Chapter 33 #2
The purple skin around his eye was healing, shifting into sickly greens and yellows on his face.
The ragged black of his scar cut from his eyebrow down his cheek.
John’s coat swallowed him from neck to ankle.
The gem on his finger sent out a steady pulse of green magic, but it was by no means the glinting jewel it had been during their wedding.
Mouse wondered how long it would take for his full power to return to him.
Or perhaps, she thought, he was trying to garner her sympathy by intentionally slowing his healing.
Frankly, if that was the case, it almost worked. He looked worse than she felt.
“I will live,” Mouse said. She sat up. Despite his warm tone, Thornwood lingered just outside the rose garden, shifting from foot to foot on the path. “Sit, will you? You are making me nervous.”
He quickly took a seat next to her on the bench. Slowly, he cradled a rose vine between his thumb and index finger. Centimeter by centimeter, a light pink rose blossomed in his hand. When it was fully grown, he plucked it from the bush.
“For you,” he said, holding out the flower to Mouse. She looked at it, then into Thornwood’s eyes.
“What will it cost me?” she asked.
He looked away. “It is a gift. Or part of an apology.”
Gingerly, Mouse took the rose from him. She felt him shudder as her hand brushed his.
“How is Theodora?” she asked.
Thornwood clearly did not expect her question, and he struggled for a moment before speaking. “She is well.”
“The new world isn’t overwhelming her?”
He shook his head, a slight smile playing over his lips. “No, she is made of stronger stuff.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“So, what are you going to do now?” Thornwood asked when the ensuing silence was too heavy for him.
“I suppose that is what I came here to decide,” Mouse said. She brushed the rose against her lips.
“Any conclusions so far?”
“In London, you asked me if I’d lost myself through adaptation.”
Thornwood grimaced. “Please, forget what I said in London. I—”
Mouse cut him off. “No, it was a fair question and deserved an answer.”
Thornwood stared at her, his head tilted.
“I did not lose myself, but only because I’ve never known who I am. Not really,” she said. “I know who my father, my mother, Bertie, and Lord Dewhurst were. I know who John is and who Roger is. I even know who you are, now that the enchantment is lifted.”
“Mouse—”
“It is time I learn who I am. I’m excited to live in the world and find out what I enjoy without a convoluted inheritance or a war pressing down on me. My heart is full of holes, and I need to focus on mending it.”
“I can understand that,” Thornwood said, his lips pressed into a strained smile.
“John offered to put me up for as long as I like, but I have caused him enough trouble.”
“He offered the same for my mother and me. Although I am fairly sure he still dislikes me,” Thornwood said. “But, the question remains, what will you do now?”
“I need to see how things are with Roger before I make any decisions.”
“Of course.”
“If he’s well enough, I intend to bring him here. I will build a new house on the grounds. Start over again.”
Thornwood raised an eyebrow.
Mouse continued. “Nothing as big as Thistlemarsh Hall, but I was thinking that a cottage would suit us well. Although the Faerie rules of the inheritance were not technically met, I do not think Beckett has a leg to stand on to keep the grounds from me now. I will have access to our monetary inheritance, even though most of it was wrapped up in the estate. Perhaps there will be an insurance payout for the fire. I will need to write to Beckett to find out,” Mouse said.
“Will there be room for a Faerie husband in this cottage?” he asked, the words soft as feather down.
Mouse looked away, a burst of underlying panic breaking in her chest. She tucked her cheek into her shoulder, the rose still pressed to her face. Thornwood shifted next to her as she regained control of her emotions.
“I am sorry,” he said eventually. “It is too soon to talk about this.”
“No, no,” Mouse said. “Give me a moment, and I will be fine.”
“I’ll go.” He stood.
Mouse clutched at his coat.
“Stay,” she said. “Please, stay.”
Thornwood sank back down onto the bench next to her. She did not let go of his coat, and the fabric dimpled in her hands. She brushed the tips of her fingers over the sleeve.
“I cannot forget what happened at our wedding,” she said at last.
Thornwood flinched, then stiffened. “You are right. Forget that I mentioned anything.”
“Interrupting me won’t help your case,” Mouse said. His mouth snapped shut. “I want you to earn my forgiveness and my trust.”
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“I would rather not go through the bother of filing for a divorce when we might not need one, or even want one, in a year’s time,” she said, then frowned. “Can one file for divorce in the Faerie court at all?”
“You want to stay married? To me?” Thornwood said blankly.
“He’s catching up,” Mouse teased. “I’m afraid that despite my better judgment, and warnings from every corner, I am in love with you.”
“Even though I tricked you? And enchanted you?”
“That cannot happen again. Mark me—I am familiar with the sensation now, so I will know if you try to enchant me.”
He continued as though he had not heard her. “But I betrayed you!”
“Yes, you did. And yet, I want you in my life.”
Thornwood slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. Tentatively, Mouse pressed her palm into his back. Silent sobs racked him. His hair fell over his face, contrasting with the black coat like the moon against the night sky. Mouse rubbed large circles across his back.
His hand darted out to snatch her unoccupied one, briefly digging the thorns of the roses into her palm and his.
She hissed. With an apologetic grimace, he plucked the flower from her before depositing it safely by his feet.
Then, he took her hand again. He brought her fingers to his mouth, pressing cold kisses to her fingertips.
Tears dripped onto her hands, and he followed them with his lips as well.
“It is traditional, when someone says they love you, to say it back,” she said. He laughed against her skin.
“I love you,” he said between kisses on her wrists.
She removed her other hand from his back. He blinked up at her, his expression open in delight and astonishment. Tears clung to his eyelashes, and the gold of his eyes was sharper than Mouse had ever seen it. Delicately, she brushed her fingertips down his scar. He shuddered against her touch.
Then, his lips were against hers. The kiss was soft at first. Tentative, even.
He shifted closer, his knees pressing into Mouse’s. Her hands found his face. They slid back, lacing through his slicked-back hair, displacing it with delight.
Then they were kissing in earnest, his arms strong and sure around her.
Mouse was weightless, out of time and space, with only Thornwood’s touch to anchor her.
It was like the time in the study, but as Mouse’s thoughts began to splinter away, she latched onto them.
She wanted to be present for this, their first real kiss on the same footing.
Something stung her shoulders, and Mouse gasped. They’d leaned back into the rosebushes. Thornwood’s sleeves snagged in the branches while Mouse’s hair tangled in the thorns.
They parted, panting and flushed. Thornwood met her gaze, studying her before he looked away.
He was attractive when he blushed, Mouse decided.
She was not sure if it was more charming or irritating in its beauty.
Mouse’s gaze drifted to his lips again. She forced her thoughts in a safer direction, dragging her eyes away from his face.
They might be married, but after their history together, Mouse knew it would be some time before she felt comfortable enough with him to move beyond heated kisses.
“Since we are establishing trust, I will tell you that Mickelwaithe might not return to your service,” Mouse said at last.
Thornwood tilted his head. “Why on earth not?”
“Besides the fact that the Faerie King broke your family’s deal with him and you ignored all the advice he gave you during the past month?”
“Yes, besides that,” he said, missing her sarcasm. “I have never listened to anything he says. Why should he start caring about it now?”
“You’re right. That is not the only reason. Mickelwaithe might have as much motivation to stay in Tithe as we do.”
His brows furrowed. Mouse stared at him, keeping her face as blank as possible.
“Oh!” he gasped after a moment. He wrinkled his nose. “The priest?”
“He’s a vicar, actually,” she said.
“Either way, he’s a dull choice.”
“How ungrateful! You are wearing his coat.”
Thornwood shrugged. “I am happy for them, although I thought Mickelwaithe had better taste.”
“You are terrible. Besides, it’s merely speculation, so don’t tease Mickelwaithe. I think it would be best for you to stay on both John’s and Mickelwaithe’s good sides for a while, since we owe them our lives.”
“For that reason only, I will resist,” he said, punctuating the statement with a wink.
Mouse rolled her eyes.
“I have one more demand, if we are to try this,” Mouse added, indicating the space between them. “This one is nonnegotiable.”
“Say it and it will be done,” Thornwood said solemnly.
“I need my name back.”
Thornwood did not question her, nor did he hesitate. He merely leaned in close, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear. “Misneach.”
A tingle ran up her spine as she felt the name return to her. She grinned.