Seventh Day of Christmas #3
She knew she would not sleep tonight. There was a tiger in every shadow, crouched to pounce, and her body insisted she stay alert.
Her thoughts muddled, and when she managed to think, Maybe I could go bunk with Andrews or Jerome?
, a rush of panic chased the thought away again.
She couldn’t leave this room. She didn’t even dare to move.
Knock-knock-knock.
Her entire body was so alert and tender, the sound at her door raked over her like claws.
And then Bobby’s voice in a loud whisper, “Hello there, Miss What’s-Your-Name? I’ve been waiting in the library.”
Kestrel had forgotten to lock it. She held still, trying to be entirely silent, but surely he could hear the pounding of her heart.
Knock-knock-knock. “I’m coming in,” Bobby said in a sing-songy tone.
And Hank’s voice. “What are you doing?”
“What? Why are you bothering me?” said Bobby.
“That’s not your room. That’s Kes—That’s Miss Spinster’s room. I saw her enter.”
“Well, maybe she invited me in. What are you, standing guard?”
“Yes. Leave her alone. Go away.”
“You gonna make me?”
“Absolutely.”
There was a scuffling sound. Silence. Kestrel waited.
Another knock on the door. This time it was a soft rap. Her mind screamed, It’s Bobby! He’s back! But her body seemed to know otherwise. As if in anticipation, her rapid heartbeat calmed, and a warmth spread outward into her arms.
The door opened partway. It was Hank. Of course it was Hank. Her body wasn’t surprised. Her mind reeled.
“Hey,” he said. Only his upper body appeared in the doorway. “I came to check on you. Bobby was out here, and I sent him away. I hope I did right.”
Kestrel managed to nod.
“Good.” He glanced behind him as if hearing something and then stepped inside, softly shutting the door. He was dressed as he had been in her dream, loose white shirt untucked over Regency breeches, his feet bare. But unlike in her dream, his expression was soft concern rather than lustful longing.
“I won’t intrude,” he said, “if you want to be alone. But I wondered, if after what happened . . .”
He didn’t have to finish the thought. She understood.
He said, “Do you want . . . ?”
She only hesitated a moment before she nodded again.
In the daylight, her pride and defenses wouldn’t have allowed that nod. But nighttime belonged more to her fantastical half. Here, actions didn’t seem so stark and absolute, and she could allow herself a little comfort, a little vulnerability.
Hank crossed the wood floor silently on bare feet to stand beside her bed, again waiting.
He always had been so patient. In their early days, she’d found that patience a little funny; it was so different from her own tendencies.
But sometimes she’d wanted to yell at him, “Just jump in! Don’t wait for life to invite you to live. Live already!”
But right then, she could see the shimmering beauty in his slowness. How many times had she seen him with a stressed or startled animal, and instead of using his strength to force calm, he’d waited with a gentle energy for the animal to let him know what it wanted.
Still unsure, she scooted to the other side of the bed. With that movement, she remembered that she was completely naked, so she kept the blanket tight over her, right up to her neck.
The space she left open was the invitation. He sat on the edge for a few moments before lying down, resting his head on a pillow. His untucked Regency shirt and breeches were not pajamas but comfortable enough to show he was prepared to stay.
She thought about reaching down to the floor to find her tossed chemise, but if he knew she was naked, she would feel even more vulnerable.
Just having him in her bed was going to be awkward and strained and so embarrassing.
All her different parts were arguing with each other, shouting blame and warning and judgment. It was a real cacophonous thought-fest.
Hank said, “I thought you might like the company of someone who wouldn’t ask you a lot of questions. So I’m here. But the minute my presence makes it worse, I’ll trust you to kick me out.”
“What a Hank thing to say,” said Kestrel. “You always say the right thing.”
And he whispered, “Not always.”
She was immediately thinking of their final fight, the night he’d packed and left.
At the White Stag, he’d said he regretted how things ended, but she’d assumed he’d simply disliked the mess of it and the fact that he had caused her pain.
But now, for the first time, she wondered if he actually wished he’d made a different choice.
Even the barest possibility of that felt like a thin needle through her heart.
No, she reminded herself again. He’d been clear. No intentions. Only closure.
She was certain she couldn’t sleep next to Hank.
But then he turned on his side, his body creating a space for her.
As if on its own, her blanket-wrapped body slipped into that space.
What a wonder to discover that she still fit there.
Her head on his chest, her hip against his abdomen.
Her cold feet slipped out of her blanket to press to his shins.
His arm went over her side, closing the space.
She inhaled and was filled with the scent of him, as familiar as rain on the grass.
She sighed. And her bones went soft. His comfort was profound, a physical force that surrounded her, pulled her close, held her.
She could imagine him saying to her, as he’d said to the startled horse, You’re not alone.
We’re a safe little herd of two. I’m with you.
He’d trusted that, even now, his presence would ease her. Despite his selfishness in coming here, he was still the smartest, wisest, most intuitive person she’d ever known. She could admit the truth of this to herself, safe in the deepest part of night.
“I’m just—” She stopped, wincing at how the words clashed with the silence like horns and gongs.
And then she forgot what she’d been about to say.
Some apology maybe, a belittling of her need, a shield for her vulnerability.
But Hank was beside her, as warm as a Yule fire, the feeling of their bodies together humming like a lullaby.
Her eyelids were heavy. His chin touched the top of her head, as soft as a kiss.
Under the blanket, her fingers unfurled.
“Okay,” she whispered on an exhale. And she fell asleep.