A promise she intended to keep.
‘I’ll try to do it more often, then,’ Maeve replied, voice hoarse.
Jude chuckled. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes rose once more to move down her before he turned to the window, visibly gathering himself.
Maeve wished he wouldn’t. She wanted to see him unravelled, wholly and completely.
He reached out a hand, trailing it over the wooden frame of the window. ‘I never imagined what it would be like to leave,’ he said. ‘Even when I wanted nothing more, when I was sent here alone and confused, it wasn’t something I allowed myself to picture.’
‘And now?’ Maeve asked. A new kind of ache welled up inside her at the pain in his face. The longing.
‘Now,’ he replied. ‘Now, it’s… different. Unbearable in a different kind of way.’ His smile was soft and drowning as he turned to face her. ‘As you said, morning’s only a few hours away. You should sleep. We have a long walk ahead of us.’
They’d decided to go alone, hoping Elden wouldn’t follow. He was safe here, safe from what waited for them at the Abbey. It would just be the two of them tracing their way across the moors to the Abbey. Back to the place of their creation. The prospect of return felt like an impossible mountain, the summit hidden far beyond sight.
Jude’s fingers ghosted around the shell of her ear as he tucked a piece of hair behind it.
Then Maeve watched him go, the mark of his presence fading slower than his whispered goodbye. Lingering, gnawing at the tender spaces between her ribs. She only wished she had time to indulge in the softness between them before the fear was back to swallow it whole.
37
Maeve
Just beyond the gate to Jude’s property, in the middle of two heather-strewn hills, was a single oak tree. Beneath the soil, its roots spread out in an unseen lattice; above, its riot of winter-bare branches stretched like naked lungs against the shape of the horizon. In its long years, it would have faced countless storms, stretches of droughts and beatings by the relentless wind. Yet, it remained unmoved even as it approached the twilight of its life.
Behind Maeve stood Jude, in front of her, the oak. Both lonely and still, breathing with the wind. Neither willing to uproot from the ground that held them fast.
The oak would remain, but Jude would go.
Silhouetted against the violet of the rising sun, a flock of birds spun in a choreographed dance towards the hills. Maeve turned to catch him watching them, slack wonder moving in his eyes.
She buried her face deeper into his crimson scarf. It had snowed overnight, a light dusting that cast their world in white. Beside them, their meagre possessions were compacted into one bag. Without horses, they looked at three days on the road on foot. Two nights spent somewhere new.
Jude eyed the gate like it would burn him if he got too close. He’d been jumpy since she’d met him in the kitchen that morning, their movements silent as to not wake Elden. Flinching at the slightest noises, hardly speaking. Running his hand over hisfreshly shorn hair so often that Maeve worried he’d soon begin tearing it out if they didn’t get a move on.
Her stomach churned. She didn’t know who she was more afraid for – herself or Jude. There didn’t seem to be much distinction between them where her heart was involved.
His hand joined hers on the gate. He rested his weight on it, fingers clenched so tightly around the iron that his knuckles bleached white before he pushed it open and stepped through. She wasn’t sure where things stood between them, especially after last night. She thought of him often. The wanting didn’t seem to be waning. If anything, it was growing stronger. Harder to ignore.
She studied his mouth from the corner of her eye. The pale pre-sunlight painted him in delicate sheets of colour – greens as dark as a night-strewn forest, the hazel of his eyes like lichen. Dusky purples shadowed his jaw and raven hair, flecked with the deepest amber.
He’d had black tea and toast with honey for breakfast. Perhaps he’d taste of that.
The day passed in a slow parade of dewy grass and tumultuous skies. Neither of them said much as they walked, content to simplybe. In the silence, their worries couldn’t be indulged, their fears could be forgotten. It was only the unending, frost-laden hills, their crunching steps, and the thin thread of hope for company.
An hour later, Maeve stopped. She wrapped her fingers around Jude’s arm. ‘Someone’s following us.’
He turned to squint at the black-clad figure behind them for a long moment before he sighed. ‘Took him less time than I thought.’
The exposed shape of the moors lent Elden’s silhouette a vastness as he approached. A wry look stretched across his face. ‘You two are louder than you think you are. Last night’s whispering, the liaison in the kitchen this morning. Jude’s…packing.’ He raised a brow, jostling the bag over his shoulder meaningfully. ‘Didn’t bring a tarpaulin, did you?’
Jude crossed his arms across his chest. ‘Thought we’d find an inn.’
‘Aninn?’ Elden repeated, incredulous. ‘You’re headed back to the Abbey, aren’t you? Shall I pipe in your entrance too, then, or will the trail of gossip be enough?’
‘What are you doing here, Elden?’ Maeve asked. She refused to acknowledge the relief his arrival brought. His steady presence was the antithesis to her and Jude’s frantic planning.
‘I’m going with you,’ Elden replied, nothing in his words a question.
