‘Hm.’ Maeve fought a smile as she lay down, putting her back to him. Only the regular pattern of Elden’s snores on the other side of the pallet of hay kept her nerves at bay as Jude draped an arm over her and pulled her tight to his chest.
‘See? It’s too cold to sleep alone,’ he whispered. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, legs shifting to tangle with hers under the blankets.
‘What about Elden?’
Jude’s laugh was a faint, sleepy huff. ‘Would you rather share with him?’
‘No.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Maeve buried her smile in the pillow. There was no way she would sleep anytime soon. What did it mean, him holding her like this? Jude had been alone for so long. Perhaps he just wanted to be close to someone. Maybe she was just a warm body on a cold night. Maeve wanted so much more with him, and she wondered, sheworried, if he felt the same. She needed to find out. It would eat her alive if she didn’t know.
‘Jude,’ Maeve began, a hoarse whisper.
‘Not now.’ He shifted, tucking tighter against her back. ‘Sleep.’
Though her heart was a restless beast thrashing against her ribcage, she closed her eyes. Focused on relaxing one muscle at a time. Despite his unforgettable weight against her, the unsettling blankness where her memories of the afternoon should live, weariness swept in through the cracks. She sank deeper into his arms.
Her final memory was of Jude pressing a kiss to her skin, just under her ear.
38
Jude
Jude woke while it was still dark. He blinked back the last foggy vestiges of sleep before rolling over and stretching one leg close to his chest, then the next. Beside him, Maeve had managed to tuck into a near-perfect ball with arms wrapped around legs and braid strung out behind her. It reminded him, with a fond lurch that had nothing to do with his cat, of Olive settling into a warm patch of sun. An unerring seeker of warmth.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted and rosy.
Feeling like a small bird had taken up residence behind his sternum, Jude got up and left the stable. Restlessness chafed at his limbs as he strode up a hill towards where the outline of a church steeple rose against the purpling dawn. The air was crisp in his lungs, each breath beating back his anxiety like a broom to cobwebs. Exhilaration surged in his muscles. A flash of being alive, like the lurch of a dreamt fall in the moments before sleep.
Soon, the countryside spread out before him like a patchwork quilt. He’d never been any further than the Abbey. His existence was narrowed to this – moors and woodlands, memories of the sea and salted wind burning his throat.
The countryside was dotted with tiny hamlets and more populous villages, each an individual community all their own. Except for children leaving home to join the Abbey or occasionally pursue higher education, people rarely left the place of their birth. They married locally, bore children who would have theiraccents and carry on their trades, dreaming of the same landscape they saw day in and day out. Consistent, steady lives with a comfortable lack of variation. A part of Jude envied them. If he ever managed to free himself from the Abbey, he wouldn’t mind a life like theirs.
He lay back on the cold stone of a nearby bench, gazing at the faded stars above. A moment to ground himself, to keep from imploding into a hundred thousand pieces and drifting away. To calm his building worries, all centred around the woman asleep with her head on his pillow.
Jude breathed out, breathed in. Slowly, his muscles loosened. His lids grew heavy. Morning birdsong filled his ears and, in the far-off distance, bells.
He awoke to Maeve’s voice. The sun had risen fully, heating his rumpled jumper and drying the dew on the hems of his trousers as he slowly pushed to sit. He scrubbed both palms over his face and squinted down at the path that cut between Caleb’s cottage and the church. Surprisingly, Maeve and Elden were there, accompanied by a short, slight man dressed in a sweeping black robe.
Jude leapt to his feet and started down the hill. His heart thundered in his chest. ‘Maeve?’ he called as he neared.
She stopped, turning to face him. A smile pulled at her lips despite the tension bracketing her eyes. Beside her, Elden’s gaze coasted over his head, scouring the oncoming clouds.
‘There you are,’ Maeve said. ‘Mr Peters said he’d give us some of his already split wood and fire-starting supplies after the church service.’ She jerked her chin towards the intimidating expanse of hills to her left. The next part of their journey. ‘It might be hard to come by out there.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘Another thing we forgot to pack.’
‘Mr Peters?’ Jude echoed, gaze on the unfamiliar man. He studied his black robe and congenial smile. Despite his age, his hair was a shiny thatch of honey-brown, absent of grey. Not theright colour robes for Abbey elders… but still. ‘Who are you?’ Jude asked, tone sharp.
Mr Peters’ smile didn’t waver. ‘I run the church. Told Maeve you two were more than welcome to join for the service. We’d love to have you.’
Jude scowled at his aggressive friendliness. ‘We need to get going. Now.’
‘We need fire supplies more,’ Elden cut in. He nodded towards the church. ‘Won’t take long, then we can be on our way.’
Rolling his lips tightly together, Jude fell into step beside Maeve. Mr Peters and Elden continued on ahead. Jude didn’t like this one bit. Impatience picked at his seams. He turned towards her, lowering his voice. ‘Is the church connected to the Abbey?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think so. I’m not the most… well-versed on anything outside the Abbey.’ She pinned him with a worried look. ‘Surely there are others, right? Other religious institutions?’
