him with the thought of knowing always what to say or do, because he was bonded. He shoved the thought away. Freedom had cost too much for him to wish the bond back. Too late for that, too late maybe for him and Ilsa.
For a heartbeat he thought he had the wrong cabin. The drapes were closed against the coming dawn, the room was softly lit and a smiling woman stood by the bed. Smiling at him, coming to take his hand in hers. Ilsa, and he barely recognized her. Had known her too long as either blank-eyed from the bond or chilled and confused by freedom from it. Yet now she smiled, her eyes looking at him with warmth.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have—”
Holden felt a smile pull at his own lips. He’d waited long weeks for a thaw in the chill, a crack in their barriers, a sign that he wasn’t the only one trying. He put a soft finger over her lips. “No. No, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. For feeling when you’ve not known how to. It’s hard, I know.”
She kissed his finger and then blushed at her own forwardness. Everything else was forgotten, and Holden kissed her, they kissed each other, husband and wife again. Not just bonded together, but wanting together. She was smooth and soft beneath his hand, beneath the silky dress, and he pulled her closer, pulled all her softness to him. She sighed under his lips, and that was all he’d wanted, for her to be happy in their new freedom. He pulled away a little, let his fingers trace around her familiar face, along her smooth neck to make her shiver.
“Are you sure?” He couldn’t make his voice above a whisper, couldn’t seem to explain what was in his heart. That all he’d wanted was for her to be happy, even if that meant she left.
She seemed to know, anyway. “We were bonded, but I still loved you, still do love you. I was lucky, and was bonded to a good and kind man.”
Holden hesitated, his lips by her ear so that he need not see her face as he gave her a chance, a way out if she wanted it. “We aren’t bonded now. I won’t hold you to it, if—”
She wriggled free so she could see him and he could see the darkness of her eyes as she held his face. “Don’t. Don’t push me away again. Be with me Holden, in your head. Forget…forget all that before. Let me in.”
Forget all that before—forget the way his dreams had swirled in his head and come alive, forget finding Josie again, the woman he’d loved long ago before the bond had swallowed his memory of her. Forget one night with her, thinking she still loved him when she was just trying to save Van Gast.
Forget that he’d killed the Master, freed everyone, because of how she’d loved Van Gast and he’d wanted to give her that.
The ice between him and Ilsa had been guilt on his part, guilt mixed up with wanting Ilsa to be happy, having a heavy duty to, and not knowing how to make it happen. Something had happened to her, because she was happy now, had smiled to greet him, kissed him, loved him. His heart could deny her nothing if it made her happy.
So he forgot everything that wasn’t her, everything that wasn’t part of keeping her happy. He kissed her and remembered them, who they’d once been, what they’d once meant. She was soft and warm, and he sank into her, let her envelop him in warmth, wrapped her in heat of his own.
Later, when they lay in their bed, rimed with sweat, her head on his shoulder, it was the closest he could recall to being happy himself.
Chapter Eleven
Van Gast sat at his desk the next afternoon, brandy to hand, cups and dice spread out in front of him. He’d had no sleep and his eyes felt gritty, but he needed to work this out. Without looking, he put three dice into the cups, swirled them around. Roll up, roll up, find the lady, win a prize.
He lifted the cups. Three mermaids. Three ladies. The itch in his chest was driving him mad, scrabbling like a trapped rat. He took a swig of brandy as a knock came at the door.
When he called, Holden came in looking pensive, odd. Too damn serious, as usual.