With me silenced, my sister returned her attention to our mother. “I simply don't recall you being quite so discerning when it came tomypotential suitors,” she said.
Mother huffed. “Yourpotential suitors were local boys. We saw most of them born. Knew their families. This man”—she gestured to Kit—“is a stranger.”
“I’m happy to rectify that,” Kit said, “and answer all your questions. They’re more than reasonable. No, I have no living family. I’ve been traveling for work recently, but I also have a home and a business in Forstford, and I don’t want for money. Or property. I want only Penny’s happiness and your good faith, and I’m willing to earn it.”
The irritation that had blistered up inside me suddenly soothed, and I found myself standing by, smiling idly at my intended.
Mother sat back in her chair, fussing with the folds in her skirt. Sayla settled as well, standing from the table and goingto check on the kettle I’d abandoned. Once she was assured it wasn’t quite warm enough to brew coffee, she turned toward me.
“Now, Pen, you said something about an engagement gift?”
Grateful for Kit’s unfailing calm and my sister’s ability to redirect a conversation, I breathed out the last bit of tension and nodded.
“Let me get my bag.”
We passed the rest of the day more amiably. After sunset, Sayla and I prepared dinner while Kit and my mother talked. I was reluctant to leave them unmonitored, but Kit shooed me away with enough assuring confidence that I was able to settle into deboning a chicken while Sayla diced potatoes.
We ate in quiet. I had so much to share but didn’t want to disrupt the uneasy peace, so I kept my mouth full and my knee pressed against Kit’s under the table until Mother excused herself for an early bedtime.
Sayla and I cleared and washed the dishes, then retired to the living room where Kit had built a fire. I went to our shared bag and dug out a package of Rosie’s cookies I’d brought along, passing them around for everyone to take.
My mouth was still full, and I was pushed fully against Kit—relishing the feeling of him leaning back just as heavily, a welcome weight against my side—when Sayla spoke.
“We got your letters.”
I’d almost forgotten about the missives I’d managed to sneak out of Ashpoint on several occasions. They’d been far less detailed than I would have liked, but the most recent ones we’d sent from Stagcross announced our courtship. Even without that, I’d certainly talked enough about Kit for the news of our engagement to not come as a complete surprise.
I nibbled the corner of my cookie, shortbread filled with raspberry jam, while trying to remember exactly what I’d writtenabout. It would be a starting point, at least. A door opening into all the truths I had yet to tell.
“How has it been?” Sayla continued while I pondered. “Your whirlwind romance?” She smiled, but it wavered as she cast a glance toward the hall where our mother’s room was. “And where is Father?”
A breath left me in a rush. I glanced at Kit, but with his head resting on my shoulder, I couldn’t make out his expression.
So far, my much-anticipated return home had been a mixed bag of emotions, and far more bad ones than I'd expected. Confessing that the quest to recover our father's stolen body was doomed before it ever began would tip the scales further into dismay.
My defeat must have announced itself because I didn't have to say a word for Sayla to deduce, “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
I nodded ruefully.
She swept her blonde curls over her shoulder to tug at the ends. “Well, I’m glad you're safe. There were more than a few times I feared you dead, and that I’d sent you to it…” She paused as a wistful look clouded her eyes. “It’s been lonely here without you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said.
Sayla waved her hand as though she could dismiss the sentimentality before it carried us both away. “Psh. You’ve had plenty of company.” Her gaze drifted to where Kit slumped against me, and she grinned. “Look at that man. I’d say he’s at least half as smitten with you as you are with him. He hardly takes his eyes off you.”
Twisting while trying not to unsettle him, I managed to get a glimpse of Kit’s face where it tipped onto my shoulder. He was drowsy, or perhaps already dozing, the eyes in question closed and his features slack.
“They’re not on me now,” I murmured through a smile. I slid my arm out from under his head and turned to let him drape across my chest instead. Rather than rouse, Kit settled in, tucking his head under my chin and hugging onto my waist.
I buried a kiss in his curls then whispered, “Tired, darling?”
“I’m fine,” came his mumbled reply.
Sayla chuckled.
“You’d be more comfortable in bed,” I reminded him.
Sayla had made up our old bedroom that afternoon for Kit and I to share while we were here. I smirked at the thought of her trying to force us into one bed on our last visit. This time, we would gladly start off that way.
