Page 10 of The Scouts

To me, it felt thrilling. Entrancing. Like trespassing into forbidden territory and stating something of great consequence without words. By letting me enter into this ritual with him, Lochan offered me proof of his trust and our bond. It showed how far we’d come—a mere year ago, this would’ve been off-limits.

I chose to focus on that and ban the thought of who would be enjoying his sleek tresses that night. Right then, the only thing that mattered narrowed down to the fact that it was me running the brush and him welcoming the movements of my hand, arching into them, melting under my treatment.

Pleased with my handiwork, I admired the way Lochan’s hair swung, bouncing under the brush, sliding across his shoulders and down his back. I loved whenever he wore it loose and flowing, however rare the occasion. Somehow, it made the bluish hue gleam through the deep black with more emphasis.

After two more strokes, I stopped and moved to squat in front of him.

He raised his head to look at me. In the candlelight, his long lashes cast lace-like, spiderwebbed shadows over his cheeks.

I lifted myself to kiss the spot between his eyebrows, the tip of his nose and then, finally, his mouth. I’d only meant to plant a chaste peck on his lips, nothing more.

Lochan, however, framed my face with his palms and delved into me with gumption—tongue, teeth and all—as if determined to suck out my life force.

He didn’t wait for me to take the lead this time. And while this unusual forcefulness surprised me, I welcomed the ardour he poured into that kiss. My chest constricted with tenderness.

His arms found their way around my neck. He clung to me, pressing my ribs more and more into the backrest of his chair, but I couldn’t give a damn about the discomfort. He didn’t let me go even after our lips parted.

“Ervyn,” he murmured into my ear. “It changes nothing between us, you know. It means nothing.”

“I know,” I whispered, touched by his attempt to reassure me and nettled by the pricking sensation that had started building behind my eyeballs. I nuzzled his neck, trying to ground myself by inhaling as much of his scent as I could to last me until morning.

It means nothing.

On an intellectual level, I agreed. But jealousy—spearing my heart like a skewered sausage—said otherwise.

Lochan pulled away to regard me, his hands still resting on my cheeks. The pointy tips of his ears glowed pink, his gaze so intense it singed me. He drew in a breath to speak.

It seemed to me that the room had suddenly become hotter. My pulse sped up. Hope and anticipation zinged down my spine all the way to my toes.

“Listen,” he muttered. “I—”

Fists banged on the door, the almighty sound fit to raise the dead.

We flinched away from each other.

“Féyes? You decent? I’m coming in.”

We barely had time to scramble to our feet before Marbles charged in.

“Oh.” He paused, no doubt getting a load of us looking well-flustered, the chair like a barricade between us. “What are you lot doing?”

“What is it, Marbles?” I couldn’t help but snap.

“Don't have kittens, Morryés.” Marbles tilted his head, eyeing me with curiosity. “I came to tell you there’s a la-di-da carriage by the main gate. The driver says it’s for Féyes. Gods, you do someone a favour and get your head bit off for it. Nice. And they say I’m crazy.”

“Grand. Thank you,” I forced out through clenched teeth.

Marbles must've sensed something fishy hung in the air because he cleared off without further comment.

I glanced at Lochan, whose stony face advised me that whatever had been brewing between us a moment before had now dissipated.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I fancied that as much as I wanted someone to work me over with a sinew puller. Indeed, walking downstairs with him felt like seeing myself off to the executioner’s block.

Marbles’ description turned out to be spot-on. The carriage waiting outside the garrison would have no trouble accommodating a third of our unit. An obnoxious gold and green crest gleamed from its lacquer door. I resisted the urge to punch a hole right through it.

I smoothed invisible creases on Lochan's shirt, trying to iron any traces of despair out of my expression at the same time.