5. Penny
Penny
It was hard to be mad with good news so fresh on my mind. Despite the tense exchange with Levitt, Kit was practically beaming as we left the Right Hand’s house, alight with hope the likes of which I’d never seen. It put a skip in my step as we ventured for the town square.
Veering toward the tavern, we entered hand in hand.
It was a heady feeling, especially considering how fearful Kit used to be about showing affection in public.
Every glance was like a barb to him, every whisper a plot, and we were certainly meriting both now.
Looks and hushed words circulated the room the moment we entered it.
I loved it. Not the attention as much as the freedom.
The pride in having my intended on my arm and at my side.
He was everything I’d never dared to want.
The kind of partner I’d fantasized about since my youth.
A shape none of the women in Eastcliff quite fit.
But Kit fit perfectly against me as I pulled him to the dancefloor, too excited to sit for a meal.
A man strummed a lute while the woman beside him sang about meadows between mountains, and the melody tickled my ears. As we entered the fray of dancers, Kit slowed but didn’t stop.
I grinned at him. “You don’t get to say no this time.”
His returning smile was a bit wobbly, and his cheeks flushed as he replied, “I wouldn't dream of it.”
I’d never danced with Kit, or any man, but I’d imagined it. The press of our bodies against each other, the sweaty clasp of hands, breaths punctuated with laughter.
This wasn’t exactly that. Kit was stiff and slow despite having agreed to join me. I tugged on his hands and swayed to the beat until he closed the gap between us and I could slip my arm around his waist.
When my palm splayed in the small of his back, his blush deepened, and I giggled.
“Pen,” he began, but I wouldn’t risk him calling an end to what had barely begun, so I whisked him into a quick step, leading and trusting him to follow.
I may not have danced with men but, growing up, I’d been my sister’s designated partner.
Sayla demanded I lift or dip her, swinging her around the farmhouse living room while she grinned like mad.
I wanted to spark that same joy from Kit, but he remained uneasy, squeezing my fingers and glancing at our feet as though he feared he might trip.
“You can relax, you know,” I teased him. “Maybe smile a little?”
Kit’s brow furrowed. “Just don’t want to… step on you.”
“Please don’t.” I snickered while sparing a glance at his heavy-soled boots. “It would make me go faster trying to run away. Then we’d be scurrying around like squawking chickens. Not very romantic. And people are already staring.”
Kit nipped his lip between his teeth, and the creases in his forehead deepened. If anything, he grew even more focused, as though I might take off at any moment and haul him helplessly behind.
Rather than speeding, I slowed and centered my body with his. A bit of the strain on his features eased, and I braced my arm firmly against his back. I needed him to feel it before what I was about to attempt.
The music swelled, and I bent in with a sweeping gesture that tipped Kit over backward. He barely kept his feet, his hand fisting in my shirt and cloak, but I kept my grip, dipping him with a moderate amount of grace before righting him once more.
He swayed, dark eyes wide and cheeks puffed with a breath that I captured in a kiss. Then he snapped straight, and I rose onto my tiptoes to keep my lips on his. The tickle of an impending cough forced me to pull back, and when I did, his eyes were just as open, just as round.
I muffled another cough in the crook of my elbow as the song petered out. The last notes played while I snickered at the stunned expression on Kit’s face. The blush was back in force, staining everything from the sides of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.
“Hungry?” I asked him.
He nodded.
I cleared the lingering congestion from my throat, then tugged Kit toward the nearest open table. It was a booth, with the bench seat made of slatted wood, and I slid into the space beside the wall and patted the open spot beside me.
Kit hesitated before settling in, and I hooked my fingers around his thigh to tether him to me.
“You’re good at that.” He nodded toward the dance floor as it emptied. The lute player and singer wandered to the bar for drinks, allowing the buzz of conversation to fill the tavern.
I raised an eyebrow, fishing for compliments while he was in the mood to give them.
“Dancing,” he supplied. “And you didn’t drop me, so that was good.”
I snorted. “I wouldn’t drop you, Kit.”
He rubbed his face as though trying to dispel the lingering color. “Well, you have been angry with me,” he mumbled.
I burst into laughter. “Not enough to throw you down on the tavern floor!” Inching closer, I rested my chin on his shoulder so I could whisper in his ear, “If I’m going to throw you down anywhere, it would be on our bed.”
Red scorched his cheeks again as he cocked his head toward me. “Pen, people can hear you.”
Sure enough, the women in the booth behind us were peeking over the seat none-too-subtly.
I flashed them a toothy grin before returning my attention to Kit. “Right, right, sorry.”
We could have been talking about Levitt’s news and my half-brother’s impending trial, but that felt too private for such a public space.
Which was likely exactly what Kit thought of my flirting and pawing at him since we’d walked in the door.
He was tolerating it, though. Genuinely trying, and I appreciated the effort.
“Did you like it, though?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Being swept off your feet?”
He squirmed a bit. “Some warning might’ve been nice. It was… unnerving. But not bad.”
I hummed near his ear, watching his skin prickle as my breath ghosted across it. “Sounds like you’re unsure. Maybe we should try it again so you can form a better opinion.”
Kit craned his neck so he could fix me with an incredulous look. “What’s gotten into you? I said it wasn’t bad. Just unexpected.” He was flustered but fighting a smile.
What had gotten into me was a profound sense of success. Freedom ahead. A brand-new beginning beyond the horizon. It was almost as beautiful as Kit’s profile beside me, with his strong nose and stubbled jaw. Almost.
His face grew serious again, and he gazed across the tavern, no doubt impatient for the arrival of our server. “I’m not used to not being the one in control. It made me uneasy,” he said. “You’re good at that too.”
“Oh?” I slid my hand a bit higher on his leg, relishing the hitch in his breath as I got closer to his groin. “What else have I done to make you uneasy?”
A young woman in a stew-splattered apron arrived tableside. Kit jumped at the surprise of her approach, but I was ready with a smile and our drink order.
As the server left, Kit eyed me skeptically. “Ale? Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” I bobbed my head. “This is a night for celebration. You don't celebrate over water.”
“Yes, well, you don't throw up water on my rugs or shoes, either.” He caught my wandering hand and pinned it to his thigh. “Try not to get carried away.”
We sat in amiable quiet until the serving girl returned with two pints of foamy ale. I scooped mine up in both hands and took a hearty swig while Kit pondered his, staring hard into the swell of bubbles.
The lute player returned to play a slow song without words.
It gave the sometimes-rowdy tavern a peaceful ambiance that put Kit more at ease.
The muddled expression he'd been wearing since we stepped onto the dance floor shifted nearer to joy.
I loved the sight of the clouds clearing from his eyes, like he could see the same light ahead that I did.
“It’s finally almost over,” he said, seemingly to himself. “My whole life, and I never thought I’d get to this point.”
After a thoughtful pause, he tugged one of my hands free from my flagon to twine his fingers with mine on the tabletop. I tipped my head to look at him as he finally, wonderfully, smiled.
“Thank you for convincing me to come back here. It’ll all be worth it tomorrow.”
I bent in and pecked a kiss on his cheek, then raised my ale for another drink. “I can’t wait to leave all of this behind and go home to Forstford,” I said.
Kit squinted at me. “Forstford?”
He didn't know about the decisions I'd made in Eastcliff, arranging more ideal futures for Warren, Sayla, and myself. I'd wagered on a life with Kit even after he left me behind. I was still counting on it.
“Assuming you want me there,” I said slowly.
Kit frowned. “Well, of course, but—”
“Oh, thank gods!” I exclaimed, slumping on the rough wooden seat. “Because I gave the farm to Sayla and Warren as a wedding gift, and I’d have nowhere else to go.”
“When did you do that?”
“On my way out,” I replied. “I practically threw the deed at them when I told them I was taking the horse. Warren was surprised, but happy, I think. And Sayla can raise her children there. Mother will help.”
Kit’s eyes brightened with his smile as I carried on.
“And Forstford is your home. You have the house and the smithy there. I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll figure something out.”
Reaching over with his free hand, Kit stroked the backs of his knuckles across my cheek, and suddenly I was the one blushing. “You wouldn’t have to do anything but keep me company,” he murmured.
I turned toward his touch, chasing it with a rueful sigh. “I don't think you’d be proud of a layabout husband, Kit.”
He opened his hand to cup my face. The women behind us were almost certainly staring again, but he paid them no mind.
“You don't have to lay about. You could keep the house, cook, maybe plant a garden.”
My squint earned a rumble of a laugh.
“No, you don’t need to be relegated to the house. You have more to offer than that.” He leaned in a little closer. “I told you already, you should open a bakery.”