Fear of Fire and Shadow (The Fade #1) - Samantha Young Page 0,106
body. Wolfe opened his eyes again. “I love you too. I have ever since you punched Niall Tromskin in the nose for pushing Valena in the courtyard and making her cry.”
My jaw dropped at the revelation. “I was but fourteen!”
“I know.” He swept his thumb across my cheek, his expression, his touch making me feel cherished. “I have loved you for a very long time.”
Chapter 32
With our love declared and our engagement decided, we galloped toward Silvera with renewed determination. I think Chaeron suspected something had happened between me and Wolfe. To be fair, I think the entire Guard suspected, considering we kept sharing intimate smiles.
Now all I wanted was for Haydyn to be well. If I saved her, somehow managed to banish my nightmares of the mountain man, and convinced her to withdraw the evocation and reform Phaedra, then everything would be almost perfect.
I was glad when Wolfe spent the nights with me. He was furious about my nightmares—or the cause of the nightmares—and I’d worried it would only remind him that I hadn’t trusted him before. But Wolfe didn’t throw my foolishness in my face. Instead he soothed me back to sleep and held me tight in his arms. The nightmares didn’t go away. I wasn’t sure they would for a while, but at least when I woke up, I wasn’t alone.
Wolfe snuck into my room at Mag’s Inn in Sabith Town, and as he tiptoed toward the bed, his eyes were so filled with mischief and happiness, he looked more boy than man. I wondered, then, if we’d ever grow weary of another. I also wondered about his other women but was too afraid to bring up the subject for fear it would only hurt me. And it seemed pointless, anyhow, now that I knew he loved me.
“You know,” Wolfe mused as he pressed kisses across my stomach, “I think I’m starting to miss you arguing with me.”
I huffed. “That can be easily remedied, Captain.”
I felt him grin against my skin. “Mmm. I imagine it could.” He looked up abruptly, frowning. “One thing I keep wondering about …”
“Mmm?”
“You’ve stopped objecting to being called Lady Rogan.”
I nodded, stroking my fingers through his hair as he crawled up my body. He braced himself above me. “Perhaps I’ve come to the conclusion that you are right. I am a lady. I’ve been raised a lady, despite circumstances of birth.”
“Finally, you see the wisdom in agreeing with me,” he teased.
“Just because you came to this realization before I did—”
“That’s not why I insisted on calling you Lady Rogan.”
I frowned. “Why, then?”
Instead of answering, he kissed me—a deep, sexual, voracious kiss that had me undulating beneath him, ready for more. “I insisted on it”—he breathed raggedly—“because one day, I knew you were going to be my wife and I wanted you accustomed to being called Lady Rogan.”
“You’re lying,” I panted. “How could you possibly know that, especially considering our past?”
“I didn’t have to know.” Those aquamarine eyes blazed down at me, all masculine arrogance and determination. “I always get what I want, Rogan. Always.”
“And what about what I want?”
Wolfe pressed a soft, tender kiss to my lips, the arrogance giving way to deep sincerity. “I’ll always give you what you want, Rogan. Always.”
We arrived in Silvera with a fierce burst of renewed energy. I galloped by Wolfe’s side, Chaeron and the men at our backs, as we tore through the city, through the marketplace and out past the palace to the cliffs. We ignored the cries of surprise and shock as we forced people from our paths. The Silverans watched with troubled countenance as we raced by them. While Chaeron drew the Guard to a halt in the palace courtyard, Wolfe and I continued on.
We made haste beyond the palace, out onto the rough trail that led us to the cliff side. Our horses kept their footing and made the half-hour journey to the Land’s End cottage in twenty minutes. Both our horses’ coats were thick with sweat, our own clothes plastered to our skin by the time we arrived.
I dismounted so fast, I nearly fell, and I ignored Wolfe’s yell of concerned admonishment as I thrust open the door to the cottage. Rowan, who stood in the hallway, startled, almost dropping the tray of sandwiches in her hands.
“Lady Rogan!” she gasped, her eyes alight with relief. “You’ve returned.”
“Where is she?” I demanded. There was no time for pleasantries.
“Upstairs.” Rowan jerked the tray toward the narrow stairwell. “Valena is with—”