Chapter 16 Penny
Penny
The next day was back to business as usual in the smithy.
During our time out of town, a few orders had piled up, and Kit was eager to get to work.
I even had a few leatherworking jobs. A pair of dusty old boots waited on my table in need of patching, and Thoma had dropped off a saddle with the stirrup torn on one side.
Upon closer inspection of the saddle, the straps were cracked and weathered, so I’d already decided to replace them all.
It would make a nice surprise and thanks to him for lending Betty for our trip.
As eventful as our journey away from Ashpoint had been, our return had been possibly even more so.
With the invasion of Kit’s house, my fight with Merrick, and subsequent fight with Kit, I had a lot to ponder as I cut the old strapping off the saddle and measured new pieces from the spools I’d wound a few weeks prior.
Something wild had come over me, fueled by exhaustion and aggravation and petulant jealousy that I hadn’t been able to deny when Kit confronted me about it.
Things had changed during our time on the road.
We’d grown closer, more affectionate, almost intimate.
We’d even slept together in the bed of the wagon, side by side, night after night.
Back in my bed at the cottage, I’d been restless, missing the warmth of Kit’s body curled against mine and the soft flutter of his breath on my neck.
I woke more than once to check on him, creeping out of my bedroom to peer around the corner into the living area where he was piled on the sofa.
I watched for a while, waiting in case he fell prey to another bad dream.
I was there if he needed me, until exhaustion made me sway on my feet, and then I stumbled back to bed alone.
Now, Kit looked weary but focused. When he took a pause to quench the axe head he’d been forging, I got off my stool and joined him where he’d gone to get a drink from the water barrel.
He was sweating already and a bit colorless from the residual hemlock still poisoning his body.
I would be glad when that was gone for good and he was healthy again. It worried me to see him weak.
In the corner of the stall, we had a bit of privacy from passersby.
Kit had been painfully clear about the need for discretion within Ashpoint’s walls, but I could be discreet.
He held a cup in one hand, staring down at the water inside as he gave it a swirl.
Sidling up to him, I pressed my hand to the small of his back, prompting him to suck a sudden breath.
His dark eyes flicked over, wide at first but quickly softening. “What is it, Pen?”
I shook my head and leaned against him, walking my fingers over to curl around his hip. “I missed you,” I murmured.
Kit chuckled. “We haven’t been apart.” He tipped the cup back and emptied it. Setting it aside, he laid his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze before stepping away.
I sighed and looked after him, resigning myself to pour my own cup of water. “I meant last night,” I said to Kit’s turned back. He’d returned to the forge and was using a pair of tongs to stoke the coals.
“In bed,” I clarified then repeated, “I missed you.”
Kit grunted a noncommittal sound.
I sipped the water, more for something to do than out of actual thirst. After a few moments passed with no further input from Kit, I spoke again. “Maybe we could share my bed.”
At that, Kit snorted. “It’s too small, Pen. We’d have to pile on top of each other.”
A smile tipped my lips at the thought. I’d laid over him on the couch more than once with our legs and arms tangled up.
He could even lay on me, though I got the sense he was self-conscious about that.
He was broader than I was and a few inches taller, but it wasn’t like he was a boulder.
Besides, there were worse things than being pinned beneath another man, especially one that felt and smelled as nice as Kit.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” I told him.
Kit threw an amused glance over his shoulder but didn’t reply.
I set the cup down and padded up behind Kit. His body made a nice barrier between me and the heat from the coals. I wanted to touch him again, to thread my arms around his waist and hug him from behind. But I knew the rules, and Kit’s trust in me hinged on my ability to obey them.
Thinking about our conversation brought to mind his father’s room, the one that had been closed to me until the day before. It was as sparse as the rest of the house, but still furnished, and it made me wonder. “What about the other room? There’s a bigger bed in there.”
Kit turned and almost jumped as though surprised to find me so close. The heated tongs were still in his hand, and he held them far away before setting them down. Once he’d recovered himself, he shook his head.
“I don’t even want to set foot in that room again, much less spend my nights there,” he said. “It belonged to my father, and now it belongs to his ghost. I want no part of it.”
I chewed my lip. It seemed a waste to devote the largest room in the house to a bad memory, but I couldn’t dismiss Kit’s feelings.
I’d read the journals and had my own sour sentiments about his father.
He’d hurt Kit in ways that left invisible wounds, but they became clearer to me the more I got to know him.
One was flaring up now; I could see it in the scrunch of Kit’s brow.
“We can move the bed then,” I said. “Into my room.”
“It won’t fit in your room.”
“Fine. The living room.”
Kit shook his head as he reached for the tie of his leather apron and gave it a tug, loosing it from around his waist. “I’m going to get lunch,” he said.
Frowning, I looked out into the city square. The sun had come up an hour earlier, and other stalls and shops were barely opening for business. Kit had removed his apron and hung it on a hook on the wall before I could protest.
“It’s still morning,” I said.
“Late breakfast then,” he replied. “Can I get you anything?”
We’d already eaten a hearty meal of oatmeal and dried apples and, as much as I enjoyed the return of Kit’s appetite after weeks of hemlock-induced nausea, I doubted this departure had anything to do with hunger. I also doubted he’d be able to find anywhere serving food at such an early hour.
“No, thank you,” I said then folded my arms and watched as Kit made a hasty exit out into the square.
He was gone for a while. Long enough I returned to work on Thoma’s saddle, though I had a hard time channeling my interest in the task.
My sketchbook was tucked in my boot and, after counting the holes I needed to punch on the girth strap for the third time in a row, I set the leather aside and pulled out my pencil instead.
Flipping through the pages, I found the drawings I’d made during our trip out of town.
They were frosty scenes with bare-branched trees and squirrels peeking out of their cozy winter nests.
There were a few sketches of Kit, too, faint outlines of his body when he sat on the driving bench with the horse's reins in his hands, and one I’d started when I woke before he did after our first night’s stay at the inn.
I must have studied his face for half an hour, trying to match wavering pencil lines to the slope of his nose and the angle of his jaw.
I was turning pages still, revisiting images and the memories they contained, when the sound of someone clearing their throat broke my concentration.
At the front edge of the stall, a tall woman with riotous orange red hair stood in a beam of sunlight. Violette Yost—or was it Oliver?—Levitt's twin sister and Merrick's wife.
Fighting back a scowl, I stood and tucked my sketchbook away. She scanned the shop, looking for Kit, I assumed, until her gaze lit on me. I stepped forward to meet her.
“Penwell!” She flashed a smile that I struggled to return.
“Kit’s not here,” I said.
As soon as I came into range, Violette seized me by the shoulders and pulled me in to kiss one cheek, then the other. Her hair tickled my nose and made me want to sneeze. “Don’t be silly, brother-in-law,” she effused. “I came to talk to you!”
When she drew back, I wiped my sleeve across my face, trying to clear the sense and smell of her.
My only encounter with her had been the day Kit and I arrived when she’d given us a tour of the city while fawning over Kit like he was local royalty.
Too many people here seemed to feel that way, full of regard and even lust for the son of their cult’s former leader.
Kit resented it, but not half as much as I did.
Considering our lack of interactions over the past few weeks, her statement surprised me enough that I asked, “Me? Why?”
Violette’s smile persisted, too full of teeth to be anything other than unnerving. “I thought we should get to know each other since you’ve decided to join the family business!”
I balked. It was a welcome party come far too late. I couldn’t help but wonder about the overture coming on the heels of my scuffle with Merrick. More than that, I wondered if he knew his wife was even talking to me.
“The farm is the family business,” I replied.
Violette threw back her head in a cackling laugh.
When she righted herself again, she bent in and pinched my cheek so hard it stung.
“You cute thing. I’m gonna call you Pretty Penny.
” Straightening, she propped her hand on her hip.
“Merry used to be cute too. Hard to imagine since he’s such a grump now. ”
“Merry?” I echoed in disbelief. My brother, the only member of my family who insisted on using my given name, allowed someone to call him Merry?
“You should come to dinner!” Violette declared as though the idea had just occurred to her.
I recoiled and asked for the second time, “Why?”