Feeling distinctly hard done by, Maeve left the studio and trudged up to take a hot bath. Water helped, usually. Heat compresses even more, but she wasn’t about to find Elden to help her scrounge up some rice and an old pillowcase.
Once she was done in the water, her skin red and fingertips pruned, Maeve curled into a ball under her quilt. She wished she had Bronagh’s tea to help with the cramping. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t even got to say goodbye to the older matron when she left her home. Would she ever see her again?
Loneliness cinched her chest. She felt suddenly like a child. Alone, weak, missing a kind touch. Wiping dampness from her cheeks, she pulled the blanket over her head and tried her best to sleep.
She awoke hours later to something soft butting against her chin. Olive stood by her head, staring at her with a luminous yellow gaze. Maeve reached up to pet her, returning to her curledposition when her abdomen gave a painful cramp. ‘How’d you get in here?’ she asked the cat. Olive blinked slowly in reply.
‘I let her in.’
Maeve jolted, groaning when the movement sent another lash of pain through her lower belly.
Jude hovered at the foot of her bed. The light slanting through the room was orange-tinted and mellow. Sometime between lunch and sunset. She’d slept for maybe five hours. Jude swept his gaze down her curled form, concern lighting his expression as he moved around the side of the bed towards her. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Get out,’ Maeve mumbled, turning to press her face into the pillow. She wanted to cry at the egregious betrayal of her body when she most needed its compliance.
He sat. The bed dipped with his weight.
‘Jude.’ She pulled the covers over her face. ‘Please leave.’
He peeled back the quilt enough to see her face. She must look a fright. She’d tumbled into bed immediately after her bath, barely keeping her wits about her long enough to dress. Her hair surrounded her in a tangled mass of half-damp clumps. She’d have panicked over having it in such a state if she’d been in less pain. She valued her hair more than most of her possessions.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. A line appeared between his brows. ‘Did something happen?’
‘No, perfectly fine,’ Maeve grumbled, snatching the blanket back from him and pulling it up to her chin. ‘Clearly.’
Jude didn’t reply. He merely continued to look at her, tracing his eyes down her body like he was searching for hidden injury. His gaze locked on her arms crossed over her midsection, the shape visible under the quilt. ‘Ah.’
‘Yes,ah. It’s what happens to women once a month, Jude. Not like you’d have much experience with that.’
His eyes flicked back to hers. ‘Monthlies?’
‘Women.’
The corners of his mouth twitched as he pushed back to hisfeet. Maeve closed her eyes and listened to the muted sounds of him pottering about her room. She didn’t have many possessions with her, a fact she’d winced at when she’d unpacked again after deciding to stay at Ánhaga. A few bits of jewellery, her scanty wardrobe comprising of long dresses and hardy knitwear. Ink pots, and hair ribbons. She heard a drawer slide open and wondered if he was sifting through her underthings. The thought sent a rush of blood to her cheeks.
She tried to sit up. ‘What are you looking for?’
Jude’s footsteps moved closer to the bed. ‘Lean forward.’ He sighed. ‘Just let me…’
She obeyed with a stifled whimper as he sat down behind her. His reflection showed in the mirror across from the bed. He drew his lip between his teeth, worrying the edge. Her belly clenched with something that wasn’t quite pain. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them felt intimate in a way she wasn’t quite ready to dissect.
She knew how men usually reacted when confronted with something…inconvenientin a woman’s body, and it wasn’t pleasant. Whenever she’d needed to take time off for her monthlies in the Abbey, back before Bronagh had started supplying her with tea that stopped them altogether, Ezra had made it clear he didn’t think the pain was worth missing work over. Maeve remembered several occasions when he’d demanded she work through it. He’d worked while inconvenienced, and she’d do well to display the same commitment.
Now that she allowed herself to admit it, he was a bit of a bastard.
The bed shifted. Maeve’s attention snapped back to Jude.
He gently slid the tangled mass of her hair out from under her back, draping it over the covers behind her. His eyelashes cast long shadows over his skin like spikes of the sun. Carefully, he began brushing her hair, smoothing through the ends until they were dry before working his way up to her scalp. Drowsinessovertook her the longer he worked. He ran his fingers through the fine hair at her temples and nape, detangling so gently she barely felt it.
She pressed her lips together and shut her eyes. She tried to tell herself it was her heightened emotions and not the fact that no one had ever taken care of her like this that drew tears to her eyes.
Glass tinkled, and the smell of her rosemary hair oil drifted over the room. Splitting the hair into three sections, Jude slowly began braiding, starting over several times when the hair tangled or slipped through his fingers. Little noises of exasperation rumbled from his chest every time he made a mistake.
Maeve kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to think about the softness of his care. Shecouldn’t.
He tied the end off with a ribbon. Before he stood, he ran his hand down her hair one final time. Slowly, reverently, as though touching her like this, like she was precious, was something he didn’t want to forget.
Maeve allowed herself one last look at his face as he moved to his feet. The line between his brows was back, deeper than before. His hand twitched at his side as though he was stopping himself from reaching for her again. She waited. Her pulse thrummed under her jaw.
