‘Aye.’ Elden smiled back at her. ‘Gave me a spot of bother, but I reckon they’re all right.’
He looked inordinately proud of himself as he watched Maeve take a bite. Her lips pressed tightly together as she chewed. Jude could practically see the lump of shortbread move down her throat as she swallowed.
‘Lovely,’ she said, coughing slightly. ‘Thank you.’
Elden’s smile widened as he tried to peer around them. ‘What are you doing? Can I come in?’
‘I’ll be taking that,’ Jude interrupted, prising the tray from Elden’s grip. ‘Goodbye.’
He shut the door firmly, fighting the need to brace against it as nausea swirled in his stomach. Gathering himself with a stern word, Jude turned, somewhat concerned that Maeve hadn’t complained about him shutting the door in Elden’s face, only to find her bent over, coughing into her palms. Her hand shot out. ‘Tea. Tea – please. By thesaints.’
Jude hurriedly poured her a cup, thrusting it into her outstretched hand. She straightened, gulping it down in three swallows. Her face was red, eyes streaming. She smacked her palm against her chest as she continued to sputter. ‘I think he mixed up the salt and sugar.’
He couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out of him. She’d been so kind to Elden, eating the biscuit with feigned relish, complimenting him until he smiled. Jude laughed harder when he caught her bending to refill her cup, tipping it back into her mouth. ‘Oh—’ he fought to catch his breath. ‘Yourface.’
‘Just be glad you didn’t have to eat one,’ Maeve muttered darkly. ‘I fear I’ll never get the taste from my mouth…’ she trailed off. ‘Jude.’ Her voice rang with false sweetness.
He took a slow step back. He didn’t like the way she was eyeing him. ‘Yes…’
‘How would you like to no longer sit for your portrait?’
He blinked. That was not what he’d been expecting. ‘Why, going to use your magic to finish it?’
‘No.’ Maeve’s mouth tightened even further. ‘But I don’treallyneed you here for it anymore today. Sure, it would make my life a little more difficult without you, but I’ve done more with less. Only…’ Her expression turned almost predatory. Something low in Jude’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t sure if he loved the look on her face or feared it. Perhaps some unholy combination of the two. ‘I think I need some sort of –rewardfor letting you leave early.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Reward?’
‘Mm.’ Maeve nudged her toe against the discarded tray on the floor. Amidst the tea rubble, one final piece of shortbread lay untouched. Jude studied it, contemplating the merits of choking down one overly salted biscuit if it meant his freedom.
‘You want me to eat it.’
She smiled.
Dammit.He wanted to go lie down. Go outside and let the fresh air loosen the cobwebs. He didnotwant to spend the rest of the day sitting still, even if it meant watching Maeve work. He bent down and retrieved the biscuit. Gearing himself up, Jude shoved it whole into his mouth.
Somehow, it managed to be both teeth-meltingly salty and textured like clay left to dry in the sun. He prised his molars apart, forcing himself to chew and swallow. She watched the entire debacle with eyes bright with mischief. When it was gone, Jude wiped his lower lip clean of crumbs, licking his thumb after. He kept his gaze level on her as he did it.
Maeve blinked once, twice. Her eyes snapped back to his as she smiled, killing whatever quip he’d been preparing to make. ‘You have crumbs on your face.’ Her fingers brushed the corner of his mouth. ‘Just here.’
23
Maeve
The following week passed in a comfortable rhythm. Maeve’s magic didn’t seek an outlet as she painted, which both concerned and soothed her. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for another episode, but equally, she worried if the icon would work as she hoped if she did not. It brought a skittishness to her thoughts, as if they didn’t know where to settle. Coupled with the increasing desire to be around Jude as much as possible… she didn’t know how to feel.
She wondered if the restlessness under her skin was an effect of painting his icon. The connection between her and her work was there as usual, but the strung-out tension, the awareness that coloured their every interaction… that was new.
Something was changing in Jude, too, the longer they progressed. He smiled more often, touched her more easily, met her gaze for longer. Small acts of trust that didn’t go unnoticed.
They’d spent most of their days in her makeshift studio, a room she’d learned Jude had lived in during his earliest years at Ánhaga. She would paint while he read or watched her work, stopping only to eat or to stomp around the yard when he grew fed up with sitting still. She’d insisted he sat for her each day despite not technicallyneedinghim in front of her to work. Surprisingly, he hadn’t questioned her request, which worried her more than anything else.
She wished that was all she noticed about him.
Sometimes, between the smiles, there was a blankness behind his eyes that reminded her of Siobhan. A stilted quality to his movements. More than once she’d caught him reaching for something only to stop halfway, or leave saying he was off to get a cup of tea or something to eat, only to return empty-handed hours later. He was docile and softer than the Jude she had first met.
The strange behaviour wasn’t constant, but it was enough to give her pause. She wondered if the icon was to blame.
Not wondered… sheknewit was. But yet, they’d both decided the risk was worth it, even if it pained her to see him with all his sharp edges sloughed away.
