“I felt like a child,” I said to his turned back. “I still do. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
He pulled off his tunic and piled it atop mine, then tugged his coin purse out of his pocket. He stripped both his knife and mine from our waists and stashed them in my satchel before he started loosening the laces on his trousers.
“What is there to be embarrassed by?” he asked.
I wanted to enjoy the view of his bare back and chest, but my shame had too strong of a hold to allow any room for lustful thoughts.
“I wasn’t in my right mind,” I replied. “I thought…”
Kit knew. He’d seen my unbridled panic, my delusion. Sometimes, dark thoughts tormented him at night, when he wasasleep and unable to fight them off. I’d been fully awake, fully aware, yet fully immersed in a dream that made me look like a madman to anyone observing.
I used to dream like Kit did, then I would wake in the mission infirmary surrounded by nurses insisting I quiet down and calm myself, else I’d be smothered back to sleep with a soaked rag. For my own good, they said. So I didn’t tear my bandages or disturb healing wounds. Then those nurses became parts of my dreams. They were specters that haunted me, pinned me down and silenced me.
That was why I hadn’t wanted Kit to leave me in Emberstead. Why I would be glad not to see Sybil again. She seemed to be a kind woman, but my memories of missions and infirmaries and bandages like the ones Kit had just applied were tainted, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to shake them.
I swallowed, still tasting smoke and a hint of the bile that crept up from my stomach.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Kit said. He had stripped out of his pants and was unfastening mine, practically crouched in front of me and so close I wanted to touch the dips and bumps of his muscles, smooth my fingers across his arms and shoulders, visit places I knew so well. But again, my internal tumult pushed those desires aside.
I gulped and settled myself enough to speak on a different subject. “Thank you for what you said.”
Kit pushed my pants down to my ankles, then stood and held my waist to steady me as I stepped out of them.
“What did I say?” he asked. His hands lingered on my sides, spreading welcome warmth.
I glanced aside sheepishly. “That you want me.”
“Of course, I do,” he replied.
Tears welled up again, and I kept my head turned away until Kit cupped my chin and turned me to face him.
“Penny,” he began and waited until my eyes met his. Then he smiled, weary but wonderful. “You are more than I ever hoped for. More than I deserve. I don’t love you because you’re useful to me. Even if you were infirm, I would be grateful for the opportunity to care for you. Because I loveyou, regardless of what you can do for me.”
We’d touched on this before. It was more than the fire or my scars. More than Merrick’s childhood taunting about our parents having no use for a boy without hands. I was weakened, compromised by the hemlock poison with no signs of improvement. I worried about returning to the strain of farm work, and I worried about Kit not wanting a suitor—a husband—who might always cough and gasp when the air got too cold or cloudy.
But the way he looked at me was so devoted, so doting, I almost felt foolish to doubt.
Still, I had to say, “You’ve already cared for me, Kit. You’re doing it even now.”
He nodded, then tipped his head against mine. “And I’ll continue to do it for the rest of my life,” he replied. “Gladly.”
A touch turned into a kiss, then a bare-bodied embrace. We connected that way, fitting together like we’d been made as one then cut apart, waiting to find each other so we could stitch ourselves together again.
When we finally separated, Kit led me to the tub and held my elbow as I stepped into the steaming water. I settled in, and he climbed in after me. I let him pull me onto his lap and looped my arms around his neck, careful to keep my bandaged hands dry. It was peaceful and quiet, and I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes while he scooped water into my hair and smudged the soot off my face.
The tub had gone lukewarm, and I was drowsy by the time we were both clean and Kit gently jostled me to get out. Wetoweled off and found the fresh clothes Elise had promised folded outside the bathroom door. The overalls and shirt fit Kit nicely, and I did, indeed, need to cinch my borrowed pants with a belt. Rather Kit did, tugging the leather strap tight around my waist as an excuse to pull me to him and steal a kiss.
We made our way back to the dining room, clean but far from refreshed. Kit ushered me toward an open chair and then took the one beside it. Elise and Margot eagerly dished us up bowls of stew and sliced some bread to soak in it.
As promised, Kit did most of the talking, but even that wasn’t much. His mouth was full more often than not, and I caught myself missing questions and answers while I dipped my bread into the stew and watched the broth drip off of it over and over again until it was so soggy it broke apart and settled into the bottom of the bowl.
Kit had nearly finished his meal and encouraged me at least twice to try some of mine when Margot spoke up.
“Not to be rude, but you two look dead on your feet. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
Kit hastily swallowed the bite of stew he’d been chewing. “We really need to get on the road. Didn’t intend to stay as long as we have.”
“The road?” Margot gave us another assessing glance. “I hope you have horses, at least.”
