Keir (31 page)

“Oh, I’m a tough old thing. But I’m a bit out of practice when it comes to rock climbing.” Quin gazed at him with gratitude. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“Well, I cannot finish the raft without you,” he said with a straight face, but his grin broke through the moment he saw she had realized he was teasing her.

“Of course not,” she said. “How are we for food?”

“There is some fruit left, but we have eaten everything else we collected,” Keir told her. “We should stock up in the morning.”

“I was thinking of doing some fishing.”

“I have never done that before.”

“I have with rod and line, but never with nets. It’ll be interesting.”

“Only if you are well enough.” He stretched, grimacing at the soreness in his shoulders.

Quin rose to stand behind him. “Here, try this,” she offered, starting to massage his back.

Before he could stop himself, he flinched away. “No.”

“It will help,” she insisted, and dug her thumbs into the gap between his shoulders blades.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to sit still, and found himself relaxing into it as the discomfort lessened. As the tensions eased from his shoulders, he tilted his head back, leaning into it. She worked her way across his shoulders, bunching the thin material of his clothing and smoothing the contours of his muscles beneath her fingers. Her hands seem to linger, and he found himself wanting them to.

Abruptly she stopped and snatched her hands away. “That should do the trick,” she said, her tone falsely light.

Still feeling uneasy himself, Keir decided to leave private whatever had led to her abrupt finish. “It does feel better,” he said. “You are very skilled.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile, before tidying away the remains of their meal.

“We should get some sleep,” he suggested. To his eyes, Quin looked tired.

“Agreed.” Quin led the way, still moving stiffly as she lay down.

After the briefest hesitation, Keir followed, too tired to probe into either of their discomforts tonight.

* * * *

When Quin woke the next morning, Keir was already up and in the kitchen. Her back and shoulders still ached a little but otherwise she felt recovered. She joined her companion, who already had breakfast laid out and the blue cool-box packed with supplies to take with them.

“All set,” he told her. “How are you this morning?”

“Fine.” She grinned her approval. “You’re very organized today.”

“I thought we should make an early start.” He pulled the fishing net out from its cupboard and added it to the pile. “I have no idea how this works.”

“I’ve seen them used,” Quin ventured. “It can’t be that hard.”

He insisted on carrying the heavy cool-box and she was happy for him to do so, taking the weighted gill net herself. Once on the beach, she stopped and stripped down to her underwear. As she reclaimed the net and turned to speak to him she found him staring off into the distance.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He nodded but did not look at her.

“Keir?”

He met her puzzled gaze reluctantly, a frown knotting his brow. “Yes?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Keir had his hands clenched into fists. “Nothing.” He turned his back on her and walked away, one hand combing viciously through his hair.

Nothing?

The look he had given her had been angry. Scathing, even. What had she done?

It was against her principles to try to read another’s mind without their consent–and Keir’s skill at shielding meant she was unlikely to succeed–but she could not stop herself from sending a tendril of thought toward him. Shock and revulsion lashed back at her and she instantly withdrew. Tears stung her eyes. She knew and understood his aversion to physical contact, but this was something she could not fathom.

“Keir!”

He stopped, but did not look back.

“I need you to hold the end of the net. I can’t do this on my own.”

For an instant she believed he would not come back. After a moment that stretched out uncomfortably, he stalked to her, his gaze directed at her feet.

Hades!
A sudden thought occurred to her.
Am I that horrible to look at?

“We need to walk to the end of the ridge,” she directed, gesturing.

Keir glanced out along the edge of the bay, gave a brusque nod and took the net from her. As he walked ahead, Quin crossed her arms over her stomach.

Maybe he finds my scars as repellent as his tattoos?

Her fingers traced the one on her stomach. It had a matching twin on her back where a blade had pierced her side clean through. She had never seen them as something worthy of admiration but it hurt that anyone, especially Keir, should find them so offensive.

It took some time to walk far enough along the ridge for the water to be a good depth. Keir seemed unsteady on the rocky path, and his pace slowed further as the sea rose over their ankles.

“Are you all right?” Quin asked as he hesitated.

“I cannot swim,” he admitted gruffly.

She sighed. For an instant she considered offering to teach him, but since he hated being touched and now seemed to find her nakedness equally revolting, she wondered if there was any point. They really needed to go farther out, to the deeper water where the bigger fish were, but if Keir already felt unsteady perhaps he would happier if she went first.

“If you let me go ahead, I’ll lead the way–”

“No!”

The vehemence of his response shocked her. “Fine,” she snapped. “Stay there then and hold onto your end of the net.” She tugged the rest from his shoulder, threw the bulk of it into the water and dived after it.

Warm water and a mass of bubbles surged over her skin. Anger powered her strokes as she tugged the net along behind her until it hung fully drawn out. Only then did she surface.

“Start pulling it back to shore.”

Keir made no response other than to obey her command.

Quin looped the rope around one arm and headed for the beach. The weight of the net dragged on her and she struggled, forcing herself on. Her limbs ached by the time her feet touched sand and, with a sense of relief, she hauled the rope over her shoulder and waded inland.

A glimmer of silver and gold in the net rewarded their efforts. Satisfaction warmed Quin, until she turned to see Keir jerk his gaze away from her.

Embarrassment scorched her face. Well, now she knew. He hated the sight of her body. She thought he might be the one person who would not hold such a bias, who would not judge her for her appearance. It seemed she had been wrong. But if he thought she was going to keep covered up for his sake, he was sadly mistaken.

She stamped over to him. He glanced at her sidelong, a fleeting look, before fixing his attention on their catch. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Since you can’t stand the sight of me, why don’t you go and work on the damn raft?” she yelled.

Keir looked up, obviously startled, and held her gaze for an instant.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Well, go on!” She pointed off into the bamboo. “Get lost.”

He rose, confusion smothering the unease that had filled his expression. “Quin–”

“I said go!”

Without waiting to see if he did, Quin dropped to her knees and untangled a spiny crustacean from the net, not caring that the spikes jabbed into her hand, not caring that it seized her thumb in one pincer and squeezed until it drew blood. The tears she had tried to hold back spilled down her face.

“Quin…” He was still there, his feet within sight.

“Go away. Leave me alone.”
She hurled the words at him.

Without another word he placed a sheathed knife at her side and obeyed.

Damn, damn, damn!

Quin snatched up the blade, tore it from its casing and gutted the nearest fish so violently she cut it clean in two.

* * * *

Keir slashed at the bamboo trunk with his blade. When it fell, he hacked at the stump until he had reduced it to flying splinters. Panting, he dropped to the ground, drew up his knees and raked both hands through his hair. Gods, he was a fool! He should not have looked at her. He had no right to look at her.

But what choice did he have when she flaunted herself so openly? Did that mean she wanted him to look? Had it been deliberate? Yet she had been so angry when she caught him.

The sight of her had roused an aching need within him. Short and slim, her gentle curves were matched by firm muscles. Her skin was pale and perfect, especially compared to the darkness of his own. Her red hair gleamed like copper under the brightness of the sun.

The mere thought hurt. He should not want her. He could not have her.

Gods!
And now he had offended her. She must hate him.

* * * *

Quin packed the cleaned fish and two large, savage-tempered crabs into the cool-box and lugged them back to the hut. Once the catch had been stowed away in the kitchen, she grabbed clean clothes and headed for the pool. Sea salt had left her skin tight and she stank of fish.

Submerging herself in the cool water took the edge off her temper. Her resentment eased a little as she swam in slow, measured strokes across the pool and rinsed the salt from her hair. Perhaps she was taking this too personally. The look he had given her had hurt, without question, but if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that Keir had issues.

She lay back in the water and let herself float, staring into the canopy of leaves and patches of sky above. Why had she let this upset her so much? Did she expect too much of him? She hardly expected adoration–she was no beauty, not like T’rill, or even Taler–but the revulsion in his eyes had been too much. She remembered the look on his face when she asked him to come to Metraxi, when he told her she was beautiful with such sincerity in his voice it had sent a thrill through her. Embarrassment seared her skin.

He’ll only ever see me as a friend,
she told herself, trying to pretend that was all she wanted, that it was enough.
He could never want more than that.

* * * *

Hunger finally forced him back to the hut. He had felled logs until his arms ached, until he had enough to build the raft twice over. Sunset laid fingers of gold and scarlet across the sky as he passed through the bamboo groves. His steps slowed the closer he came. Would Quin be there? Was she still on the beach? He hesitated to reach out with his thoughts and find her. The last time he had touched her thoughts, her anger had scorched him.

The lanterns glowed inside the hut but the veranda was in darkness. Odd. He hesitated, then mounted the steps.

“I’m sorry I offended you so much.”

He took a step back. Quin had spoken stiffly, as if holding her voice under tight control. As if she had been crying.

He glanced to his right. Quin sat huddled on the veranda, her arms wrapped around her knees and her hair veiling her face. She looked so vulnerable, like a child waiting for punishment. Remorse smacked him in the chest. How did she believe she had caused him offense? Surely the guilt was his, for staring at her? For wanting her?

“Quin, you have not offended me–”

“Clearly I did. You couldn’t even look at me.” She shot a glare at him. “I know I’m not much to look at, but I thought you’d understand.”

Confusion muddled his thoughts. “Understand what?”

“I can’t help the way I look anymore than you can.” She leapt to her feet, confronted him. “I didn’t choose my scars.”

Shock drenched him. “Quin, no, that was not–”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll keep myself covered from now on.” She made to push through the door and he grasped her wrist. They both gasped at the contact, and something jolted through Keir. Embarrassment, hurt, rejection. She felt he had spurned her.

He snatched back his hand, stared at her. “Quin, that is not the reason.” His breath locked in his throat, words tumbling through his mind. Words he had caught from hers:
He doesn’t want me…

“Then what?” she shouted at him. Tears glistened in her eyes. “I knew what you were thinking, how disgusted you were.”

“No,” he protested, still stunned by her thoughts. By the implication. “No, Quin–”

“I don’t expect anything from you, but the least you could do is treat me with some respect…”

He doesn’t want me…

An instant of clarity swept through him.

“Keir? Now you’re not even listening to me?”

No words could fix this.

“How dare you ignore me? I have a right–”

He stepped forward, gathered her into his arms and silenced her with a kiss.

* * * *

Everything melted away at the touch of his lips, at the hardness of his body molded to hers. His desire coursed through her and muted everything else, swamping her anger and purging her tears. Wrapped around it she felt his uncertainty. His conviction that he was unworthy of her. The self-loathing she had misread as revulsion directed at her. She had been so wrong.