Page 59 of For the Love of the Quest

“If I do anything you don’t like, you’ll tell me,” Thomasin ordered, suddenly serious.

Edith swallowed, those nerves still churning. Her voice shook slightly. “I will.”

Thomasin’s hand tightened against her thigh, fingers almost bruising. “Good girl,” she murmured.

Those words heated Edith inside and out. Her cheeks, already red, blushed even deeper, and her core went molten. “You do know that I have no idea what I’m doing, right?”

The left side of Thomasin’s mouth tilted up, and her fingers stroked the skin just beneath the hem of the curtain. “I know, Edith.”

“And you still want me?”

Thomasin sat up straighter, took Edith’s face in her hands. The callouses were rough against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. “There is nothing you could do that would make me not want you.”

Edith let her forehead fall against Thomasin’s. Her hands traveled up and down Thomasin’s tattooed arms. “I want you so much,” she whispered, thinking how fitting it was that they were right outside a confessional booth.

“I know the feeling,” Thomasin said, and then she kissed her. Deeply. Her teeth nipped at Edith’s lower lip, and when she gasped, Thomasin slipped her tongue into Edith’s mouth, licking across the roof of her mouth. Edith was breathless when Thomasin pulled away and pinned her with a hard stare. “For a lot of this quest, you’ve been teaching me. But now it’s my turn to teach you.”

Edith wanted to conjure a witty, just as seductive response, but all that came out of her mouth was “Okay.”

Thomasin chuckled darkly. “Okay,” she mimicked. And then she was kissing a path down Edith’s throat and along her collarbone, sucking little bruises into her skin. Edith’s breaths grew shallower the farther down Thomasin traveled.

Her hand found Edith’s breast over the curtain, and Edith instinctively grabbed Thomasin’s wrist, stilling her. No one had ever touched her like this. She had known want, desire, but it had always been in solitude.

Now here was Thomasin, guiding her through it. Feeling it with her. Edith had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and she had always thought that these things would be terrifying, and they were a little, but they were also unspeakably wonderful, because along with this vulnerability came love. The kind that can only be experienced when another sees you for all that you are.

There was an understanding yet searching look in Thomasin’s eyes. Edith let out a shaky breath, stroked her thumb over Thomasin’s wrist, then let go. “Go slow,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Thomasin said softly, “I’ll be gentle with you.”

And she was. When she unlaced the cord and let her own curtain fall first, baring herself to Edith’s gaze, as desperately beautiful as Edith knew she’d be. When she unlaced Edith’s own curtain, lowering it slowly, worshipping each little bit of skin as it was revealed. Letting Edith know that the parts of her that had never been seen, never been desired, were wholly and entirely loved.

When she kissed the spot just beneath Edith’s navel, and every muscle in her stomach clenched with the ache of it. When Edith blindly reached out to touch whatever part of Thomasin she could, and Thomasin found Edith’s hand, interlaced their fingers, as if the other woman could sense that Edith needed a steadying force.

Even when Thomasin’s grip turned rough, hands clutching Edith’s hips, teeth scraping the soft skin of her belly between kisses, there was still gentleness in the way she made sure that the curtain still covered Edith’s lower half, that her skilled fingers did not yet venture beneath.

Until Thomasin looked up at her through those long lashes, eyes dark and questioning. Edith could hardly think. Thomasin was everywhere, taking up Edith’s entire being. Her chest rose and fell heavily and sweat beaded on the nape of her neck. Every trembling inch of her burned. She wanted to learn everything Thomasin had to teach her. She wanted nothing between them. She just wanted Thomasin.

Edith nodded.

Finally, Thomasin’s hand trailed lower, slipping beneath the curtain, between her thighs.

For the first time in her life, Edith stopped thinking.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bardsey Island was small, but even small islands felt big when one had no idea what they were looking for. Thomasin knew they had to reunite Merlin with his staff, and so presumably that meant some kind of crypt or tomb. But the island was wild and overgrown. Their exploration was slow as they hacked through the brush and thick tangles of criss-crossing tree branches.

As they explored, Edith recited the cipher clue under her breath. No matter how many times she said it, no new meaning was imparted. Thomasin, certainly, was no help. She was too distracted by the slope of Edith’s shoulder, the sweat glistening at the nape of her neck. The flush of her cheeks, and the way their fingers lingered when they passed the canteen back and forth. Every time Edith’s skin brushed Thomasin’s, she was transported back to that little alcove in the church. She had half a mind to take Edith in her arms and pin her against a tree. And if the shy little glances Edith kept throwing her were any indication, Edith’s thoughts weren’t far off.

It was only by pure luck, or maybe fate, that Edith spotted the smallEcarved into the base of a gnarled oak tree. She traced herfingers over the etching. It was deep, ancient. The tree had begun to grow around it.

They fanned outward from the tree, searching for the next step in the path. To the north, Thomasin found another tree with a carvedI. Had they not known what they were looking for, they would have missed the straight slash in the bark.

“Einion,” Edith said. “We just have to follow him.”

With each letter they found, the suspense buzzed louder beneath Thomasin’s skin. She touched the secondI. They were so close now. It felt like they were on the precipice of something impossibly big. Her heart was racing, and the anticipation was making her fingers tingle. She had risked death on many occasions, but she had never been this nervous before.

Edith found the lastN. It was just below a hollow in a tree that towered over all the rest, looming over the island and kissing the stormy gray clouds. Thomasin had expected there to be a more obvious way forward at the final letter, but there was nothing more than that singularN. So they did what they had done at the previous letters, kept walking in the general direction of the letter, all the while methodically searching their surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.