A gift. An offering of a touch he wouldn’t normally allow; Jude, the penitent, on his knees before her. The unexpected need to submit to her every wish in the hopes of earning her favour imbued him with a slow-burning warmth. He didn’t mind kneeling at her feet. He’d stay as long as she let him.
Her hand slid slowly off his head as she knelt beside him. The faintest hint of green shone in her dark irises. Her mouth parted; the tip of her tongue visible through her teeth.
Words left him entirely.
‘Jude,’ she whispered. ‘You need to pray.’
A choked noise left him, bringing with it the realization that his ability to pray wasn’t something he’d broken, merely fled from—‘I don’t remember how.’
Maeve folded her hands over his, pressing his palms together. Her hands looked so fragile around his. Paint stained her fingertips, gold dust lingering in the creases of her knuckles. Her touch was a revelation. An unmooring.
‘I’ll teach you,’ she whispered.
Before Jude could even consider bowing his head, before he could search for the words to beseech his icon, the door crashed open.
27
Maeve
A woman stood in the doorway.
Her dark hair was windswept and waterlogged around her face, her light brown skin flushed as she scanned the room, alighting immediately on Jude. She heaved a rapid inhale as she moved swiftly across the threshold. ‘Jude.’
Maeve jumped to her feet at the same time as Jude. She stepped in front of him, both arms spread wide. Her loudest thought, heronlythought, was that this woman was from the Abbey. Terror turned her fingers to ice. Were they not quick enough? Had they somehow got wind of them trying to reverse the memory loss? That his icon was done? The possibilities made her head spin.
The woman froze, her gaze now firmly fixed on Maeve.
‘It’s okay,’ Jude murmured close to Maeve’s ear. He gently laid his hands on her upper arms and lowered them back to her sides as he stepped around her. ‘It’s my neighbour. Bethan.’
‘Bethan?’ Maeve repeated. The name sounded familiar.
Before Jude or the stranger could speak, Elden appeared. He glanced between the three of them, a frown creasing his brow briefly before it smoothed over with his smile. He clapped Bethan on the shoulder. ‘I see you found him.’
Bethan gave herself a brief shake. ‘Goodness. Where are my manners.’ She thrust a hand towards Maeve, a strained smile already in place. ‘Bethan, as Jude said. I live with my mum not too far up the road.’
Maeve shook her hand. Her fingers were like ice, the sleeve of her coat dripping onto the floor.
‘You’re soaked,’ Jude remarked, scanning her up and down. ‘Why’d you come all the way in this storm?’
Bethan’s eyes flitted to Maeve and back to him. ‘It’s not so bad out there. And I like the walk.’
Jude smiled. He met Maeve’s gaze, nodding encouragingly. ‘Let’s go downstairs. There should be something you could borrow. And dinner ought to be ready soon.’
Elden levelled Jude with a look Maeve couldn’t decipher as he stepped past him towards the door, Bethan already outside. ‘Shall I prepare a guest room?’ Elden asked, directing his question towards Jude’s retreating back.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Jude called over his shoulder. He disappeared down the hall.
‘I didn’t realize there were neighbours so close,’ Maeve said to Elden once they were alone.
‘Not all that close. Past Oakmoor. Maybe an hour’s walk,’ Elden replied. ‘We occasionally meet Bethan and her mum for cards down at the pub.’ He hesitated, a strange tension entering his voice. ‘Sometimes more when Bethan wants to see Jude alone.’
‘Ah.’ Maeve swallowed, fingering the edge of her worn, entirely unsuitable chemise and the navy knitted cardigan over it… Jude’s cardigan. She hadn’t seen a need to dress formally when she was just around the house, preferring comfort over fashion. ‘I just need to change. I’ll meet you downstairs.’
Elden clapped her on the shoulder. His mouth had opened to reply when he abruptly paused, staring past her, towards the icon. ‘I thought you weren’t going to paint that.’
Maeve drew back, stung even though she knew she shouldn’t be. Had Jude discussed his icon with Elden? She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything. A worse thought – had Elden read her letter to Ezra, too?
‘It’s not for the Abbey,’ she said, a note of sharpness entering her voice. ‘It’s for Jude.’
