Besotted (The Fairest Maidens #3) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,39

the weight inside growing heavier.

The next day, I had no opportunity to speak with Kresten, since he spent the majority of time outside strengthening his leg, disappearing into the woodland with Jorg for hours. When they returned, Kresten fell into bed exhausted, his face contorted with pain.

I waited anxiously for him to awaken, but he did so only to eat before slumbering once more.

By the following morn, I was desperate to speak with him. I could no longer deny my feelings for him went beyond simple infatuation. They went deep, and the prospect that he would soon walk out of my life wrenched my heart.

Resolved to meet with him, I waited until Chester was at the kilns and my aunts were busy in the cottage before I devised an excuse to go outside. Once there, I trailed after Jorg and Kresten into the woods.

I lagged behind, uncertain what I should say or do to gain his attention.

“Stop following us, Rory.” His call startled me, and I hastened to hide behind the closest trunk.

Except for my shallow breathing and the rapid tapping of my heartbeat, the forest was silent.

“We know you’re there,” he said. “Now return to the cottage.”

I pushed away from the tree and showed myself fully. The two continued walking, hadn’t even glanced in my direction, as if I were nothing more than a pesky insect.

Did he have so little regard for our time together these past few weeks that he could so easily dispose of me? “No. I shall not return. Not until I have the chance to speak with you.”

He didn’t break his halting stride. “We would fare better if we didn’t talk.”

The rigidness of his back testified to the difficulty of each step. He was a strong and good man. Why, then, was he running away from me? Was he afraid of something? Of leaving? Of a possible future with me? “I did not take you for a coward.”

He halted, forcing Jorg to pause.

I waited, letting my fears give birth to anger.

Slowly, Kresten pivoted until he was facing me, his brows furrowed into a scowl. “I am no coward.”

I glared at him the same way I oft did with Chester. “Then why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not. As you can see, I have been busy. ’Tis all.”

“Then you are a liar and a coward.”

A wayward strand of his hair had fallen over his forehead, and he reached up to drag his fingers through it while expelling a long breath. “Very well, you’re right. I have been avoiding you.”

The acknowledgment speared my chest with a shaft of pain. “Why?”

He jabbed his fingers into his loose hair again, holding them there before he looked at Jorg. “I need a few minutes of privacy with Rory.”

Jorg hesitated.

“What harm can come of it when we’re leaving on the morrow?”

On the morrow? My heart stuttered to a stop, and my anger blazed hotter, bringing a sting to the backs of my eyes. Had he planned to depart with this rift between us? Without making amends?

“Go ahead. Leave.” I spun and stalked away. “You have made clear enough how you feel.”

“No. Wait.” His voice rang with frustration.

I didn’t care. If he could abandon our relationship so easily, then perhaps I’d been wrong about him. Perhaps he didn’t care about me half as much as I did him.

“Stop, Rory.” Twigs and leaves crackled behind me.

I continued, tears welling and nearly spilling over.

“Please.”

I slowed my steps and finally stopped. This was why I’d followed him, because I needed answers. And now that he was about to give them to me, I wasn’t sure I could bear what he had to say. Instead, I wanted to bolt, like a doe escaping a hunter’s sharp arrow.

His heavy, uneven steps drew nearer, until he halted behind me. His breathing was ragged, and I could feel the tension radiating from his body.

I held myself stiffly. Perhaps we would fare better saying no more and thus keep from hurting each other further.

“Rory,” he whispered, his tone low and filled with such longing I couldn’t keep from turning. His eyes were troubled even as his gaze tenderly lingered upon my face.

Two dozen paces away, Jorg waited, his feet braced, his expression full of censure.

Kresten frowned at his friend. “Give me a few minutes.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“I shall.” Kresten straightened, revealing an authority in his bearing I hadn’t realized he possessed.

Strangely enough, Jorg bowed slightly, then backed away.

When the other young man disappeared behind brush, Kresten reached for my hand, catching it in