Page 101 of Reap & Sow

The things Kit knew about her world never failed to surprise her. Eda had no knowledge of country pursuits, nor anything the noblefolk did in their spare time.

She ran her hand over the bed. It was a handsome thing, styled with spiraling oak posts at each corner. A decorated cover adorned the soft furnishings in shades of green and bronze: hounds chasing a fox through a wide meadow, mouths wide and hungry.

She shivered. “Is this the only bed?”

“Don’t fret. I’ve no dastardly plan to cozy up to you in the middle of the night.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”

What would he do, she wondered, if I said yes? “But where will you—”

“There must be a servants’ room in a house like this, unless they make them sleep in the cellar or pantry. In which case I’m compelled to duel you for the right to the bed. My hair has suffered enough.”

Eda rubbed her wrist. The phantom sensation of digging rope still lingered. “Can you…would it be all right if you stayed here?” She grimaced at herself and pretended to study the bedcover. Every night since her life had been upended, she’d at least found rest on the Oriana: warm and cozy-small with Robin and Old Bastard nearby. Eda didn’t want to be alone, here in this stranger’s big dark house. “You don’t have to—”

“I will stay.”

She turned, startled to find him right behind her. “Oh. All right. You can…we can share the bed. If”—she pointed at his suddenly bright expression—“you stay on top of the covers.”

“Dull.”

Eda readied herself for sleep while Kit went about lighting the cold hearth. Flames grew. Warm light flickered. She was grimy, her hair a wild tangle, but she did not care. Tiredness weighed her down like a millstone. Eda merely took off her boots and cloak—the cloak Kit had bought her—and offered it to him as she patted down the dusty bedcover. “In case you get cold.”

He studied the cloak with mute surprise. A warm expression crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Demon, darling. I run hot.”

“Ah. Right.”

Eda slipped beneath the down covers and pulled them to her nose in embarrassment. Kit took the cloak and laid it over her feet in an oddly tender gesture. Then he leaped onto the bed, sending her bouncing.

“Careful!”

“What?”

“You’ll break it!”

“I’m sure it could stand up to far more vigorous exploits than that.”

Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was only that his lascivious teasing made her feel at ease. Whatever the reason, Eda chuckled, then began laughing in earnest. She pressed the bedcover over her face, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Liked that, did you?” He leaned over and peeled back the cover to grin at her rosy cheeks. “How about this—have you considered the debauched acts that poor boar over there must have been subjected to? Imagine it! You’re snuffling about in the dirt, minding your own business, when all of a sudden someone shoots you and puts you on their wall, and now you have to watch some pasty hunter with a small cock fail to pleasure a lover—”

Eda squeaked and covered her face, laughing. “Stop it! You—why would you assume he has a small…”

“Darling, please. Did you see the size of that crossbow?” He whispered, in all seriousness, “The man is compensating for something.”

Eda laughed until tears fell. Kit snickered. Eventually she calmed, and they lay there side by side, an easy silence falling soft as snow between them. She stared at the timbers overhead. The crackle of the fire and the petrichor scent of him lulled her fast into drowsiness.

Blindly, Eda reached for Kit’s hand. Heard his tiny inhale of surprise.

His fingers curled around hers, tight and covetous. “Get some sleep.”

She tried. For all of two minutes. “Kit,” she whispered.

“Eda.”

“Tell me what mir’han means.”

He stopped breathing. She thought he would not answer, until he did. “It is…a term of endearment.”

“The sort between family and friends?”