As if my dreams were trying to help me attain more than I’m able whilst awake, I open my eyes to the early morning sun to discover that I’m quite comfortably pressed to Cara’s side with my head resting on her shoulder.

I keep as still as I can as I get my bearings, noting the arm Cara has around my back and the way she’s just allowing me to half sprawl on her as if this is completely normal for us. My leg is thrown over the top of Cara’s, my arm around her, holding her to me. The warm skin under my palm entices and I move my hand just a fraction, feeling ribs beneath smooth muscle at her side.

Cara’s breathing remains quiet, steady. I lay and enjoy everything about being this close to her, indulging in a way I know I probably shouldn’t. In a way she wouldn’t allow any other time. She’ll wake and be terribly mad at me for this, but for now I can’t bring myself to move. Cara does also have her hand on my lower back, keeping me in place, so it isn’t as though this is entirely my fault.

How we came to be in this position I’m unsure, but I won’t lie to myself and say I’m unhappy about it. How can I be unhappy when I’m pressed against the woman I think I’m in love with? I can’t be.

I rub my cheek against Cara’s shoulder, just because I can, and take in the scent of her – perspiration and soap, and a hint of leather. It’s warm in this room and her skin is hot, a little sticky where I’m against her. It doesn’t bother me at all, to have Cara this close while she’s somewhat slicked with sweat. I feel the slight dampness to my own skin and know I must be in the same state as her, but I wouldn’t change this moment for anything.

My breasts are crushed up against Cara’s side, nipples hardening as I enjoy the way she breathes steadily, chest rising and falling and creating a subtle friction. I want to rub myself against her, feel her everywhere, to the very core of me, but I keep still. This temptation is almost too much to bear; my insides are burning with want. I’ve never felt the incessant tug of passion in this way before, only with Cara. As if her skin is an aphrodisiac that could rival the liver of a Shadrin, it tempts me to touch, to know.

In this quiet room, alone with Cara - the dark corners still in shadow as the sunlight takes its time filling the small space - we could explore each other the way we want to. We could unfold this desire, inspect it, luxuriate in it. But we won’t. I won’t take her loyalty from her, and she won’t take my consideration for Richard. Still, her body so close to mine is too much, too real, a sensation I wish to drown in.

I watch Cara’s face, enjoying how restful she appears, though there is a small crinkle in her brow that I feel instantly guilty about. If I hadn’t acknowledged this then we could have continued as before; ignoring, pretending. But there is no pretending now.

Moving my leg a little, my inner thigh brushing against Cara’s briefs, I barely contain a sigh. The desire to arch into Cara to gain more of her against me is maddening. I’m already growing wet between my legs, my muscles tightening and threatening to tremble.

The small movement causes Cara’s breathing to stutter and a soft groan escapes her. Fingertips press into my back and I know the instant she wakes as her body stiffens and her eyelids begin to flutter open. She opens her eyes only for a moment before squeezing them shut tight once again in frustration.

“Kahlan, your thigh . . .” she mumbles, her voice thick from sleep.

I’m confused at first but then I realise what it is that’s making her rigid beside me. My thigh is resting against her in an intimate way, betraying my resolve not to tempt us both beyond reason. I shift it slightly, slowly, but the movement only causes Cara to groan once again.

Caught between wanting to press harder against her and giving her the reprieve she needs and moving off her, I wait, my head pounding with possibility. Her other hand is suddenly on my leg, holding me there as she breathes deeply, trying to control herself. I know exactly what she wants to do. She wants friction, pressure. She wants me harder against her where she needs it most, and I wish to give her that so badly it scares me.

“You need to move,” Cara grinds out, exasperated. “But I don’t want you to.”

Her hips move almost imperceptibly, bringing her closer to my leg, nudging up against it. I feel the cotton of her briefs more fully at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and it’s my turn to groan, to gasp as I swear I feel a dampness that rivals my own.

I slip my leg down a little, moving it between Cara’s thighs more fully. A dangerous move. A treachery of what we’ve agreed.

“Kahlan,” Cara breathes lustily, her lips parting as she brushes against me once more with a small roll of her hips.

I definitely feel her arousal this time, slicking my thigh a little through her thin panties as she holds my leg much closer with her hand. Her short fingernails dig into my back and I feel a rush of something entirely primal coarse through me. Without further thought I lift myself above Cara, pushing my thigh further into her, causing Cara to grab at my hips and hold me where she needs me as I place my hands either side of her shoulders. The heat between Cara’s legs is delicious and I take a moment just to take pleasure in that, and in the moist evidence of how much she wants this.

Her eyes open, stealing my breath with their beauty, with the lust I see within them. The deep desire to claim her lips with mine bursts inside my chest, shocking me with its intensity. I want everything, her lips, her body, her. I want it all, now, with no guilt, no fear. But a shadow crosses Cara’s eyes and I know this is wrong. No matter how physically right it feels.

I remove the pressure of my leg against her slightly and we both tremble at the loss. My stomach is against Cara’s and I can feel every quick breath she’s taking. I feel the muscles there twitch against mine, the sweat, slick, heat. My breasts are almost touching Cara’s and I glance down between us, battling with myself.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, though my eyes feast on every inch of her I can see.

“I know,” Cara accepts, the tenderness I hear in her voice making me wish for a different world in which we can just be two women, not the Mother Confessor. Not a Mord-Sith.

I feel one of Cara’s hands move from my hip, raising and resting on my cheek as she pulls my gaze back to hers.

“I do want this,” she whispers, her fingertips brushing against my jaw.

The truth is right there in her eyes, telling me everything she doesn’t think she can about how much she does truly want this and more. How much she feels for me already, despite her determination to deny that Mord-Sith are capable of such emotions.

I nod, knowing that though we both want it, it doesn’t make this an easy or simple decision.

“But we have to be sure,” she continues, regardless of the fact we both know we’re sure. “We have to . . .”

We have to wait. We have to abide by what we are. I can’t deceive the Seeker, and she can’t deceive her Lord Rahl, and we have to keep reminding each other of that, for now.

“You just feel so good against me,” I mumble, sighing.

“Believe me, I would take you right now if it weren’t for Richard,” Cara confesses uneasily, the hand at my hip gripping me a little tighter. I drop my forehead to her shoulder, groaning as it creates even more contact between us, my breasts resting below Cara’s. “I need to taste you. I need to be inside you,” she says into my ear.

I shudder and feel a deep throb between my legs, arousal flooding my underwear at Cara’s words.

“Don’t . . .” I groan. “Don’t say things like that.”

The urge to move against Cara, to rub myself over the firm muscle of the thigh between my own, to come apart on top of her, makes me want to cry out. So close to just giving in I grunt as if in pain, then forcibly push myself off Cara. Flopping down next to her on the bed I ball my hands into fists and try to will away the desperate urges that are clawing at me inside and out.

“I want you inside me,” I whine. “I want you filling me. Fucking me.”

Lewd though the words are from my lips they are the truth. The utter and complete truth. I’ve never thought of saying such bawdy things before, let alone doing them, but my body is Cara’s for the taking.

Cara growls in frustration and rips herself from the bed beside me, standing in almost all her naked glory with her back to me. I gasp as she turns, her gaze drilling into mine.

“We need to stop talking this way, Mother Confessor,” she rasps, the use of my title clearly admonishing both of us.

Trying not to just stare at Cara’s body as she stands proud before me, I concentrate on her face as best I can, sitting up in the bed. There are so many things I want to say, need to say, but finding it hard to focus after being so close to Cara - and with her body practically on complete show to me - I stutter and fumble for words ineffectively.

Cara tilts her head to the side, a defiant grin drifting over her face as she notices my predicament.

“I should probably dress,” she says, her eyes soft, making my heart jump.

“In other circumstances I would encourage you to stay just as you are, but if we’re to refrain from anything . . . physical, then yes, please dress,” I implore, still counting the freckles that are scattered over Cara’s chest.

She truly is magnificent.

With a nod, Cara grabs her leathers and begins to pull them on. I watch her fingers work, her arms, her back, muscles flexing with every movement. When she flicks her hair out from where it was briefly caught beneath her collar I groan and close my eyes, flopping back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands.

“You should also dress,” Cara states, ignoring my small meltdown. “Garen could be here any time now.”

Feeling a little self-conscious, I sit on the edge of the bed with the blanket around me, noticing the naked appraisal in Cara’s eyes. Suddenly much more bashful than I was mere moments before, I hold the blanket to me as I reach for my clothes. Cara gives me one last intense look before heading for the toilet.

I quickly put my clothes on, very aware of how damp my underwear feels. I’ll be glad to get out of here so I can retrieve my pack and the clean briefs I know that are in it. I need to do laundry as soon as possible.

It doesn’t take long for us both to be ready, waiting for possible freedom with the help of the Mord-Sith that came the previous morning. We can only hope that nothing has happened to her, or her plans to break us out of this prison we’ve found ourselves in. We say nothing more of our want for each other, instead concentrating on the door and any sounds beyond, remaining silent in our contemplation.

As the sun begins to rise slowly, finally we here the slide of a bolt down the corridor. The sounds are muted, as if somebody is trying their best to be quiet. I look to Cara and she nods, thinking the same thing as I am no doubt; this has to be Garen.

Readying ourselves in case we have a visitor of another kind, we grasp our weapons and keep alert, prepared to strike as one.

“It’s me,” a low voice calls from the other side of the door as Garen slides across the hatch within it so she can see into our small room. “We need to hurry.”

A soft jangle of keys, and before either Cara or I can say anything the door slowly opens.

I feel my heart begin to race, knowing we must rush yet remain calm and quiet. Garen – dressed once again as a lowly servant - beckons us forward into the corridor. I glance back at the room, at the bed in the corner, and shudder. Not only because we’ve been captive here, but also because of what has happened between Cara and I in that short time. What could have happened.

Cara seems to do the same before we catch each other’s eye, holding still for a moment before we follow Garen into the dark hallway. Instantly I can see that there is a torch at either end of the short corridor, but only one door to our left that appears to be the exit.

“We need to free the Lord Rahl,” Cara reminds Garen as the tall Mord-Sith begins to head for the exit.

“Your Lord Rahl,” Garen insists with a scowl.

“Just free him, or I will,” Cara presses, stepping closer to Garen; managing to intimidate her even though Cara is quite a bit shorter.

With a curt nod Garen moves quickly to another closed door beyond our own.

“Stay here,” Garen instructs me. “Listen for anybody coming.”

I move closer to the exit and stay as alert as I can as I watch Cara remain close to Garen. There is a slight prickle of jealousy inside me as I recall what Cara told me about them. What little she told me anyway. I shrug it off and concentrate; now is not the time to think about such things.

There is a bit confusion at first when Garen opens the door to Richard and Zedd’s cell, but Cara explains briefly, and encourages Richard to ask further questions later. I see his soft eyes in the flickering light as he emerges, his gaze searching for me, his lips smiling - despite the situation - when he sees me.

Giving a small smile back I wait for them all to reach me at the exit and with no further fuss Garen proceeds to open it and usher us through.

“Won’t we be seen?” Richard questions, pushing towards Garen with his hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

“Not if we’re careful, and quiet,” Garen lightly reprimands.

Richard lowers his eyes and accepts that he must follow this woman’s lead for now, just as we all must. To be fair, he has no reason to trust her. The fact that Cara seems to trust her without question eases my mine somewhat, but I’m still on edge, ready for any possibility.

“This way,” Garen whispers as we creep along a barely lit corridor, heading away from the lighter areas where the guards must be.

I can’t quite believe they would be so lax as to allow all of us to be spirited away so easily, but obviously they are otherwise occupied.

“We will reach the stables in a few moments, but if we’re not careful, this will be the last time you’ll see freedom,” Garen warns. “Up ahead is the kitchen. We know other people who work there, but we must still be wary.”

We all nod and Cara drops back, waiting for us all to pass before she takes up the rear, her eyes darting this way and that, the rigid set of her jaw making her appear completely focused. I turn my attention back to Garen, watching as she pushes a large door open just enough to peek through.

“Kahlan, this could be a trap,” Richard mutters under his breath.

“We have no other option, Richard. Follow her,” I say, a little more curt than was probably necessary.

He gives me a wounded look, but follows nonetheless.

When Garen sees that the coast must be clear she heads through, indicating for us to continue with her. A few empty rooms later and we emerge out into the stables, the strong scent of horses and hay assaulting us.

“I have cloaks for you, and you may take your bags, but the horses have to stay,” Garen informs us. “We will slip past the gate guards only if you remain silent, and keep your eyes to the floor.”

“Won’t they question who we are?” Cara asks before Richard has the chance.

“You will appear like any other of the townsfolk if you keep the cloaks tight around you,” Garen replies. “The gate guards are generally not the brightest creatures.”

“It seems a little too easy,” Richard says, standing close to me. “What if we’re caught?”

“We won’t be,” Garen assures. “Just do as I say.”

“We will,” I guarantee before Richard can say anything further.

He can’t help needing to know more, to be aware of all the possibilities. He is the Seeker after all.

She pulls a bag from the corner of the stable, handing us all large cloaks with hoods for us to hide ourselves beneath. Richard has the most trouble, attempting to cover the Sword of Truth. With a few adjustments we all seem to have managed to hide our identities, however, and with our packs over our shoulders, we prepare to leave this awful place.

“Try not to stand out,” Garen says with a glare. “If you’re noticed, run, and I will do my best to see that you escape.”

“Why?” Richard asks, causing us all to turn and stare at him. “Why are you helping us? Who are you?”

I suppose his natural need to know the motives of people could only be held at bay for so long.

With a sigh Garen rolls her eyes, reminding me of the way Cara always seems to do the same thing when Richard exasperates her.

“I’m Mord-Sith,” she says curtly. “I came to rescue Cara, but it seems she’s softened beyond all recognition these days and insisted that I also rescue her ‘friends’.”

A gruff chuckle makes us all look to Zedd as he stands with a wry smile on his lips.

“Softened you say?” he grunts.

Richard also chuckles, but obviously neither of them are aware of just how much Cara has changed. Garen can see it, and I’ve noticed the change and found myself more drawn to Cara because of it. But I say nothing to Richard or Zedd, instead just shaking my head.

“Shouldn’t we be hurrying?” I ask with a sigh.

“Come,” Garen instructs, agreeing.

I give my horse a soft rub on the nose before turning to follow the others as we leave him and the stable behind. Cara steps behind me, pulling her hood up over her head. I follow her example and tuck my hair away into my cloak. I feel her hand at my lower back as the others move on ahead.

“I think we can trust Garen to get us to safety,” she says in a low whisper. “But anything after that . . . I might doubt her motives. We should remain cautious.”

“Ok,” I respond.

I lay my hand on Cara’s arm and give it a small squeeze, noting that she doesn’t pull away. In the past she has vehemently shied away from any contact. I’ll have to remember not to reach out and touch her in such a way in Richard’s presence, as he would surely notice the difference. As stubbornly obtuse as he can often be, he is sometimes remarkable perceptive. It wouldn’t do to pique his suspicions before I’ve had the chance to talk with him.

“Now let us leave this rotten hole of a town,” Cara says, instructing me to go before her. “But remind me to come back at a later time so I can slowly torture some of those less than respectful guards to death.”

“Gladly,” I reply, knowing I would do no such thing as remind her to come back, regardless of how much they probably deserve it. I would rather have them put on trial and pay for their crimes my way, by confession.

We catch up quickly with Garen and are soon lost amongst the townsfolk, acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Luckily the rain has come today, making the need for hooded cloaks necessary, which means we’re not drawing unwanted attention to ourselves.

Though we’re all wary and cautious we get to the main gate without incident quicker than I would have expected. Garen appears confident that nothing will thwart our attempts to leave, and as we reach the gate with a few other townsfolk – one with a horse and carriage – we’re permitted through without question. They’re clearly more concerned about who enters their town rather than who leaves, and no doubt the gate guards are not privy to who should be residing in their cells.

Once we’re clear of the gate and walking along the main road heading away from the town I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Don’t let your guard down yet, Confessor,” Garen warns, her dark eyes narrowing at me as I push the hood out of my face a little way. “As soon as they discover you’re all gone, they will be out on these roads looking for you.”

“Then we should head to the forest,” I say, nodding to the distance and the thick green forest that lies not too far ahead of us.

“We are,” she states brusquely. “Mistress Dominique is waiting ahead with horses for you.”

Despite her harsh way of talking and the coldness in her eyes I give Garen a small smile of gratitude. After all, she didn’t have to save us, especially when they were only really trying to help a fellow Mord-Sith. That she has gone to this trouble for Cara – who was accused of betrayal, pushed from her temple and left for dead – and for a Confessor, the Seeker, and a Wizard that she surely despises, tells me a lot about this woman. She has honour.

“Now less talking and more walking,” Garen bristles, frowning at my smile. “Being caught now would be an embarrassment.”

Cara shakes her head, a faint smile on her own lips as she looks between the two of us.

“Please tell me there will be a warm meal somewhere in this forest of yours,” Zedd grumbles as we all trudge ahead into the rain, his cloak barely reaching his knees. “And some shelter.”

“You can always sit here and wait for the guards to take you back to your nice, cosy cell,” Cara teases.

“Not likely,” Zedd says with a gush of air. “Sleeping with Richard’s feet in my nose all night does nothing for an old man’s mood.”

I can’t help but laugh, and Richard follows, much to the distaste of Garen who glares at us all and hurries us along.

“I should have left you all there to save me from this prattling,” she gripes, though the way her eyes settle on Cara clearly suggests that she would never have left her in such a place.

Again I feel a sharp stab of jealousy, but it is tempered by the flicker of emotion I see in Garen’s gaze. Indeed, it seems Mord-Sith can love, because that’s what I see in her eyes directed at Cara, no matter how buried.