Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [179]
“That Twandan witch! If she thinks she can take what’s mine—”
Leorin spun around, looking for the tall wench. Mimise tended a table near the stairs, laughing heartily and tucking something into her bodice. It was Leorin’s tables, her regulars, and she didn’t take kindly to the invasion. She was half out of her chair before Cauvin caught her arm. Their eyes locked across the table lamp.
He was supposed to know better than to touch her in public. Strangers grabbed at Leorin nightly, and she encouraged the regulars because a caress loosened their purse strings, but Cauvin was neither a stranger nor a regular.
“Please, Leorin,” he pleaded, their eyes still locked. “Let it go. Just this once—I need to be alone with you.” He released her.
As suddenly as it had arisen, the tension departed. Leorin was all smiles, brushing her fingers lightly across Cauvin’s wrist, gliding around the table to stand with her body against him while she toyed with his fresh-cut hair.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
Cauvin nodded. He couldn’t see Leorin’s face for her breasts, and what he was sure of had nothing to do with leaving Sanctuary. The storm, the lewd chuckling from the wenches and regulars, none of that mattered as he followed Leorin up the stairs. He found the tortoiseshell clasp that tamed her golden hair and removed it as she unlatched the door to her room. He’d dropped his cloak on the floor and started on her bodice laces before she’d closed the door.
Neither of them needed lamplight to find the bed.
The long knife clattered to the floor, followed by belts, boots, and shoes. Cauvin wrestled with Leorin’s bodice until the braided laces were hopelessly tangled. He solved that problem by yanking them hard enough to tear the cloth. Her breasts moved freely then within her gown, but the gown itself was securely laced in back.
Men’s clothing was simpler. Two slipknots kept Cauvin’s breeches snug at his waist, or loosened them entirely. While Leorin used one hand to untie those knots and peeled his new shirt over his head, Cauvin grappled blindly with her gown. Leorin moved on to the leather baldric, which was snared in the remains of her bodice and couldn’t be lifted over his head.
Her fingers sought the clasp and her shriek of pained, enraged surprise almost certainly echoed through the commons despite the storm.
Too late Cauvin recalled the quills worked into the broker’s purse. Meant to stymie a thief; they’d gotten Leorin instead. He located her stung fingers.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pressing her fingertips to his lips.
“Don’t touch me!”
Leorin exploded out of his arms, raking his cheek with her nails and elbowing his gut for good measure.
Cauvin caught a handful of gown. “I said I’m sorry.”
He attempted to lure Leorin back to the bed, but she’d have none of that, lashing out with her fists and snarling, “Leave me alone! Don’t touch me!”
The blows didn’t hurt, but Cauvin had to let her go. She threw herself through the dark room, striking first the bedpost, then the floor on her way to the corner where the ceiling came closest to the floor. A stray thunderbolt brightened the room, showing Cauvin the anguish he couldn’t otherwise hear: Leorin with her knees tucked under her chin, clawing her own flesh until it bled. Before darkness returned, he was off the bed and fumbling with the lamp on her dressing table.
Thank the froggin’ gods the lamp was full—Leorin was usually careful about such things—and there was a flint-and-steel striker dangling from its handle. Cauvin struck a flame and left the lamp on the dresser, where it shed flickering light into Leorin’s corner.
“Leorin?” Cauvin approached cautiously, on his knees. “Leorin—I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He spoke softly, calmly. “The person who gave me the baldric showed me how it was rigged against snatchers, but I forgot. Sheep-shite stupid me forgot what she showed me—”
Leorin lifted her head. Cauvin held his breath, half-expecting her to surge for his eyes the way an injured animal might its rescuer. But the face she showed him,