Chapter 6 : Making Amends

The sun was much higher over the horizon when I woke up the next morning. There was a warm stone with some sort of cooked meat on a piece of bread, covered with melted cheese. I propped myself up on an elbow, eyebrows furrowed as I took in the morning.

"I hope you like it. My mom used to make something like it for breakfast. She was a much better cook than I am, but I ate mine and it wasn't too bad." Fynn was kicking dirt on the fire and starting to pack up the camp.

Cautiously, I took the food and took a bite. I chewed thoughtfully, letting the warm food help wake me up. I felt like I was still in a dream, and I was not sure if it was because of the dreamy landscape, or Fynn's out-of-character behavior.

I had to admit that the food was incredible, and the flavor of it was heavenly. It was salty and warm, with lots of drippy cheese on sourdough bread. It warmed me from the inside out, and I wondered if all food here was just a step above the food at home. Well, all the food except the demon bear meat.

"It's good," I complimented, choosing to speak to him for the first time since yesterday afternoon. I noticed that he had chosen not to bind me last night either, so I wondered if he might feel bad about snapping at me.

The breakfast in bed, letting me sleep in, the strange little glimpse into his childhood with the comment about his mom? It had to be an apology.

Grown men could say 'I'm sorry' out loud. They could say it to the person's face, and they could mean it. But maybe here, apologies looked a little different. Probably not, but I was feeling forgiving this morning. I might not forgive him for the kidnapping, but I would forgive him for the rude comment, I supposed.

"When you're finished, we'll get back on the road. I'm going to try to press us a little further than usual. I want to make up a little for lost time," he told me, looking a little sheepish.

"You're the boss," I answered. I wasn't willing to smile at him yet, but I almost cracked a smile at my own joke. Of course, he was the boss. I didn't have any options when it came to what we did on a daily basis.

He didn't acknowledge my comment and simply waited for me to scramble out of bed and pull my dress over my head so he could roll up the bedroll and buckle it behind the saddle.

The white nightgown that I arrived here in never came off. It was nice to have a little barrier between my dress and my skin to keep it from smelling like body odor. I had yet to find somewhere to bathe, and I sort of reeked. I was also afraid to strip down to just my skin because I didn't trust anything that I saw in this world, and certainly not anything I couldn't see.

It might have only been my second day in the blue dress, but I was feeling very protective of the lovely fabric. It was nice to feel a little more covered and a little more like I fit in here. Of course, we didn't run into any other travelers on our way out here, but if we were headed to another town, I'd be thankful to have the dress instead of just my nightgown.

"Are you ready?" Fynn asked. His deep voice sounded as if he were working hard to hold back some grumpiness. He reminded me a little bit of Rabbit from Pooh Bear as if everything that everyone else did was an inconvenience to him. He was trying so hard to hide his disdain from me though.

"Sure," I told him, finishing lacing up my boots. It was definitely an improvement to have shoes. The longer I wore them, the better they formed to my foot. It felt luxurious to have such custom boots, I'd never be able to afford something like it at home.

Without warning, Fynn lifted me and sat me on Alastor's back, before sticking his foot in the stirrup and climbing up himself. I should be annoyed by his manhandling, but I was impressed by the way he could just pick me up and toss me around wherever he wanted.

Alastor plodded away from the now abandoned campsite and toward the road, as faithful and predictable as a machine. There was something expressive about his face though, that made me love the creature. It seemed like he had his own opinions and ideas about what was happening, but he kept those opinions to himself.

"Any news from the Water Court, at least?" Fynn asked. It was a weak attempt at conversation, but I appreciated it.

"I wish I had any to share, but I have no idea what the Water Court is," I told him, hiding my smile against his back. This was beginning to get ridiculous. I wondered if he would ever figure out that I genuinely wasn't some spy from some land I'd never heard of. Maybe he would never believe me and his patience would run out.

I'd seen him with a sword. If I were really lucky, he'd at least make my death quick.

"You think you're cute, don't you?" he accused.

"I mean, honestly, yeah, I kind of do, but not because you think I'm from someplace I've never heard of. I rely heavily on my looks and my charm," I retorted.

Fynn choked out a laugh, which was more of a scoff. "You think you're charming?"

"I know that I'm charming. It's you that's questionable." I might not be winning him over, but the verbal sparring was far better entertainment than watching the woods pass by in silence.

"You know, most women can't resist my charms," he retorted. I might not be able to see his face, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Hmm. Women here must be easier to please. I've seen much better options at home," I lied.

His back stiffened, but he refused to indulge me with a response this time.

A bird flew up from out of the ditch on the side of the road. It spooked Alastor, making him shy away from the commotion. I gripped Fynn's waist tighter, trying desperately to hold myself on the horse and not slide off onto the road.

I hadn't really been able to tell before now, but Fynn was unbelievably toned. I could feel the dips and indentations of his abs through the fabric of his shirt. As Alastor gathered his wits and continued on down the path, I couldn't make myself release my grip on Fynn's waist. I tried to softly trace the feeling of his abs, hoping he couldn't feel what I was doing.

His back was still stiff, and he was sitting bolt upright in the saddle. I used one finger to trace the outline of his muscles, feeling them ripple under my touch. The sway of Alastor's gait kept Fynn's core flexed slightly so he could maintain posture as we rode.

My mind drifted away from the fact I was riding on the back of a horse in a magical wood trying to figure out where in the hell I was going. Now, I only focused on touching Fynn, his rippling back muscles and toned core. As my finger mapped his muscles, I imagined what he must look like without the cloak and the heavy green shirt.

What did his skin feel like? Would it respond to my touch, if I ran my fingernails down the contours of his back or his chest? My hands trailed lower, feeling where the waistband of his trousers were fastened.

"What are you doing?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Hmm?" I asked, still thinking about dragging my tongue across his muscled core.

"That's. Sensitive," he said it through gritted teeth, chest swelling as he dragged in a long breath through his nose.

Instantly, I loosened my grip on him. Oh shit. I hadn't even thought about the fact he might be aware of my hands moving. I just thought the fabric was thick enough that he wouldn't feel me. Or maybe I imagined he would be so focused on our travels that he wouldn't be paying attention to me.

"Sorry," I squeaked, embarrassed to have been caught.

I tried to create a little space between us, attempting to stay very aware of where my hands rested.

He didn't relax for what felt like probably another hour. We didn't say much to each other in that time either. If I was going to be extra careful about how I touched him, then I would allow my mind to wander back to considering what he might look like without the leather shoulder protection, or the cloak, or the deep green shirt that made his eyes pop.

Stockholm Syndrome was a bitch. I determined that as I tried to drag my thoughts back to the present. I should be trying to make conversation, coming up with some way to befriend this man, not lusting over him in silence. The man couldn't even stand me, there was no way he would want to lay a hand on me in any way that wasn't ending my life.

Although, he'd actually been quite considerate in all of our interactions. While he wasn't exactly gentle, he didn't try to hurt me, and he seemed to be mindful of his own strength. It was endearing, and I didn't know if I hated that, or if it made my lust for him worse.

"So, you travel like this often?" I asked, forcing myself to think about anything other than feeling past the waistband of his trousers.

"Like what?" he answered.

"In the woods," I told him.

"I mean, I guess that depends on what you mean by often. There's not a lot of other options for travel when I need to get somewhere," he explained, sounding mildly confused by my question.

"Interesting. Do you go to a lot of places?" I continued. Without any context for the geography and culture here, I really had no idea what kind of questions to ask.

It was clear he had some boundaries for what he was willing to tell me, but I wasn't sure exactly where those lines were drawn. Since it was clear he couldn't communicate like an adult and just tell me what the boundaries were, I'd have to tread lightly and test until he shut me down.

"I guess," he answered, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

The sun was setting. I hadn't realized how late it had gotten in the day. It was definitely dimmer than when we usually stopped, and I wondered if we would make camp anytime soon.

"Are you at least going to tell me where we're going?" I asked, testing those boundaries again.