Page 35 of Horsemen and Hot Chocolate

Soon, she released her father and watched him drift to sleep. The outpouring of emotion must have exhausted him, and she kissed his hand before leaving. When she closed the sick chamber door, she sagged against it with renewed resolve:

There was not much time. She would find Willem and travel to White Plains together. Only then would they both find the peace they so desperately needed.

Chapter twenty

Katrina made her way through the darkness, the cold chasing her steps. The wind howled, blowing through her hair, uncurling the curls Greta had painstakingly heated this morning. Yet, she did not care when a mission was to be had. She clutched the map she found in her father’s study with white-knuckled fists.

Even in the darkness, she navigated through the trees toward the hidden cabin in the woods. She strode into the opening behind the vines, keeping to the path within the dense brush. Nerves took hold of her stomach as she stepped into the clearing, but she forged ahead. She was unsure if he’d be here or wish to see her after their last encounter, but she could not afford to waste more time.

She knocked on the door, slightly warped by the elements. “Willem?” she called out. “Willem? Are you here?”

No answer.

Katrina spotted Inferno grazing behind the cabin, and she knocked once more.

“Please, I know you don’t wish to speak with me, and I do not blame you if you’re angry—”

The door opened suddenly, and a gasp escaped her lips. The pumpkin did not sit on Willem’s neck. Instead, she peered up at the gaping hole between his shoulders. A gnawing ache ate through her core as she wondered if he’d send her away.

“I’m not angry,” his soft voice rumbled from his chest. “I could never be angry with you.”

A pleasant shiver danced under her skin at the unexpected tenderness and something unspoken laced in his words. It was a stark reminder that he was not a headless ghost—he was a living, breathing man. She glanced at something crinkled in his hand, and her eyes softened. It was an unfinished sketch of her.

Even when she had hurt him, he was still thinking of her.

Her pulse quickened unsteadily at the revelation that she hadn’t had time to embrace. The feelings she had caged behind the fortress of denial suddenly washed through her in a relentless flood. Some part of her still argued she couldn’t have formed feelings for someone without seeing their face, but he had proven affection transcended physical appearances. He saw beyond her beauty, and she saw beyond his curse.

More importantly, she wanted to do everything she could to help him, not because of their deal, but because she wished to see him happy—to see him smile and bask in the light that he’d been denied.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, breaking the silence. “I had wanted to spare your feelings about the truth of your past, but I realized how it must have sounded. However, I wanted to reassure you that I do not think any less of you for what happened.”

A hush passed between them before a sigh echoed from the depths of his chest. “You have no need to apologize. It is I who must ask your forgiveness. I had been overcome by emotion and believed you had thought less of me, but I see that was foolish thinking. Forgive me for acting hastily and leaving you alone. I’m ashamed of myself.”

Katrina sensed he averted his gaze by tilting his shoulder. Her chest constricted at the self-loathing in his voice—the darkness, confusion, and loneliness of the years weighing down on him. She could not blame him for fearing her reaction, for she’d heard some deserters were executed by firing squad for fleeing the battlefield. In lesser circumstances, soldiers would be flogged and not receive their pay. And afterward, their communities might ostracize them for what they’d done.

Just as the witch condemned him.

“Do not be ashamed. You sensed your past would be painful, and I was not as mindful as I should have been. But please, believe me when I say I…” She swallowed her nerves and reached for his free hand. He gasped when she threaded her fingers into his. Bare flesh met her skin, reminding her of the fragile man beneath his ghostly appearance.

He’d always worn gloves, but she felt his long, smooth fingers intertwining with hers.

“I care for you, Willem,” she whispered, her heart fluttering like a wild bird’s wings beating against her ribs. “I care for you deeply and hope we may finally seek peace from our burdens tonight.”

A soft gasp sounded from his chest. He stood, slightly swaying as though stupefied by her words.

“And how would you propose we do that?” he asked hesitantly.

“By going to White Plains together.”

He stiffened, his hand rigid beneath her grasp, but she refused to release him.

“The witch said that to break your curse, you must confront the hard truths about yourself. You must go to White Plains—to the last place you fought,” she said. “You also promised to take me there, and although you cannot remember the way yet, I found a map in my father’s study.”

Reluctantly, she let go of his hand to extend the map to him. He unrolled it, and another silence hung between them.

“I did promise you,” he whispered finally. “But I confess I’m frightened. I fear I cannot bear any more shame.”

“There is no shame to be had,” she reassured him.