Chapter 7
Penny woke slowly, dreading it after the strains of the previous days. Her joints ached with a deep, dull pain that made her not want to move, but at least she was no longer cold. In fact, she was quite cozy.
It took a few more moments to realize that the warmth along her back was Hugo, the weight across her waist his arm. Somehow, they had gravitated to each other in the night and lay with his front to her back like spoons in a drawer.
An unfamiliar lump pressed against her bottom. Even without her mother’s promised wedding night lecture, Penny was fairly certain what it was.
Gritting her teeth against the burning in her joints, she pulled a little away and flopped to her back.
His arm still draped across her belly, he slept peacefully, long lashes edging dark rings under his eyes, as though he had not slept well for weeks before this.
Despite the rough shadow of his beard growing in, his finely-cut features looked almost boyish in the pale, watery sunlight streaming through the room’s only window.
At this close range, she could see a few golden freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, only slightly darker than his sun-darkened skin, adding to the boyish impression.
She wanted to reach out and brush the strands of dark hair lying across his forehead out of the way to see if there were more freckles there, but she restrained herself.
The movement would likely hurt too much, anyway.
After a few moments, he stirred, and his eyes fluttered open to focus on her. For just a moment, she saw a surge of warmth there she couldn’t quite name—joy, affection, contentment? All of them?
Then he blinked, and his expression returned to its usual impassivity.
“Good morning,” she said. There was a strange lump in her throat just from looking at him like this.
“Good morning. I was hoping yesterday was all a terrible dream.”
“I’m afraid not.”
He removed his arm from around her waist and sat up with his back to her, stretching.
He still wore his thin linen shirt from the day before.
The light from the window silhouetted his lean body beneath the shirt, and she closed her eyes, a little ashamed to be gawping at him like he was on exhibition.
He turned back and leaned over her, scanning her face.
The shirt gaped at his neck, giving her a view of his brown throat and the lighter skin of his chest, darkened with an intriguing fluff of hair.
One curl sat exactly in the hollow of his throat, and she had a strange urge to tease it with her fingers.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Achy.”
Frowning, he laid the back of his hand against her forehead, and then put his palm to her cheek. His touch was slightly rough against her skin, and she swallowed hard.
“You feel a bit warm, but not feverish.”
“It’s not fever. My joints ache in the cold and wet, and if I exert myself too much. I should be better in a few hours if I have an opportunity to rest.”
He looked around the room, still frowning. “Is there anything that could help? A warm bath?”
She was not about to take a warm bath in this tiny room where there was no one to help her in and out of it. No one except Hugo. “Perhaps… perhaps some warm towels might help,” she said with a stroke of brilliance. “We could warm them by the fire.”
The small lines between his brows smoothed out, and he nodded. “I must dress, but I’ll ask the innkeeper’s wife for some.”
“I hate to be a bother.”
“You’re always a bother.”
She ought to have taken umbrage at his words, but there was something affectionate behind them that made them warm her rather than sting.
As he climbed from the bed, he looked back at her. “I will need to wash.”
“Yes?” she said, puzzled.
“There is no dressing screen.”
“Oh!” Her face grew hot as he crossed to the basin and pitcher in the corner near the clothespress. “I, er… I’ll turn my back, shall I?”
“That would be best. Any natural modesty I may have had fell away during my years aboard ship. Bathing by having buckets of cold seawater thrown on you while you stand on deck will do that.”
Flushing, she rolled over to stare at the fireplace, which still had a few embers glowing on the hearth.
She did her best not to listen as he poured the water and began to wash, though she was sure she could hear the cloth stroking over his skin.
He rummaged through his traveling bag, pausing for a moment, before searching again.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” He seemed to look one more time, and then gave up. “I seem to have forgotten something—a few things. It’s of no matter.”
After donning his shirt and breeches, he walked back into her line of sight, buttoning his waistcoat before pulling on his jacket and boots. “I have bread and cheese from last night, but there may be hot food for breakfast as well. I’ll ask.”
“Thank you,” she said, covers tugged up to her nose. “I would appreciate that.” Her bladder was beginning to warn her that it was over-full, and she needed him to leave lest she die of humiliation at needing to use the chamber pot with him in the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him and he turned the key in the lock, Penny leapt from the bed.
Well, stumbled, really, her knees trying to fail her until she gave up and lowered herself to the floor so she could locate the chamberpot under the bed.
Once she was done, she clawed herself back up onto the bed and rolled over, panting from the exertion and pain.
Only two years ago, she would have been able to leap from the bed and run downstairs to seek breakfast for herself. Now she was trapped in her aching body and this tiny room, unable to do more than walk a few painful steps.
But she must. Lying down all day would only make matters worse.
She took a deep breath and lowered her feet back to the floor. She flexed her legs as best she could and began to shuffle around the bed, supporting herself with the mattress and the footboard until she reached her traveling bag, which Hugo had tossed in the corner the night before.
With a sigh, she pulled the flannel nightgown from her bag. There was no use in getting fully dressed right now. Perhaps for supper later tonight, if she was feeling better.
In the meantime, she seated herself on Hugo’s side of the bed and washed as best she could before pulling the nightgown over her head and flinging her discarded chemise towards her bag.
After a moment’s contemplation, she pulled her legs up onto the bed and rolled to her own side rather than trying to inch her way around again, somehow managing to get back under the covers without creating a hopeless tangle.
She had not had a bout of pain like this for several months. She had nearly forgotten how bad it could be when she overexerted herself.
But… she was alive. Not frozen in a snowbank or fallen into a half-frozen bog to drown. Hugo had found her in time, and she was alive.
She intended to stay that way—and stay away from Gaitskill Castle—for as long as possible.
Hugo tapped on the door, balancing a tray on one hand with a few linen towels draped over his arm as he waited for Penny’s answer.
If she delayed too long, he would assume she had fallen back asleep.
Her call in return seemed to be affirmative, so he unlocked the door and came through, moving the key to the inside to re-lock it once he was in.
Penny had propped herself up using most of the pillows and seemed to be awake for now, if pale with fatigue.
She had changed into a sprigged flannel nightgown that buttoned all the way to her chin.
It would have seemed demure if her nipples had not gone hard beneath it in response to the chilly room.
Her weary expression changed as soon as he walked in.
“There you are. Can you please fetch my book?”
“All right.” Hugo set the tray on the hearth and went to locate her bag. As he rummaged through it, his fingers brushed against a familiar shape, and he looked down, startled.
The tiny wooden swallow he had carved for her was in her bag, half-wrapped in a handkerchief to protect it.
Afraid to give any meaning to the bird’s presence, he redoubled his search for the book, at last finding it at the bottom of the bag. There was only the one book inside, and he handed it to her.
She beamed at him like he had handed her the moon, and his heart made a little flip. “Thank you. I was going to be dreadfully bored all day without it.”
As she settled back against the pillows, book propped against her cautiously raised knees, he spread the linen towels on the fire-warmed flagstones and added wood as he prodded the fire into a larger blaze. “The innkeeper’s wife had poached eggs and toast.”
“Lovely,” she murmured, already deeply absorbed in her book. He handed her a plate and she accepted it without looking up.
“What are you reading?”
“Turkish Embassy Letters,” she said, forking a piece of egg into her mouth.
“Weren’t you reading that three Christmases ago?”
“I like it.”
Hugo shrugged and turned his attention back to the towels.
He flipped them over to heat better on the other side and picked up his own plate, settling onto the stool in front of the fireplace.
They ate in companionable silence punctuated only by the turning of the pages and the crackling of the fire.
Penny turned one more page, sighed in seeming contentment, and closed the book. She took up her toast and began to munch on it as she lay back against the pillows. “Have you ever been to Turkey?”
“No.”
“Russia?”
“Yes. But only long enough to provision the ship.”
“You’ve seen so many places.”
“Not for very long. Usually a few days at most. That’s why this posting to Bermuda appeals to me. Even if I must travel to other islands in the Caribbean, I will be harbored for longer periods of time. There will be more opportunities to explore the area.”
“Have you ever thought of settling in one place? Leaving the Navy?”