Page 62 of Bane Bloom

Sweetness of sleep

No trials anew.”

I studied his profile. “Is that a spell?”

“For protection of the dead.”

I frowned, considering. “What do the dead need protecting from?” London had resurrectionists, of course, but I doubted there was much of a market for corpses in remote Cumberland, and in Prudence’s case, it was far too late for that, anyway.

“Fairy mischief,” he said. “Other spirits. Themselves, sometimes.”

“You don’t ascribe to the notion of heaven, I take it. Not that I judge you; it’s rather a vague concept to get one’s head around.”

A smile seemed to twitch at the corner of his lips. I knew that I often amused him, though I couldn’t always understand why.

“I haven’t given heaven much thought,” he said. “I only know that sometimes they don’t rest.”

“You mean sometimes they linger. Like your mother.”

“Aye.”

I tipped back my head and stared into the great canopy. “Maybe she couldn’t bear to part with you.” I felt a swelling of grief as I said this, for my own mother, who couldn’t bear to stay. I wondered whether she lay in a churchyard like this somewhere. I wondered whether anyone visited her grave.

Thomas turned to me. “Or maybe it’s me who hasn’t let go.”

Blinking back tears, I said, “It seems we have that in common.”

His eyes lifted to the top of my head, and my heart skipped as he reached out and gently plucked a hawthorn petal from my hair, releasing it among its fallen brethren. Then his gaze returned to the gravestones.

We stood quietly for a while, listening to birdsong in the branches. Watching the petals drift down. At last he said, “Shall we go home?”

Home. The word caused my heart to skip again, though of course it was only his home.

When we reached the road in front of the church, we found Daisy napping. Thomas, as usual, offered me his hand—yet it was not at all as usual. Our eyes met over our joined hands, and for a moment it felt as if time had stopped. Thomas’s lips parted, as if he would speak, but he didn’t. Finally I broke from his gaze and climbed up.

As we got underway, I said, “Annie asked about you.”

“Mmm.”

I smiled. The Viking utterances that at first annoyed me had almost become endearing. “She hopes I might persuade you to come Tuesday night.”

He cast me a sidelong glance. “She is the only one who would wish to see me there. Everyone else would be uncomfortable.”

“What if I wish you to go?”

Raising an eyebrow, he replied, “Why would you wish that? I would think you’d breathe easier without me lurking about.”

He was right, but probably not for the reason he thought. “Perhaps I’ve grown used to your lurking.”

He laughed. “I’m sorry, lass. I cannot go.”

“‘Will not,’ you mean.” I eyed him earnestly. “Is it because of me? Because you wish to avoid me?”

“Does it seem I wish to avoid you?”

“Maybe not right at this moment. But sometimes you can’t seem to get away from me fast enough.”

He frowned. “That’s nothing to do with you. At least not in the way you mean.”