Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

She felt the weight of a shadow over her.

Feelings and sensations she could not grasp or control inundated her even as she fought them. Nothing seemed real. She gasped again at the crude sensation. It confused her. It hurt, and at the same time she felt a kind of wild hunger awakening.

It was as if Richard were there, in bed with her. It felt so good again. She was panting. Her mouth was dry as dust.

In Richard’s intimate embrace she had always felt a kind of expectant delight that their shameless lust could never be completely sated—that there was always a spark of something left to explore, to reach toward, to define. She had always exalted in the idea of that endless quest for the unattainable.

She drew a sharp breath. She felt herself in that headlong rush, now.

But this was something she had never imagined. Her fists clutched at the sheets, her mouth opened in a silent scream against the ripping thrust of pain.

This was not human. It made no sense. She gasped again in panic as the most awful feelings burgeoned through her. She moaned at the horror of it, at the hint of pleasure in it, and at the confusion of nearly enjoying the sensation.

The realization came to her. She knew what this meant.

Tears stung her eyes. She rolled onto her side, torn between the joy of feeling Richard, and the pain of knowing that Nicci was feeling him in this way, too. She was slammed onto her back.

She gasped again, her eyes going wide, her whole body rigid.

She cried out at the pain. She twisted and struggled, covering her breasts with her arms. Her eyes watered at agony she couldn’t explain or completely identify.

She missed Richard so much. She wanted him so badly it hurt.

She gave in to him, even in this, she surrendered herself to him. A low wail escaped her throat.

Her muscles knotted as tight as oak roots. She was racked with wave after wave of startling pain mixed with an unsatisfied longing that had turned to revulsion. She couldn’t get her breath.

She burst into tears as it ceased, her body finally able to move again, but too exhausted to do so. She had hated every violent appalling brutal second of it, and grieved that it had ended because she had at least felt him.

She felt joy that she had so unexpectedly sensed him, and blind rage at what it meant. She clutched the sheets in her fists as she wept inconsolably.

“Mother Confessor?” A dark form slipped into the tent. “Mother Confessor?”

It was Cara’s whisper. Cara set a candle on the table. The light seemed blindingly bright as Cara looked down. “Mother Confessor, are you all right?”

Kahlan pulled a ragged breath. She was lying on her back in her bed, tangled in her blanket. It was twisted around between her legs.

Maybe it was just a dream. She wished it was. She knew it wasn’t.

Kahlan ran her fingers back into her hair as she sat up. “Cara—” It came out as a choking sob.

Cara knelt on the ground beside her and gripped Kahlan’s shoulders. “What is it?”

Kahlan struggled to get her breath.

“What’s wrong? What can I do? Are you hurt? Are you sick?”

“Oh, Cara…he’s been with Nicci.”

Cara held her at arms length, her face a picture of concern.

“What are you talking about? Who’s been—”

Her words cut off when she realized what Kahlan meant.

Kahlan struggled against Cara’s grip. “How could he—”

“She no doubt made him,” Cara insisted. “He must have done it to save your life. She would have had to threaten him.”

Kahlan was shaking her head. “No, no. He was enjoying it too much. He was like an animal. He never took me like that. He never acted… Oh, Cara, he’s fallen for her. He couldn’t resist her any longer. He’s—”

Cara shook her until Kahlan thought her teeth would come loose.

“Wake up! Open your eyes. Mother Confessor, wake up. You’re half asleep. You’re still half dreaming.”

Kahlan blinked as she looked around. She was panting, still getting her breath. She had stopped crying.

Cara was right. It had happened, there was no doubt in Kahlan’s mind, but it had happened when she was sleeping, and in her sleep, it had taken her unaware. She hadn’t reacted rationally.

“You’re right,” Kahlan said in a voice hoarse from crying. Her nose was stuffed up so that she could only breath through her mouth.

“Now,” Cara said in a calm voice, “tell me what happened.”

When she felt her face go red, Kahlan wished for the darkness. How could she tell anyone what had happened? She wished Cara hadn’t heard her.

“Well, through the link”—Kahlan swallowed—“I could sense that, that, well, that Richard made love to Nicci.”

Cara looked skeptical. “Did it feel like when, well, I mean, are you sure? Could you tell it was him?”

Kahlan felt her face go a darker shade of red. “Not exactly, I guess. I don’t know.” She covered her breasts. “I could feel his…his teeth on me. He was biting…”

Cara scratched her head, averting her gaze, unsure how to frame her question. Kahlan answered it for her.

“Richard never hurt me like that.”

“Oh. Well then, it wasn’t Richard.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t Richard? It had to be Richard.”

“Did it? Would Richard want to make love to Nicci?”

“Cara—she could make him. Threaten him.”

“Do you think Nicci is an honorable person?”

Kahlan frowned. “Nicci? Are you out of your mind?”

“There you go, then. Why must it be Richard? Nicci may have simply found some man she had to have—some handsome farmboy. It could be nothing more than that.”

“Really? You think so?”

“You said it didn’t seem like Richard. I mean, you were half asleep, and in…shock. You said he never…”

Kahlan looked away. “No, I suppose not.” She looked back at the Mord-Sith in the dim light. “I’m sorry, Cara. Thank you for being here with me. I’d not have liked it if it had been Zedd, or someone else. Thank you.”

Cara smiled. “I think we’d best keep this between the two of us.”

Kahlan nodded gratefully. “If Zedd ever started in asking all his detailed questions about this, well, I’d die of embarrassment.”

Kahlan realized then that Cara was wrapped in a blanket that was open in the front enough to reveal that she was naked underneath. There was a dark mark on the upper half of her breast. There were a few more, but faint. Kahlan had seen Cara naked, and didn’t recall there being any such mark on her. In fact, except for her scars, her body was exasperatingly perfect.

Frowning, Kahlan gestured. “Cara, what’s that there?”

Cara glanced down and then threw the blanket closed.

“It’s, I mean, well, it’s…just a bruise.”

A love bruise—from a man’s mouth.

“Is Benjamin over there in your tent with you?”