Chapter 24 Maeve
Maeve
The faintest strain of gold lingered in the air as Maeve set down her brush and examined her work.
As in life, Jude looked stern and forbidding, his angled face and intelligent eyes seeing through every guard she’d erected against him.
She’d depicted him on a wooden stool with his legs outstretched.
One hand on his thigh, his fingers long and elegant against the blackness of his clothes.
The other hand was upraised in the sign of the saints.
Thumb and first two fingers outstretched, the last two curled inwards towards his palm.
Finished and fully dry thanks to her magic.
Would this work – having Jude pray to his icon?
The idea that they were missing something wouldn’t leave her alone.
What did it mean if it did work? Not every person who had their memory tampered with was a saint, herself included, though she still held firm to her idea that her iconography linked her to the icons as much as sainthood did.
Would Jude’s prayers restore any memories Maeve might be missing too?
She tipped her head back and screwed her eyes shut. So many questions and not enough answers. Every step shrouded in darkness with little more than a candle to find a path through the mire. She sighed, digging her knuckles into her lower back. A haziness lingered behind her eyes.
The door holding back her doubt grew thinner by the day. It wouldn’t be long until it disappeared entirely. When she had first come to Jude’s house, she’d been committed to fulfilling her Abbey-given goals and returning home, ready to claim her spot as lead iconographer.
And now… Now, Maeve could only think of finding answers.
She leaned forward and scribbled her signature onto the corner.
Her abdomen twisted with the motion, a low ache starting between her hips.
She ignored it as an uninvited mixture of trepidation and anxiety swirled in her stomach.
It was like she’d suddenly become privy to the structure of a house when previously she’d only seen the outside adornment.
Nearly her whole life had been dedicated to maintaining the facade – it was high time she saw in full what she had worked so hard to build.
The pain in her back had spread further into her lower stomach, cramping her muscles with a vice grip as she got to her feet. When her belly gave another painful twist, she quickly did the maths. As usual, her monthlies had arrived with nothing less than stellar timing.
Feeling distinctly hard done by, Maeve left the studio and trudged up to take a hot bath. Water helped, usually. Heat compresses even more, but she wasn’t about to find Elden to help her scrounge up some rice and an old pillowcase.
Once she was done in the water, her skin red and fingertips pruned, Maeve curled into a ball under her quilt.
She wished she had Bronagh’s tea to help with the cramping.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
She hadn’t even got to say goodbye to the older matron when she left her home. Would she ever see her again?
Loneliness cinched her chest. She felt suddenly like a child. Alone, weak, missing a kind touch. Wiping dampness from her cheeks, she pulled the blanket over her head and tried her best to sleep.
She awoke hours later to something soft butting against her chin.
Olive stood by her head, staring at her with a luminous yellow gaze.
Maeve reached up to pet her, returning to her curled position when her abdomen gave a painful cramp.
‘How’d you get in here?’ she asked the cat. Olive blinked slowly in reply.
‘I let her in.’
Maeve jolted, groaning when the movement sent another lash of pain through her lower belly.
Jude hovered at the foot of her bed. The light slanting through the room was orange-tinted and mellow.
Sometime between lunch and sunset. She’d slept for maybe five hours.
Jude swept his gaze down her curled form, concern lighting his expression as he moved around the side of the bed towards her. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Get out,’ Maeve mumbled, turning to press her face into the pillow. She wanted to cry at the egregious betrayal of her body when she most needed its compliance.
He sat. The bed dipped with his weight.
‘Jude.’ She pulled the covers over her face. ‘Please leave.’
He peeled back the quilt enough to see her face.
She must look a fright. She’d tumbled into bed immediately after her bath, barely keeping her wits about her long enough to dress.
Her hair surrounded her in a tangled mass of half-damp clumps.
She’d have panicked over having it in such a state if she’d been in less pain.
She valued her hair more than most of her possessions.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. A line appeared between his brows. ‘Did something happen?’
‘No, perfectly fine,’ Maeve grumbled, snatching the blanket back from him and pulling it up to her chin. ‘Clearly.’
Jude didn’t reply. He merely continued to look at her, tracing his eyes down her body like he was searching for hidden injury. His gaze locked on her arms crossed over her midsection, the shape visible under the quilt. ‘Ah.’
‘Yes, ah. It’s what happens to women once a month, Jude. Not like you’d have much experience with that.’
His eyes flicked back to hers. ‘Monthlies?’
‘Women.’
The corners of his mouth twitched as he pushed back to his feet.
Maeve closed her eyes and listened to the muted sounds of him pottering about her room.
She didn’t have many possessions with her, a fact she’d winced at when she’d unpacked again after deciding to stay at ánhaga.
A few bits of jewellery, her scanty wardrobe comprising of long dresses and hardy knitwear.
Ink pots, and hair ribbons. She heard a drawer slide open and wondered if he was sifting through her underthings.
The thought sent a rush of blood to her cheeks.
She tried to sit up. ‘What are you looking for?’
Jude’s footsteps moved closer to the bed. ‘Lean forward.’ He sighed. ‘Just let me…’
She obeyed with a stifled whimper as he sat down behind her.
His reflection showed in the mirror across from the bed.
He drew his lip between his teeth, worrying the edge.
Her belly clenched with something that wasn’t quite pain.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The silence between them felt intimate in a way she wasn’t quite ready to dissect.
She knew how men usually reacted when confronted with something…
inconvenient in a woman’s body, and it wasn’t pleasant.
Whenever she’d needed to take time off for her monthlies in the Abbey, back before Bronagh had started supplying her with tea that stopped them altogether, Ezra had made it clear he didn’t think the pain was worth missing work over.
Maeve remembered several occasions when he’d demanded she work through it.
He’d worked while inconvenienced, and she’d do well to display the same commitment.
Now that she allowed herself to admit it, he was a bit of a bastard.
The bed shifted. Maeve’s attention snapped back to Jude.
He gently slid the tangled mass of her hair out from under her back, draping it over the covers behind her.
His eyelashes cast long shadows over his skin like spikes of the sun.
Carefully, he began brushing her hair, smoothing through the ends until they were dry before working his way up to her scalp.
Drowsiness overtook her the longer he worked.
He ran his fingers through the fine hair at her temples and nape, detangling so gently she barely felt it.
She pressed her lips together and shut her eyes. She tried to tell herself it was her heightened emotions and not the fact that no one had ever taken care of her like this that drew tears to her eyes.
Glass tinkled, and the smell of her rosemary hair oil drifted over the room.
Splitting the hair into three sections, Jude slowly began braiding, starting over several times when the hair tangled or slipped through his fingers.
Little noises of exasperation rumbled from his chest every time he made a mistake.
Maeve kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to think about the softness of his care. She couldn’t.
He tied the end off with a ribbon. Before he stood, he ran his hand down her hair one final time. Slowly, reverently, as though touching her like this, like she was precious, was something he didn’t want to forget.
Maeve allowed herself one last look at his face as he moved to his feet. The line between his brows was back, deeper than before. His hand twitched at his side as though he was stopping himself from reaching for her again. She waited. Her pulse thrummed under her jaw.
He turned and left.
It took her a long time to fall back asleep. When she did, it felt like only moments had passed, but the room had darkened with nightfall. Moonlight cut a clean white streak across her rumpled quilt.
Jude stood over her again.
‘Dammit, Jude,’ Maeve exclaimed, sitting up. ‘You scared me.’
He chuckled, setting something down on her vanity before lighting a candle. Warm light licked up the walls, lingering in the hollows of his cheeks as he eyed her over his shoulder. The concern had yet to leave his gaze. ‘How are you?’
‘Better.’ Thankfully, the cramping rarely lasted more than an afternoon.
He fussed with something on the vanity, his back to her. ‘Rest as long as you need.’
She shuffled up to prop herself against the headboard. As she moved, her braid fell over her shoulder and down her chest. She brought the end to her nose, breathing in the earthy smell of the rosemary. The gesture had meant something to her.
‘Here.’ Jude turned from the vanity and handed her a chipped clay mug.
Maeve brought it to her nose. It smelled somewhat familiar to the blend Bronagh used to make her. The matron had made the brew for those who requested it, but she kept a close guard on her recipe. ‘Jude…’ she hesitated. ‘What is this?’
‘Elden makes it for one of our neighbours when she asks. Bethan says it helps with her monthlies. And, it ah—’ He looked away.
Even in the dim light, Maeve could see his blush. ‘Prevents pregnancy?’
‘Or so I’ve been told. If you – that is, well.’ That expressionless mask she’d thought long abandoned fell over his face as he inched back towards the door.
‘Thank you,’ Maeve said, bringing the tea to her lips to cover her grin. Elden had cut through some of the bitterness of the yarrow with a dash of honey. ‘Glad to see his kitchen skills aren’t transferable to herbalism.’
Jude smiled, finally making it to the door. ‘No. In that, he’s surprisingly accomplished.’ He gave her one final look of concern. ‘And you’re feeling better?’
‘I am. Thank you for the tea, and—’ she gestured towards her braid. Jude didn’t reply, his hand going towards the doorknob behind him. Maeve couldn’t resist one final attempt to crack his carefully laid mask. ‘And thanks for ensuring I don’t get pregnant.’
Shock crossed his features. ‘That’s not – that’s not what I meant by it.’
‘I know,’ she laughed. ‘I’m just teasing.’
The shock melted away as he leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. He eyed her speculatively. ‘You certainly are feeling better,’ he murmured. ‘Maybe you should get back to work.’
Maeve rolled her eyes, shooing him from the room.