Chapter 8 Penny
Penny
Islept light again, in and out of dreams of the wind whipping through our fields back home and making the crops sway.
Dragonflies skimmed the water of the pond at the back of our property, near the clearing where we’d buried Father.
For a moment I was lying there beside him, staring up at the wide, blue sky, but one blink brought me back to the dark, quiet room of the inn.
I wondered about Kit. About Edgar and Cait and their whirlwind romance.
It felt almost magical, like a story my mother would have told when I was small.
I longed to be caught up and swept away, to have a man so taken with me that he would commit himself to me without hesitation. I wanted that man to be Kit.
But. He'd said but.
After claiming he'd never loved anyone in all his life.
I didn't think it was possible to make it thirty years and not have someone—or several someones—ensnare your heart. And Kit was handsome. I wasn’t the only person even in Ashpoint who thought so.
Tessa remained determined to woo him, and I had the feeling Violette would have taken an interest if she hadn't already been married. Kit had options, and he'd chosen me.
But. That word remained.
We fancied each other, and he made no secret of his affections when the time and place was right. He still kept a watchful eye on me, full of care and concern, especially lately.
The sickness seemed to be worsening, moving from my throat into my chest and sitting on me like a weight.
It had wrapped me up downstairs, where I danced and spun and laughed until all the air was gone.
I felt dizzy before the coughing started, rattling my ribs and leaving me sore.
I shouldn’t have been tired after sleeping the last two days away, but exhaustion drew down my eyelids in slow, sleepy blinks.
I was more in than out of consciousness when I heard Kit stirring in the bed across from mine, and I pushed up on my elbows to search the darkness.
Sounds accompanied Kit’s movement. Murmurs that weren’t quite words and a sudden whimper that pushed me bolt upright.
“Kit?” I whispered while straining to see as my eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight slanting in through the window.
He tossed again, sending blankets sliding off the edge of the mattress to pile on the floor. The messy heap cushioned Kit’s fall when he rolled out after them a moment later.
I rushed the few feet to kneel beside him as he roused and scrambled to sit with his back against the side of the bed.
It was a good thing I didn’t get closer because his movements were jerky and frantic, and he almost hit me when he swiped blindly at something unseen.
His hair was a wild tangle, and his cheeks were wet.
For all the times he’d seen me cry, this was the first I’d seen from him.
“Kit,” I said again, unsure if he was awake or still gripped in the clutches of what must have been a nightmare.
He gulped at the air, blinking but not realizing or recognizing what he saw.
Rapid breaths swelled his chest, and fresh tears fell.
He didn’t say a word, but the look on his face screamed fear and a sort of sadness that I couldn’t bear to leave him in alone.
I’d woken in a similar state after the barn fire. In a dark infirmary far from home, bawling for Father or Mother and getting nurses instead who pinned me to the bed and told me to settle.
Crushing in, I threw both arms around Kit, wincing at the pain that shot through my chest as the embrace put pressure on my healing brand.
The pain seemed to shock him, too, and he cried out, but I clung on.
I didn’t know what haunted his sleep, but all I could think was how badly I’d wanted this—needed it—during those nights of lonely panic.
Gradually, Kit’s breathing slowed to a steady rhythm punctuated by sniffles. His tears soaked the front of my shirt as he lay heavily against me, and his shoulders shook with lingering sobs. Just when I thought he was wrung out, he wrapped his arms around my middle and anchored me in place.
With a bit of shuffling, I shifted so I had one knee on either side of his legs, then rested my full weight on Kit’s thighs and tipped my head against his. His fingers dug into my back, clinging on so desperately it almost hurt.
When I was sure he was aware enough to hear me, I whispered, “Don’t be scared. I’m right here.” My voice had the slightest tremor, and I wished I sounded more convincing. But seeing him so rattled had frightened me, too.
I slid my hands so one splayed in the middle of his back and the other cradled his head.
His soft curls wove between my fingers and, in comforting him, I found comfort of my own.
Reassurance came more easily, a trickle of words murmured near his ear that seemed to settle him until his grip on me loosened.
His palms slid down my sides to rest on my hips, and I tried not to think about the fact that I was straddling him.
Rocking back, I took his face in my hands, needing to truly see him to convince myself he was all right. Kit stared up at me, his eyes impossibly black and cheeks glistening. I brushed my thumbs across his skin, drying trails from fallen tears.
Kit cupped his hands over mine, taking hold of them and pulling them down to rest between us.
“Sorry,” he rasped. “For waking you.”
“I was already up.” I offered a gentle smile. “But the people downstairs may have gotten a fright. Are you okay?”
Kit’s gaze drifted to the floor beside us as he seemed to consider. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
The proximity, the touch, the feeling of his heat between my legs… it was all too much. I wanted to kiss him, but wasn't sure he would receive my advances in his fragile state.
Instead, I eased back so my hardening member wasn't pressed against him, wishing I could more subtly adjust myself.
“I’m sorry I asked you to dance,” I blurted, which was not at all what I’d intended to say, but it was as good a redirect as any. I shrugged sheepishly. “I got caught up, was all.”
Kit huffed what was almost a laugh. “I’m sorry I told you no.”
“You are?”
He nodded, brushing his shoulder across his cheek to clear what moisture I had not. “You looked happy. You should always look like that.”
“You make me happy.” The words came out ahead of thoughts.
I was caught up again, remembering his tender touches and the lingering glances when he thought I didn’t see.
He was so careful with me, and terribly kind.
I’d known kindness from Father and Mother and even Sayla, but it felt different coming from Kit.
“I’m not sure why.” His half-smile made me wonder if he was joking.
He studied me then, the last traces of fear leaving his face in exchange for quiet contentment. Our hands were clasped between our laps, and he took one of mine between both of his.
I stared, wordless, as he opened my fingers and turned my hand over and back in silent inspection. I wondered what he thought, and if I’d ever noticed him so openly staring at the patchy, discolored skin before.
Kit dragged a finger along the raised pink lines, tracing them into the knots that tangled on my palm.
“How did it happen?” he asked quietly.
“The fire?”
He nodded.
Where I came from, everyone knew the story.
It was a small town where tragedy was big news.
A clumsy little boy destroying his family’s property and nearly killing his baby sister was enough to power the local rumor mill for months.
So, I never had cause to explain. But it was a simple enough story to tell.
“I was playing in the barn,” I said. “I should’ve been in bed.
It was late, and I snuck out, and Sayla caught me.
I was above her on my way to the hayloft.
I dropped my lantern, and it fell on her.
” I winced. That part was always the worst. The sound of my sister’s screams was something I would never forget.
“The whole barn burned down,” I continued. “We lost our winter stores…”
Father and Merrick had to get jobs in town. Even Mother took up work doing washing to earn money to build a new barn and put food on the table through the long, cold months.
Kit watched my face as I wrestled with the old emotions stirring up. He kept stroking my fingers and rubbing his thumb across my palm, and half of me wanted to pull away. It was an ugly part of my life, and part of me was ugly for it. I didn’t want him to notice, but it was far too late for that.
“Sayla should’ve died.” The words became harder to push out as I carried on.
“The doctor said as much. I thought Merrick would never let me live past it. He wanted me to regret it, as if I didn’t.
He told me…” I stopped, realizing my misstep in breaking Kit’s rule not to bring up the things Merrick said.
I hadn’t realized how large my brother loomed in my mind or how profoundly his opinions had shaped my view of myself.
I chewed my lip, prepared to leave the story unfinished until Kit prompted me with a gentle, “Go on.”
It had been a long time, but lack of practice talking about the memory made it feel fresh enough to sting as I continued. “Merrick said if I didn’t get better, they’d cut my hands off, and Father would have to sell me to pay back all the money I’d cost them.”
I didn’t confess what Merrick had said afterward—sneered it in my face while I held back tears—that I wasn’t even worth selling because a boy with no hands would be more useless than I already was.
I pulled my hands from Kit’s and sat hugging my arms around my waist and clutching my shirt in tight wads. “It sounds silly now, but it scared me so much.”