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“Nothing,” he says. “We’re going to the blacksmith shop.”
He rises and my stomach flutters as I sit up.
“What are you going to do to me?” I whisper.
His mouth turns up. “Nothing, redbird. I won’t surprise you with punishment. I’m making something for you and I want you to sit with me while I do.”
That explains nothing. I get up, shivering in my t-shirt and he hands me another sweatsuit. Where are they getting these suits in my size? And when can I have my real clothes?
He watches me as I pull on the clothes. Then he pushes me back down on the bed and gets back down on one knee. I’m on high alert, unsure what he’s doing. But he just pulls a thick pair of woolen socks over my feet and tucks them in.
He carries me downstairs and out the door. Overhead, the sky is deep blue and the stars twinkle like diamonds. There’s light pollution from the barn, but otherwise, we’re in total darkness.
I’ve seen stars like this my whole life, but at the top of Sovereign Mountain, they take my breath away. Every color is brighter, deeper, bolder.
I let my head nestle against his shoulder. He took a checkered green and white blanket from the hall closet and wrapped it around me. Between his heat and the blanket, I’m deliciously warm.
He carries me past the barn to a long building on the opposite side. It’s a newer structure, although everything is in perfect repair here, and I can see the light is already on inside. He carries me over the threshold and places me on a table just inside. The door shuts and we’re in total silence.
It’s warm, a wood stove crackling on the far side. The floor is cement and I follow it with my eyes to the left end of the long structure. There I can make out an anvil and a forge in the darkness. That side is darker and I feel the cold radiating from it.
I tear my eyes back to him. He opens the vents on the wood stove and fire blazes. Pausing before me, he pulls the blanket around my body and takes a thermos from the bag over his shoulder. He shakes it once, flips the lid, and fills it with steaming coffee. I hold out my hand eagerly, but he keeps it back.
“Ask for it, redbird,” he says.
I feel a faint heat creep over my cheeks. “May I please have some coffee?”
He shakes his head. “What do you call me?”
I want to squirm. This is so embarrassing.
“May I please have coffee, sir?” I correct.
He dips his head and puts the cup in my hands. “Good girl. You’re bright and quick. This month should be easy.”
I hope it is for my sake. I snuggle back against the wall, crossing my legs on the wooden table, and cradle the coffee in my hands. He strips down to his Henley and pushes the sleeves up to his forearms.
I have to curb my stare because….goddamn. He has nice arms and every time he takes them out, my brain goes empty.
He goes to the far side of the room where he takes a long, wide strip of leather from a plastic box. There’s a set of cubicles on the wall beside me and his eyes skim them. Then he takes out what looks like a scalpel and lays the leather out flat on the table.
“You’re pretty handy,” I venture.
“How do you mean?” His eyes don’t lift as he takes a thin tape measuring out.
“I didn’t know you could work with leather,” I say. “What are you making?”
“Everything you’ll need,” he says. “Today we’re working on the cuffs for your wrists.”
I stare at him, heat creeping down my spine. He glances up and our eyes lock. Electricity crackles in the dim blacksmith shop.
“I thought you’d buy those,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Custom is better. More comfortable. Hold out your hand, redbird.”
“Yes, sir.” I’m surprised by how easily the words slip from my lips.
This time, he doesn’t praise me, he just takes my hand and wraps the measuring tape around my wrist.
