Cara has been a great addition to our party as we search for the Stone of Tears. She’s a wonderful fighter and we’ve all had to thank her more than once for saving us in some way. She also hunts better than Richard - although I wouldn’t tell him that to his face - and though it’s sometimes difficult to get a conversation out of her the things she does say often have me fighting back a chuckle. Other times, the things she says make me nod in agreement, especially when her plans make more sense than anybody else’s.

Our newest companion is smart, astute, keen to serve Richard and therefore both Zedd and I, and I’m glad she’s with us now I’ve managed to push aside my feelings about her role in my sister’s death. The problem is . . . she’s not as quiet as she thinks she is.

Nearly every night now for the past month I’ve heard her; her breath coming quickly, her body moving within the rough blanket she sleeps naked underneath, little moans that make me shudder as I lay still whilst pretending not to listen. I knew Mord-Sith were built for pleasure as much as pain but I’m really not sure it’s necessary for her to pleasure herself quite so much. Occasionally, if the forest we’re in is still and silent and I’m close enough to her . . . I can even hear how wet Cara is. I know that her fingers are moving against herself, going inside sometimes, giving herself pleasure. It leaves me balancing uncomfortably between feeling embarrassed and aroused and I don’t know if I can take it one more night.

I’m certain neither Zedd nor Richard have heard her. She normally chooses to do it when Zedd is on watch, and he’s too busy eating whatever rations we have to notice her movements. I also always sleep closer to her than either man. It often feels too close and I curse the fact I have such good hearing.

I haven’t told her I’ve been able to hear her of course, but somehow I doubt she’d exactly feel the same sense of embarrassment that I myself would. Though I can tell she tries to keep quiet she’s still doing it right there in our camp, so if she were hoping to be completely discreet surely she’d do it while she’s off hunting or bathing. I can’t say I understand, and it’s starting to make it almost impossible for me to sleep – for various reasons – but I can’t tell her to stop. I’m not even sure I want her to stop.

It’s just . . . it’s driving me a little crazy.

The first night I heard her I buried my head further into my blanket and tried to ignore what she was obviously doing. Her breath was shuddering and as she finished a stifled moan escaped that only I heard. I dared to take a peek at her from under my blanket when it seemed safe enough to do so; she was lying on her side, having shuffled around to get comfortable, and she had the most peaceful expression on her face as her eyelids drifted shut.

Having never seen her looking quite so relaxed I couldn’t feel angry at her for doing what she had – obviously she’d needed it. I could empathise, even though her actions had shocked me a little.

By the end of that week I was getting used to waking up to hear the muffled breaths and the shifting blanket not far from my own. We hadn’t been near a town for a while, nor passed any fellow travellers so I imagined that the lack of her usual source of outlet – taking a stranger – was having more of an effect on her than was probably healthy. I almost wanted to talk to her about it but I knew she’d either dismiss it or just make a crude remark. I was beginning to feel bad for her, however. Surely if such a need was so strong that she had to do it right by me with no shame then there was something wrong.

There was no way for me to know why she felt the necessity to take comfort from release nearly every night; I’m not Mord-Sith and can’t begin to understand what their needs are. For all I know it could be some form of self-punishment. I was clueless but I wanted to help, though I wasn’t certain why I wanted to help, and felt somewhat strange for thinking about it so much. But I didn’t feel it necessary not to think about it, which was probably a mistake.

As the nights passed I found myself thinking about it in other ways. My own body would react to her sounds without my permission and I began listening instead of trying not to. I thought about where her hands were and how it might have felt. It made me angry at her, and at myself for feeling guilty. The things she had me imagining made it impossible to continue thinking of Richard in the same way. Truth be told, I’d never really thought much about being close to Richard in that way anyway as it always just felt . . . wrong - for many reasons.

With Cara it’s clearly different. I can’t stop my mind when it comes to her.

So now I lay closer to her than I used to and she continues to pleasure herself on a near nightly schedule – even though we’ve gone through several towns lately. I no longer want to talk to her about it as I’m worried she’d guess I haven’t exactly been ignoring it; she might think that I’m intruding or being strange for listening in the first place. And every night I feel my own body become more aroused because of her.

Hearing the wet slide of her fingers almost makes me moan as if they were against me and not her. I grip my blanket and feel horrid because it’s almost as if I’m betraying Richard. I grip my blanket and will myself not to allow my fingers to roam my own body the way Cara does her own. There’s no way I can succumb to that as every one of my companions would feel the pulse of my magic as I reached release.

This past month has left me more frustrated than I’ve ever felt before in my life. I don’t think I can take it anymore.

She’s sitting across the fire from me now, finishing the meal she killed for us. I hardly touched my own; too occupied with my thoughts, with my feelings. Her eyes are dark against the flickering orange flame and she looks on edge, as dangerous as ever. Cara is a beautiful but fierce woman, and anybody would be blind not to see both and become affected in someway by both. I can’t keep telling myself that she has no effect on me in that way when she does. I’m growing rather attracted to her and there seems to be no way to stop myself.

I’ve done my best to concentrate on how I feel for Richard – or how I once felt – but it’s no use. Every time I look at Cara I see something new that I like or admire. Knowing I must be crazy for admiring a Mord-Sith in any way has me irritable and grumpy. I snapped at Richard twice today when he didn’t deserve it, earning a frown from Zedd and a raised eyebrow from Cara. A perfect, adorable, sexy eyebrow.

Indeed, I even find her eyebrows attractive and I’ve never noticed something as silly as a person’s eyebrows before. It’s almost as if I’m under some kind of spell, but I know that isn’t so; I’d have felt something like that and it wouldn’t have been gradual. This has crept up on me and is holding me in its fierce grip with no inkling of letting go. So here I sit just looking at her, aware that if anybody noticed they’d wonder what was wrong or imagine that I had an issue with her.

It is an issue, but not of the kind either Richard or Zedd would guess.

Doing my best to look away, I place my plate down on the ground beside me and rub my hands over the leather of my dress. My eyes take in the swell of the fire as it hisses and crackles between us and I wish away all thoughts of Cara that stir feelings in me I can’t understand, feelings that leave me confused as much as tingling with all the possibilities of what Cara could do to me, with me.

But my eyes betray me once again and my gaze lifts to Cara, travelling over the red leather that hugs her perfectly, the flash of skin as the material gapes open to reveal the soft curve of breasts that now haunt my thoughts. I want to push my hand inside that leather and touch, feel the warm skin, the hardening of her nipples as they react to my fingers. I want my lips to know their taste, their texture. I want them to know Cara in a way that makes me blush, that makes me burn hotter than the fire at my feet.

I’ve never felt such desire before, not even for the man I’m supposed to be in love with, and certainly never for a woman.

I pull my gaze away from Cara with difficulty, ignoring the small dribble of sauce from the stew that’s teasing at Cara’s bottom lip. It takes all of my willpower not to stalk over there and lick her lips clean, indulge, take what I desperately want. I can’t do such a thing and if I did I have no doubt my companions, including Cara, would think I’ve gone quite mad.

Stilling the pounding of my heart as my thoughts do all they can to make me burst with want I look over at Richard as he sits sharpening his sword. His face is relaxed, eyes soft as he pulls a stone methodically up and down the blade. He’s a good man, worthy of love, of my love, but something has changed in me. I don’t see him the same as I did. I don’t gaze upon him and long to be with him anymore. I still love him, but I’m not sure it’s the same kind of love it once was. How could it be if I’m thinking about Cara in all the ways I’m supposed to think about Richard?

How can I truly say I’m in love with him when my desire is for another?

He glances up and catches my eye, a tender smile lifting his lips. I smile back, but I feel sad, untrue. I need to talk with him if I can’t shake myself out of this web Cara seems to have weaved around me.

Maybe I just need time and I’ll find myself as in love with him as I was before. I’ll find myself dreaming of my life with him instead of heady fantasies about the Mord-Sith I should hate. It might be foolish of me to believe time will help, but it’s all I have unless I take myself away from the situation. And I can’t do that; I can’t leave Richard, and I couldn’t possibly ask Cara to go. Not only would it puzzle my companions if I made such a request but I don’t want her to go. I would worry about her. I would want to follow.

Taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh I had no intention of releasing, Richard’s smile turns into a small frown.

“Are you ok, Kahlan?” he asks, that gentle tone of his making me still feel for him, though in a way that doesn’t even begin to touch how Cara’s voice now makes me feel.

“I’m fine,” I answer with a nod, forcing another smile.

I notice Cara looking up at me and avoid those intense green eyes that strip away every part of me. Aching inside my own skin I feel awkward and insecure, silly and immature. I don’t know how to deal with this, nor do I know how to keep my thoughts to myself without breaking.

Suddenly wishing my sister was here with me so I could talk to her, gain her advice, my heart thuds heavily in my chest and for the first time in a long time I feel completely alone. Lost. There’s nobody to confide in and I couldn’t possibly speak with Richard about this, or with Cara. It would hurt Richard terribly, and who knows how Cara would react? She’d probably be smug and sarcastic, but I couldn’t hope for her to feel the same. I don’t even think it would be wise for her to feel the same – it would complicate things too much. It would cause too many problems. It’s better if I continue to keep this inside, to ignore it as best I can.

I can’t be with Cara, even if she would want such a thing.

One thing I know for certain is that I can’t lay and listen to her pleasure herself any longer during the night. I either need to ask her to stop, or I need to stay as far away from her as possible – without bringing attention to the fact I’m moving further away instead of closer, as I’ve been doing of late.

Deciding that it’s probably best to do that now, I pick up my plate, passing it to Zedd as his eyes light up with the abundance of food still on it. He nods his head in thanks and I move to my bedroll, taking it under my arm and walking to the far end of camp, much further away from the fire than I’d normally sleep. Hopefully my camp mates won’t ask why or decide to follow me and place their own bedrolls close to me; I don’t want to have to explain myself.

Richard’s gaze keeps track of me, watching as I arrange my blankets then sit down and begin to unlace my boots. I can tell he wants to ask why I’ve moved so far away but I refuse to catch his eye so he’s hesitant to say anything; the bad mood I’ve been in obviously encouraging him to stay silent. Zedd doesn’t seem to notice, and Cara . . . she glances my way but also says nothing, finishing her meal and wiping at her lips, making a point of not paying me any further attention.

Hopefully I’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight. I’m on watch after Cara tonight, as arranged earlier, so there’s a good chance she’ll be asleep by the time I come back to my bedroll, and as she’s first on watch there’s less chance in the night for me to overhear anything that might have me reacting in all the wrong ways. I’d suggested the switch in watches earlier, hoping to avoid what’s quickly become a nightly ritual in which Zedd stays watch first, meaning Cara and I go to bed at the same time.

As Richard drops off easily to sleep it’s always left Cara and I in our own little bubble – though Cara probably isn’t aware that that’s how I’ve come to regard it. Zedd paid no attention, but being closer to Cara with each night that passed meant I was inevitably going to end up extremely frustrated by the time I got back up for my own watch.

I’m sure tonight will be different. It has to be.

Getting under my blanket I turn to Richard and give him a quick smile. He still seems concerned but I know he’ll leave me be at least until morning. I plan to be asleep quickly tonight though I have to be up for my turn on watch in a few candle marks. Cara didn’t seem to mind that we switched things up, just shrugging her shoulders and agreeing when I proposed the changes. Sometimes I never know how she’s going to react to things. She doesn’t like being told what to do, but often she’ll just go with the flow. It leaves me more confused about her than ever, but I guess I’m still learning about Cara, and I’m always eager to know more.

She’s the most intriguing person I think I’ve ever met. Her moods often confound me, but somehow I just know that we can trust her. She has a history I don’t think I want to know every detail of, but I find myself wondering about her life. There’s certainly more to Cara than meets the eye. She draws me to her without even knowing it.

As I settle into my blankets I turn my back on the fire and my three companions around it, peering out into the forest before closing my eyes. All I can hear is the crackle of the fire, the ring of Richard’s sword as he sharpens the blade to a glimmering point, Zedd’s munching and Cara being completely quiet.

I find myself listening to her quietness, to her lack of words, waiting for any sound she makes. It’s silly of me and beginning to irritate me, and I know she’s getting under my skin in ways that are dangerous. I don’t think it’s just about wanting her anymore, or finding her beautiful, it’s more than that and it frightens me. She’s Mord-Sith. She’s my complete opposite and everything that I should despise and fear, but she has depths that I find myself longing to discover.

Her silence crawls over my skin like insects and I want to scratch and twist, fighting them off. Fighting her off.

Sleep doesn’t come quickly at all.

By the time Richard and Zedd place their own bedrolls and settle down for the night at least one candle mark has passed and I’m still wide awake, having listened out for every sound that Cara made – a few words to Richard, a sigh, a mumble about the dwindling rations, a sneeze that made me smile. She’s arranging herself on a log by the fire now, ready to pass the time on watch. The need to turn over so I can study Cara, watch her without her noticing, is almost impossible to resist but I do. I have to.

Squeezing my eyes closed I focus on my own breathing, filtering out all the sounds around me. I try to think of Richard but it leaves me feeling miserable so I still my mind completely, thinking of anything and everything that doesn’t involve Cara in some way. It begins to work and I find myself relaxing, ready to rest for a while as the night slides by.

When I find myself being woken gently by a hand on my shoulder it takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. Opening my eyes I look up to see Cara leaning over me, crouched beside my bedroll.

“It’s your turn,” she says, nothing much more than a whisper.

Lifting a hand to my head and pushing back hair from my face I do my best to nod, finding it difficult to shake free of the grasp of sleep.

“Any problems?” I ask, my voice thick and a little raspy.

She watches as I sit up, staying close to me though she stands so I have space to move.

“None, it’s been quiet,” she replies. “Apart from Zedd’s snoring of course.”

“Of course,” I say with a knowing smile.

I slept in my clothes so I wouldn’t have to stumble around getting dressed in the middle of the night. I’m grateful for that choice as I notice that Cara is doing her best not to watch me as I rise from my bedroll. She’s not very good at subtle and I find myself blushing as I think about how she might have reacted if I’d only been wearing my underwear. Thinking about being in my underwear in front of Cara does nothing to help sway my thoughts away from where they constantly keep travelling. It distracts me to the point I trip over my blanket and find myself tumbling into Cara’s arms.

She’s quick to catch me, her hands firm on my hips; my own hands land on her upper body. One of them decides that the best way to keep myself upright is to grasp on to Cara’s breast – soft, warm, suddenly filling my palm. I almost shriek as I quickly step backwards and away.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, feeling my cheeks redden intensely as her hands drop from me, leather covered fingers practically leaving scorch marks behind.

My palm is tingling where it had connected with her and I feel utterly mortified, but Cara is just smirking at me; looking at me as if I’m the most curious thing she’s ever seen.

“I didn’t mean to . . .” I begin, running a hand through my hair and avoiding eye contact.

“It’s ok,” she says, a soft chuckle tainting her words. “Though just so you’re aware . . . if you wish to touch me you only have to ask.”

My eyes flick back to hers and I see the wide grin on her lips, mocking me, teasing me. I blush further and feel completely inadequate in her presence, foolish and inexperienced. I want to be able to say something witty back to her, something that will let her know I’m not as naïve as she might think I am, but I can find no words, and I have to conclude that I am indeed naïve in this instance, in this situation. Cara is a sexual person, unafraid, revelling in her sexuality as all Mord-Sith do. But I’ve been taut to repress my sexuality; it resides behind walls I’ve spent years building. We’re not the same and I feel embarrassed about my own awkwardness.

“I didn’t want to . . .” I stutter. “I just . . .”

“Relax, Kahlan,” Cara tells me in a hushed tone so she doesn’t wake the others. “And don’t forget to wake Richard in a candle mark,” she adds as she turns to find her bedroll.

“A candle mark?” I question. Surely it should be longer.

“Yes,” Cara says without elaboration, looking over her shoulder at me as she shakes out her bedroll.

I open my mouth to ask further questions but I notice that she’s placing her bed much closer to mine than necessary and I can’t speak. Is she doing that on purpose? I ask myself. Is she trying to drive me completely insane?

Before I can stop her or find some way to discourage her from sleeping so close to my bedroll she pauses and looks at me, her green eyes piercing me in a way that always makes me shudder.

“I left you to sleep longer,” she says, obviously mistaking my wide eyes for something other than dismay at her sleeping arrangements. “Mord-Sith do not need as much rest.”

She turns back to placing her blanket, sitting down on it and tugging at the laces on her leathers. I keep my eyes on her for a moment, wondering if I should thank her, watching as she slowly undresses. It’s only when she starts pushing the leather off her shoulders that I finally look away.

I want to watch. I desperately want to watch but I know I can’t. I doubt Cara would care for me openly staring at her as she removed her clothes, even though she likes to tease me sometimes; flaunting her sexuality as if to mock me. I can’t risk making more of a fool of myself or making her distrust me. As far as I know she doesn’t think of me in the same way I now think of her and I won’t be the kind of person to make another uncomfortable in that way. She doesn’t have to know about the few times I’ve surreptitiously admired her as she’s bathed of course, I’ll keep that to myself, clinging to the memories of watching her disappear into the water. Watching her wade into it until I can no longer see the soft skin of her back or the firm curve of her rear.

I’d never considered myself to be sneaky before, but I’ve found myself following a couple of times now as she’s gone to wash, just to get a glimpse if nothing else. I never stay for long; always pulling away and leaving her alone when I began to feel guilty. I’ve never stayed to watch her leave the water so I can see the view from the front. That would leave me feeling even more guilty, and even more frustrated at the fact I can’t possess that strong body in ways that I now want to.

I sit down on the log by the fire, staring into the flames as Cara shuffles around, removing her leather and her boots. I know she’ll probably slip under the blankets naked – as is her way – and it makes me tremble. Looking down at my palm I fight the urge to recall the feel of her breast against it; so soft, so perfect in my hand. I want so much more and I know I can’t have it.

“Don’t stay awake too long,” Cara says quietly from her bed, her hand propping up her head as she faces me, eyes studying me.

Blonde hair trickles down across Cara’s bare shoulder and I forget myself for a moment, licking my lips as I let my gaze wander to where the blanket only just covers her chest.

“I won’t,” I reply, barely a whisper as I attempt to hide the effect she has on me.

She gives me a brief, utterly precious smile and I can’t help but smile back, my stomach twisting, fluttering in a way that has me turned inside out. Cara doesn’t smile like that often. In fact I’ve only recently seen her do it, and she seems only to do it for me, but every time . . . a little piece of me sighs and gives in to what I’m beginning to understand. What I’m beginning to feel.

From my vantage point above her, with her head closer to me than her feet, I watch her turn on to her back and get comfortable. She’s far enough away that I can’t see her completely now she’s on her back, and though the rustle of her blanket is audible it’s hard to hear over the spitting flames in front of me. I almost want to move closer, maybe pull my own bedroll near to the fire so I can sit on it as I keep watch of our camp, but that would only tempt me to lie down, to sleep close to her. I have to remain where I am, and banish these thoughts from my head.

She can’t possibly think of me in the same way, and even if she did . . . I can’t do anything about it. It would complicate everything. It would go against everything I stand for. It would be impossible.