In moments like this, she did not ever want to reach Wales. She never said it aloud, for fear he would think she did not care if he never went home. In truth she wanted nothing more than that, for him to reach the place he yearned for. If there could be some way to give him his home while keeping the world at bay, she thought she might sell her soul to know it. But that was impossible, so she must be content with their leisurely pace on the journey.

One morning she woke to the feel of cool air on her bare skin. Her eyes snapped open, wary of danger until she remembered that last night in the dark, he had taken off her shift. She had wanted it, wanted the feel of his skin on hers, his body hot all along her back while she guided his hands over her and he thrust inside her. But she had, for warmth and modesty’s sake, always put her shift back on before succumbing to sleep. Until now.

The cloak only half covered her and his eyes were fixed on the place between her breasts. The dagger that normally hung there had shifted and exposed the scar. Scars.

It was the first he was seeing it, and in the harsh morning light. The thin lines showed clearly where her flesh had been cut. Now his eyes came to hers and she only looked at him, her jaw tight, a look that told him he could satisfy his curiosity and push the cloak away from her hip. He did.

It was an uglier scar there, where she had been burned. She knew he had felt it already, whenever his hands had grasped her hips, or caressed her in the dark. Now he saw it, and she watched his face twist with feeling. He looked up at her, his brows knitted together with confusion and a little anger. It was a look that asked what had happened, why this had been done to her – for it was obvious that it had been done deliberately.

“Did you think he went away docile, after I ruined his sport and withered his cock?” she asked, her voice flat. It angered her suddenly, irrationally, that he dared to be surprised or appalled at this. What a luxury, to be able to believe in the honor of men. “His anger must go somewhere. Water rolls down a hill, men’s anger falls on women. It’s the way of the world.”