Like thunder rolling over the hills. She couldn’t resist, watching his face as he concentrated. His movements were deft and she couldn’t help but wonder how many people he had helped out of the thorns.

The way he pulled her free, didn’t hurt the way she expected. Instead, the entangled vines were lifted off and she felt relief spreading through her body. Starting with her ankles.

Wynter swallowed again, her heart was still racing. Just from running, she told herself and knew it was a lie. She was attracted to the stranger, when she had no right to be. Even more reason to get away, fast. Instead she found herself caught by his warm gaze. Staring back until he looked down, pulling away a particularly stubborn thorn that had attached itself around her boots.

‘They don’t come here?’ She realised that she sounded like an idiot. Before Malachi she’d always been shy, but light hearted. Happy and go lucky they’d always called her. Malachi had stripped those parts of her away, she wanted them back. She wanted to be herself again. What would the old Wynter say?

‘They don’t want to wade through rivers of thorns?’ She asked, breathless. Her voice light.

‘Surprisingly not,’ her rescuer grinned and glanced up at her again, he looked younger when he smiled and her heart skipped a beat. How was it possible that he could be so handsome? As though his features had been carved from stone. There was something stern in his features, but when he smiled she felt drawn further in. As though there was a secret, just the two of them shared. ‘I can’t imagine why.’

Wynter glanced around the place where she’d fallen. Above, a beautiful moon had broken through the clouds, shinning silver light down between the trees. There was a mixture or gnarled oak, and shining white birch. Between the trees the forest was strewn with blood red roses.

‘It is beautiful,’ she admitted, wincing as the final thorn was pulled away from the delicate skin of her calf. She looked back, watching as her rescuer pulled his hands back, resting them on his knees. His eyes on hers again. ‘I don’t understand why there are so many roses in the forest,’ she admitted. ‘Do you know?’

He watched her, head tilting to the side before his gaze dropped down to her legs once more. They were bare, her skirts hitched up, tangled between her knees to expose the skin of her calves. The small scratches were dark and jagged amongst pale skin.

‘I can tell you the story,’ he agreed, ‘but would you let me heal you?’

Truly, he stole her breath away. Magic? Healing magic? She touched her tongue to the edge of her lips. Magic was rare, the people who could use it usually charged a fortune. She didn’t have anything that she could give the man. Other than the sword at her waist or the bow that she’d lost.

‘I have no trade to make,’ she admitted softly and edged back. Wynter extended her arms, flinching as the damned roses seemed to stretch out again, brushing against the torn shirt that covered her arms and shoulders. She flinched. The scratches were starting to sting.

His work to free her had been a distraction, but now she could see the little lines of blood. Like veins through marble, it hurt. It didn’t matter, she’d defeated pain before, she was good at ignoring discomfort.

‘Then accept help that is given freely,’ he knelt up, and the distance closed between them, ever so slightly. She took a breath, caught once more in his intense dark gaze. Were his eyes black or brown? In the silver light it was hard to tell. His mane of hair though, she was sure it had brown mixed in with the golden blonde.

‘It’s -’ she scrambled for some reason, some excuse to keep her distance. Even as heat moved through her body, more insistent and demanding than the irritation from her injuries. ‘Magic needs payment,’ she protested, ‘we both know that -’ Wynter drew a breath as she looked down.

Her gaze landed on his strong hands, the lithe deft fingers that had so carefully removed the natural restraints that had wrapped themselves around her. She’d been healed before, it wasn’t a bad sensation. In fact, it usually felt pretty good. Too good.

Wynter was also aware that the Healer might also sense what she felt. If he touched her with magic, then there was a good chance that he would know. He would know exactly how she was responding to his presence. It was reckless, intense, and her body refused to listen to the sense that her thoughts demanded.

When would she learn that lust was not her friend?

He was frowning as he edged closer, over the ground that was bare beneath him. Bare except strands of soft grass as he knelt beside her hips, where surrounding her body, the roses threatened to smother her once more. She stared at the flowers and their thorny vines, were they moving? Were they growing in the darkness? That couldn’t be possible.

‘Then we’ll set a payment later,’ he encouraged and reached out, touching her shoulder lightly.

Wynter flinched away, pale eyes lifted once more.

‘I’m not stupid,’ she protested. Another brush of the roses made her wince, ‘can you move? Please? I want to move away before I’m tangled again.’

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, offering his hand. She looked up at him, he was impossibly tall. Impossibly handsome. She told herself she wasn't’ a fool, but she'd be petty and petulant if she refused his hand.

She reached out, letting him help her back up to her feet. The roses fell away as she stepped away from the bushes and into the clearing. He took a step in retreat, giving her space to move before she lurched. Her ankle hurt more than she’d expected and she stumbled. Wynter fell into the waiting arms of her rescuer as he caught her.

‘Steady there, the ground is treacherous,’ he looked past her, glaring at the foliage, ‘one last vine caught you.’

‘I can get it,’ she protested but he shook his head.

‘I’ve had more practice, stand still.’

She didn't like to be commanded. Didn’t like being told what to do. She lifted her chin and looked up at the stars, trying to count them through a break in the cloud. Standing as he knelt once more and brushed aside her skirts to free her ankle once more. This time bending back the vine towards the others so it wouldn’t snag again.

Wynter took a breath, trying to fill lungs that felt too tight. Far too aware of the man who knelt at her side, bathed in moonlight. His clothes were simple, a dark shirt and trousers in riding boots. He wore a sword at his hip with an ease that she could recognise. He was confident and oh so dangerous to her treacherous heart.

‘I’m not stupid,’ she repeated, ‘I know that you should never accept magic, without agreeing payment first.’

He had started to rise from knees once more, but hesitated and looked up the length of her body. His own cheeks dark, flushed.

‘A kiss,’ he suggested. ‘I would accept a kiss, for healing you.’

‘A kiss?’ The word was a breath, so easily lost in the night air.

‘You should accept my offer,’ he encouraged and reached out. His fingers followed the line of her ankle. She bit her bottom lip, shivering, trying to focus on his words instead of his touch. ‘Scratches from Roses can cause infection, you wouldn’t want to fall ill…’

‘I’ve heard that…’ she struggled for sense in the madness. A kiss? A kiss could be innocent enough. A kiss was just a kiss. He was right. Thorn scratches could be dangerous if left untreated. She had no way to wash the wounds, or bathe them. But he would know…wouldn’t he?

‘A kiss,’ she swallowed, ‘a kiss in exchange for healing,’ by all that was sacred. What had she just agreed to? Her heart pounded more rapidly in her chest, fear warring with desire. This was a bad idea.