Chapter 6: Stolen Glances in the Steam
The world stopped. The only sound was the relentless, mocking gurgle of the spring.
Finn clutched his ankle, his face screwed up in genuine pain. Kael was already half-out of the water, moving toward him. Bodric’s eyebrows were practically in his hairline. And Barnaby… Barnaby hadn’t moved an inch, but his eyes had locked onto hers through the veils of steam. They weren’t angry. They were… assessing. As if he’d known she was there all along and was only now deciding to acknowledge it.
Every instinct screamed at her to run. To turn and flee back into the dark, cold tunnels and never show her face again. But her feet were rooted to the spot, trapped by the weight of that look.
“Sadie?” Finn’s voice was a confused squeak from the water. “What are you… are you okay?”
“I heard a yell,” she managed, the words strangled. She forced her gaze away from Barnaby, focusing on Finn. “I was… walking. I heard a yell. Is he alright?”
Kael reached Finn and crouched down, his big hands gently probing the ankle. “Just a twist, I think. You’ll live, you clumsy oaf.” He shot a look over his shoulder at Sadie, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. “Though your timing’s pretty interesting. We’ve been coming here for years and never had a peeping tom before.”
Heat flooded her face, so intense she was surprised the steam around her didn’t sizzle. “I wasn’t peeping! I was… exploring.”
“Exploring the view?” Bodric chimed in, waggling his eyebrows. “Can’t say I blame you. It’s a fine one from over there, I’d reckon.”
This was a nightmare. A hot, humid, deeply embarrassing nightmare. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing the stone would swallow her whole.
“Leave her be.” The voice was low, rough, and utterly final. Barnaby. He still hadn’t moved from his spot in the water, the surface lapping at his chest. “She said she heard a yell. That’s all.” His eyes, still on her, seemed to dare her to contradict him. “Unless there’s something else you were doing, princess?”
It was a lifeline, thrown with typical Barnaby grace—which is to say, it felt more like a challenge than a rescue. She grabbed it.
“No. That’s all.” Her voice was firmer now. She looked at Finn, who was groaning as Kael helped him to a seated position on a rock. “Do you need help getting him back?”
“We’ve got him,” Kael said, his grin softening into something more friendly. “But since you’re here and already dressed… you could grab his boots and tunic? Save him hopping on one foot through the tunnels.”
It was a peace offering. A way to make her presence useful, instead of just intrusive. She nodded, grateful for the task. She kept her eyes strictly on the pile of discarded clothes near the entrance, carefully avoiding looking back at the water, at him. She gathered Finn’s things, the rough wool of his tunic scratchy in her hands.
“Right, let’s get you up, you big baby,” Kael said, heaving Finn to his one good foot. Bodric slung Finn’s arm over his own shoulders, and they began a slow, hobbling procession out of the cavern, their banter echoing softly against the wet rock.
Finn scrambled out, giving Sadie a wide, flustered smile before darting after the others.
Which left her alone with Barnaby.
The silence was different now. Thicker. Charged with everything that had been said and everything that hadn’t. She could feel him still in the water behind her. She didn’t turn around.
“I really was just walking,” she said to the cavern wall.
“I know.”
She risked a glance back then. He had finally moved, wading toward the edge of the pool. Water sluiced off his broad back, tracing the paths of old scars and the hard lines of muscle earned by a lifetime of labor. He made no attempt to cover himself. He just climbed out, picked up a rough linen cloth, and began to dry his face and hair with a brisk, practical motion.
“The mountain has ears. And you’re jumpy.” He stated it as a simple fact. “Heard you pacing up above for the last half-hour. Knew you’d find your way down here eventually.”
So he had known. The whole time. Her face flamed all over again.
He dropped the cloth and reached for his own clothes, pulling on his trousers with an unselfconscious ease that was somehow more intimate than if he’d been shy about it. “Next time, just come in. The water’s hot. Does wonders for the aches.” He nodded toward her hands, still wrapped in their rags. “Better than that tea.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if discussing the quality of ore. There was no tease in his voice, no accusation. It was just… information. A statement from a man who dealt in tangible things.
He finished dressing, his tunic clinging to his damp skin. He walked past her toward the tunnel, pausing at the entrance. He didn’t look at her, but his presence filled the space.
“And princess?” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t bother exploring that eastern tunnel tomorrow. It’s played out. A waste of time.”
Then he was gone, his footsteps fading into the dark.
Sadie stood alone in the steaming cavern, the scent of sulfur and wet stone filling her lungs. Her heart was still hammering, but the reason had shifted. It wasn’t just embarrassment anymore. It was the unsettling, electric realization that Barnaby saw more, much more, than he ever let on. He’d heard her pacing. He’d known she was watching. And he’d given her an out, then offered her an invitation, all wrapped in his own brand of gruff practicality.
She looked at the dark, placid water. Then she looked down at her own hands, the wrappings stained with dirt and salve. A slow smile touched her lips. He was right. The water probably would be better.
Turning, her eyes followed the path he had taken, the ghost of his presence a warm current in the cool, dark air. The memory of his scars, now seared into her mind, felt less like a secret she’d stolen and more like a story she was just beginning to understand.
The cavern suddenly felt larger and emptier without his presence. Her body was a tapestry of aches, each muscle thread a distinct complaint. The idea of hot water soaking into her sore muscles was an irresistible lure. She decided to try the water for herself.
The spring was a grotto, steam rising from a dark, placid pool to curl against jagged rock ceilings. She was just dipping her fingers into the startling heat when a familiar voice echoed behind her. “Forgot you might need these.”
Kael stood there, a stack of clean towels and a soft, folded tunic in his arms. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Figured you might want to wash the mountain off. You’re starting to look like you’re made of the stuff.” He laid the items on a dry ledge, his gaze appreciative but respectful.
“Trying to say I smell, Kael?” she asked, a playful challenge in her tone.
“I’d never be so rude,” he said, placing the items down. “But let’s just say if you laid down in the forest, a fox might mistake you for a log.” He grinned, that easy, white flash in the dim light. “Privacy is all yours.”
Then he was gone, his footsteps retreating until silence, broken only by the drip of water, reclaimed the space.
Alone, she shed her gritty clothes, the damp air a shock on her skin. She slipped into the water, a sharp hiss escaping her lips as the heat enveloped her sore body. It was almost unbearably hot for a moment, then pure bliss as the tension in her shoulders and back began to unknot. She submerged her bandaged hands, the heat seeping through the cloth to soothe the deep, muscular anger within.
It was the first true solitude she’d allowed herself since her flight. The nightmare of the huntsman felt distant, bleached away by days of honest labor and this new, startling camaraderie. She leaned her head back against the smooth stone edge, closed her eyes, and let the water hold her.
The ache in her hands had been eclipsed by a different, deeper thrumming. She needed air that didn’t smell of soot and male sweat. She needed to feel clean. She sank into the spring, the heat seeping into her tired muscles, washing away the grime. She leaned her head back against the rocky edge, closing her eyes, and let the images in her mind run wild.
Kael’s hands, so large and capable, not wrapping bandages but exploring her skin. The solid wall of his chest against her back. His low voice in her ear, saying filthy, wonderful things. The fantasy bloomed, vivid and unrestrained. What if he had followed her here? What if he found her like this, naked and wanting?
Her own hand slipped between her legs, her fingers finding the slick, swollen heat there. A soft gasp escaped her lips, echoing faintly in the grotto. She pictured him watching her, his eyes dark with desire. Then her mind, feverish and unleashed, conjured another. Finn, his usual clumsiness gone, his gaze hungry and intent as he watched her touch herself. The idea of his boyish eagerness, his hands learning her body, made her fingers move faster.
But it was the thought of Barnaby that truly undid her. Barnaby, with his granite scowl and penetrating eyes, seeing her in this raw, vulnerable state. Not a princess, not a worker, but a woman, wet and open and pleasuring herself because of the world he ruled. The sheer taboo of it, of him seeing her like this, sent a violent shudder through her. Her back arched, her hips rising slightly from the water.
“Oh, god,” she moaned into the steaming air, her fingers working her clit in frantic, circling motions. The image of all three of them now, a shifting tableau of male forms in the dim light, watching, waiting their turn, pushed her to the edge. Her breath came in ragged pants. “Fuck, yes.”
Her climax ripped through her, a silent, convulsing wave that made her toes curl and her body tense like a drawn bowstring. A broken cry was torn from her throat as pleasure, sharp and absolute, flooded her nerves. She rode it, her fingers pressing hard until the last tremor subsided.
As she got dressed and made her way back to the living quarters, she realized Orin heard her in the spring. He was emerging from the side tunnel that led to the underground pool, his clothes damp, his hair slicked back. He didn't look at her with leering triumph or awkward embarrassment. His gaze was flat, calculating, like a man assessing a newly discovered weakness in a vein of ore. He said nothing, simply nodding once as he passed, but the message was clear. Her private moment was no longer private. A new variable had been introduced into the delicate ecosystem of the mine, and she had no idea what he would do with the information.
The next day, the memory of it was a live wire under her skin, a secret heat that flared every time her muscles protested a lift or a haul. She was assigned to help Orin sort through a new vein of quartz, the crystalline rocks glittering in the lamplight. He’d been quiet all morning, his usual focused silence feeling heavier, strained.
“Orin,” she began, her voice casual as she hefted a large chunk onto the sorting pile. “About yesterday, at the spring… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
He flinched, his head ducking lower, his ears turning a brilliant shade of crimson. He fumbled with a piece of rock, nearly dropping it. “S’fine,” he mumbled, not looking at her. “Was my fault. I should’ve… I should’ve walked away once I realized.”
Sadie stopped working, wiping her hands on her trousers. “I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
Now he looked up, his gaze darting to hers for a fleeting second before fixing on the cavern wall. “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. For staying.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It was… I shouldn’t have watched.”
A slow, warm flush spread through her, different from the heat of the forge or Kael’s touch. This was a flutter of power, of being truly seen.
She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Well,” she said, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. “For what it’s worth… I’m flattered you did.”
"Did you like listening to me, Orin?" she asked, her voice husky but clear, shocking herself with the boldness of the question.
Orin flinched, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He looked from her to the other men nearby as if to make sure they hadn’t overheard. For a moment, it seemed he would bolt. Then, a flicker of something new—a spark of courage—lit in his wide eyes.
"Yes," he whispered, the word barely audible. Then, stronger, he repeated it, his gaze holding hers. "Yes."
Sadie felt a slow smile curve her lips. She liked that. She liked the raw honesty of it, and she liked even more that this, somehow, was helping him find a sliver of the confidence he so desperately lacked.
They stood there in the quiet dark, the steam from their tea curling into the space between them, a silent promise of something new. Kael’s thumb resumed its slow circles on her wrist, the rough pad of his finger a brand through the linen wrap. “The salve needs to be reapplied,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated in the hollow of her chest. “The deep work is best done at night.”
Sadie’s pulse hammered in her throat. “Is that so?”
“It is.” He took her mug and set it beside his on the stone table, the clink unnaturally loud. His hands, those huge, capable instruments of brute force, were astonishingly gentle as he began to unwind the cloth from her right hand. The cool air hit her raw skin, and she flinched. “Easy,” he soothed, his gaze locked on hers. He reached for the clay pot of salve. “This might sting for a second.”
He scooped out a generous glob of the dark, waxy substance. The scent of pine and comfrey bloomed between them, sharp and clean. He took her hand in his, cradling it, and began to work the salve into her palm with his thumb. But this was different from before. His touch was slower, more deliberate, a firm, massaging pressure that sought out the tight, pained cords of muscle in her thenar eminence, the delicate bones of her metacarpals. He wasn’t just applying medicine; he was mapping her.
A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips as his thumb pressed deep into the center of her palm, unknotting a tension she’d carried since first gripping the broom. His eyes flicked up to hers, dark and knowing. “Good?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her fingers curling slightly against his.
He moved to her wrist, his strong fingers encircling the joint, his thumb working the sensitive flesh of her inner arm. Every stroke was a question, and her body’s reaction was the answer. Heat pooled low in her belly, a thick, liquid warmth that had nothing to do with the tea. She felt her breasts grow heavy, her nipples tightening against the rough fabric of her shirt. He saw it, his gaze dropping to the betraying points, then returning to her face with a hunter’s focus.
He finished with her right hand and moved to the left, the ritual the same, but the air now crackled with unsaid things. When the last of the salve was rubbed in, he didn’t let go. He laced his fingers through hers, his grip firm, anchoring her. “Better?”
“Much,” she said, her voice husky.
He used their joined hands to pull her closer, until the heat of his body was a furnace against her front. His other hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “I’ve been thinking about that spring all day,” he confessed, his voice rough with wanting. “When I saw you there. I shouldn’t have watched. But I couldn’t fucking look away.”
The admission was a bolt of lightning. “What did you see?” she asked, emboldened by the darkness and his hunger.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “I saw the water sluicing over your tits, making your nipples hard little pebbles. I saw your head fall back, your mouth open. But the best part…” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath hot. “The best part was your hand, working between your legs under the water. The way your hips started to twitch, that little frantic rhythm you got into. I could see the muscles in your thigh clenching. I imagined the sound you were making, that wet, slick sound of your fingers fucking into your cunt.”
A shudder wracked her body. His filthy, precise words were a physical touch, painting the scene in her mind with brutal, exquisite clarity. “Did you imagine what it felt like?” she whispered, pushing back against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection through his trousers.
“I imagined my tongue there,” he growled, his hand sliding from her jaw down her neck, over her collarbone, to palm her breast. His thumb rasped over her nipple. “I imagined lapping at your clit until you came all over my face. I imagined how you’d taste, all salty and sweet from the spring water.”
That was it. The last thread of her control snapped. She grabbed the front of his tunic and crushed her mouth to his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a collision of hunger and pent-up need, all teeth and clashing tongues and the shared, desperate taste of bitter tea. He met her force with his own, his arms banding around her, lifting her clear off the floor as if she weighed nothing.
He carried her out of the main cavern, not to her own alcove, but to his. It was larger, dominated by a wide pallet heaped with furs. He set her on her feet beside it, his hands already tearing at the laces of her tunic. “Need to see you,” he grunted, the words muffled against her skin as he shoved the fabric from her shoulders. “All of you.”
Her own hands were just as frantic, pulling at his clothes, desperate to feel the heat of his skin. When they were both naked, the cool air was a shock, but the heat coming off him was a bonfire. He was all hard, carved muscle, from the broad shelf of his shoulders to the powerful columns of his thighs. A coarse, dark trail of hair led from his navel down to his thick, rigid cock, which stood out from his body, flushed and eager.
He pushed her back onto the furs, the pelts soft and alien against her bare skin. He didn’t settle over her immediately. Instead, he knelt between her legs, his eyes devouring the sight of her splayed open for him. “Fuck, you’re even prettier than I pictured,” he breathed, running a possessive hand up the inside of her thigh. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, the position obscenely open, and lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue was a jolt of pure, white-hot pleasure. He was relentless, just as he’d promised, licking and sucking at her clit with a focused intensity that made her back arch off the bed. He used his thumbs to spread her wider, his tongue plunging deep inside her, fucking her with it, mimicking the act he was so clearly desperate for. The wet, filthy sounds he made were exactly as he’d described, and the room filled with her ragged cries and broken pleas.
“Kael… please…”
He lifted his head, his mouth glistening. “Please what?”
“I need you inside me. Now.”
A feral grin. “My pleasure.”
He shifted over her, his weight a delicious anchor. He notched the head of his cock at her entrance, which was swollen and slick from his mouth. He paused, his eyes searching hers in the near-darkness, a final, unspoken question. She answered by digging her heels into his backside and pulling him down.
He filled her in one long, brutal, perfect stroke. She cried out, a sharp, guttural sound as he stretched her to the limit, the feeling so intense it bordered on pain. He stilled, buried to the hilt, letting her body adjust to the overwhelming invasion. “Gods, you’re tight,” he groaned, the words strained.
Then he began to move. There was no finesse, no gentle rhythm. It was a raw, pounding fuck, each thrust slamming deep into her core. The wooden frame of the pallet knocked against the stone wall with a steady, rhythmic thud. He gripped her hips, holding her still for his assault, his own grunts of effort a counterpoint to her wordless moans.
She wrapped her legs tighter around him, meeting him thrust for thrust, her nails scoring his back. The pleasure built, a coiling, unbearable pressure deep inside her. “Don’t stop,” she chanted, “don’t you fucking stop.”
He drove into her, again and again, his rhythm becoming frantic, erratic. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice a ragged tear.
That was all it took. The coil snapped. Her world fractured into a blinding, shattering climax that ripped through her, milking his cock in violent pulses. He shouted her name, a raw, broken sound, as he poured into her, his own release a hot, pulsing flood that seemed to go on forever.
He collapsed on top of her, his full weight pressing her into the furs, both of them slick with sweat and gasping for air. The only sound was their harsh, shared breathing and the distant, eternal drip of water in the cavern. Slowly, he rolled off, pulling her with him so she lay half-sprawled across his chest. His heart hammered against her ear, a wild, slowing drum.
He didn’t speak. He just wrapped an arm around her, his fingers tracing idle, possessive patterns on the sweat-damped skin of her back. The silence was thick, comfortable, filled with the aftermath of their raw hunger. Sadie closed her eyes, the scent of their sex and pine salve and his skin a new, complicated perfume that smelled like belonging.