Chapter 57 Jude
Jude
Jude awoke slowly. His thoughts unspooled in downy ribbons, knotting, untangling, and knotting again.
He blinked lazily as warmth diffused down his limbs.
Buttery-yellow light streaked across the worn quilt, lingering in the hollows between their bodies.
Contentment stole through the gaps in the gauzy curtains on a sea breeze.
Maeve was tucked under his arm with her cheek pillowed against his bare chest. Dawn sunlight played greedily in her spun-gold hair.
Last night’s delicate flush turned her skin luminescent, catching on the faint sheen still clinging to her cheekbones.
Inside his chest, in the place reserved only for her, his heart gave a tremulous squeeze.
He never considered himself someone who needed another person, but he needed her.
Needed her laughter, her sighs. He needed her argumentative, and he needed her forgiving. Just like he didn’t know how much he needed her head against his chest until it was there, Jude hadn’t realized how much he’d desperately craved for someone to be his until she stood before him.
The memories of the night before came flooding in, sending a rush of heat down his body.
Maeve had been right – vulnerability was a beautiful thing. He’d stood bare before her with every ragged tattoo in plain view, every inch available for her steady gaze. And it had been freeing in ways he hadn’t known were possible.
He ran the backs of his fingers down the curve of her hip, soft enough that she wouldn’t wake. He wanted her again, fiercer now that he knew what he was asking for. What he’d give. He touched the mark her mouth had left on his chest, the subtle ache it left behind.
He’d needed that, too. A sign of love imprinted on his skin, freely asked for and freely given.
He had not been given the privilege of calling many things his own, but if the fierce longing to mould himself into Maeve’s skin and never leave told him anything, it was that the gift of loving her wouldn’t be one he’d let sift through his fingers.
He moved his mouth to her temple. ‘Maeve.’
She stirred, rolling until her back was against his chest. Their legs tangled together. Jude rested his forehead on the nape of her neck. Penitence, he thought. Of the truest kind.
‘Good morning,’ she whispered, voice husky with sleep.
She turned in his arms, hitching her leg over his hip. A flash of heat from the previous night had him rolling her onto her back and kissing a line down her neck. He licked her collarbone, pressing his mouth against her pulse. ‘Morning.’
‘What a way to wake up,’ she murmured, a smile in her voice.
He loved her like this, sleep-warmed and affectionate. She dug her hands into his hair, pulling his face to hers. Jude went gladly. Her mouth was warm and sweet. He could kiss her forever.
Sometime later, Maeve pulled back. ‘Last night…’ her flush deepened.
‘Good?’
She nodded.
He kissed the side of her smile, pressed his lips to her ear. ‘I’ll always be good to you.’
The morning quickly slipped away from them.
Before long, the sunrise had brightened, filling the room with the clear light of day.
With her head pillowed against his stomach, Maeve turned to look at him.
Her fingers skated across his forearm, a delicate touch that meant more than he could put into words.
Breathlessly, he studied her, the need to confess stronger than anything he’d ever known.
The words lingered on the tip of his tongue, promising relief once he released them into the open air.
Sunlight refracted in her dark eyes, painting them in the deepest shades of emerald and quartz.
Beloved, his mind supplied.
He could wait no longer—‘I love you.’
Her eyes fluttered shut. ‘Jude.’
He’d never tire of the sound of his name on her lips. Both hands cradled the back of his head as she buried her face in his neck. ‘I love you, too,’ she whispered against his skin. She moved to kiss the corner of his mouth. Once, twice. ‘Of course I do.’
His face ached with how wide he was smiling. Every beat of his heart was for her alone.
He never wanted to move, but eventually, the muted gurgle of his stomach caused them to pull back. Maeve skated her fingers across his jaw. Their noses touched. ‘Ready to get up?’ she asked.
‘Not yet.’
A look of deliberation marred her brow. ‘How do you feel?’
Jude eased back. He wanted to see her whole face for this conversation. It needed to happen, despite how little he wanted to dwell on it. The Abbey. The fire. Memories and saints and bright golden magic. Ezra.
‘I feel…’ he hesitated. Words came in a slow trickle. ‘Weightless. Like there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just me. You. And whatever we’d like to do next.’
The corner of her mouth flicked up, though her eyes were heavy. She looked away, towards the window. Clouds rushed high overhead, spots of blue emerging through the tumble of grey.
‘Ezra died,’ he murmured, watching her expression carefully. ‘I need to tell Elden.’
‘Ah.’ Her only tell was a brief tightening of her mouth. ‘How?’
‘Candlestick through the neck. It was too late to do anything by the time I reached him.’
‘Hm.’
Jude didn’t know what else to say. Almost desperately, he asked, ‘And you? How do you feel?’
She sighed. ‘The same, I think. More unmoored than anything else. The fire was necessary, and I’m glad for it, even if I wish you hadn’t been forced up on that altar.
I’m glad we have our memories back, and the Abbey is no longer taking our magic.
That we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want, is a gift I won’t take for granted. It’s just…’ she grimaced.
‘You’re not used to living without a guidebook,’ he supplied.
‘Something like that. It’s not so much the religious side of it – it’s more the fallback. The idea that there’s someone else there watching over me. Listening when I pray.’
His heart gave an unsteady thump. He had become so accustomed to living without a safety net that inviting one back into his life was more frightening than continuing alone. Where Maeve saw a safety net, he saw a shackle.
‘Did I ever tell you the meaning behind my house’s name?’ he asked suddenly.
Maeve cut her gaze to his. ‘ánhaga?’
‘It means a solitary being,’ he said. ‘A dwelling for one.’
Her brows knitted. ‘Why would anyone give a house that sort of name?’
‘I don’t know.’ Beneath the blanket, their fingers twined together.
‘It made me think, though. If it was built to be somewhere without community, without companionship… what happens when it becomes exactly that? Does the house lose its name? Its identity? Or does the meaning of ánhaga get rewritten into something new entirely?’
Maeve blinked. ‘Its roots remain the same, but the growth takes a new direction.’
Jude smiled. ‘Exactly. As with you and me, Maeve. Our foundation is the Abbey. The good and the bad. But that doesn’t mean our futures can’t grow into something new.’