Chapter 6
He kicksin the door to the kitchen, where the familiar scents mingle with his own cologne of moss and sage. Safe, I repeat the word in my head, these smells mean I’m safe. I try and imprint the fact on my very soul. My heart is beginning to slow, though his still races against my cheek. I clutch his shirt lightly, though I can’t tell if I’m trying to reassure myself or him.
Back in my room, he lays me down on the bed. I keep my eyes pressed shut. I won’t disrespect his wishes, especially not after he saved me.
“I need to go and see if Oren is all right. But first… How are you?” he whispers.
I can almost feel his hands hovering over me, like he wants to touch me. The phantom sensation of his fingertips on my cheeks races through my mind. I try to stay focused but everything that’s happened has scattered my thoughts to the wind.
“My shoulder hurts some. My head is splitting.” As I say that, I feel two fingertips run lightly over my temple. He gives in, his touch so small and gentle it sends a jolt through me. “I’ll be fine. Don’t leave Oren out there alone with that thing.”
“‘Thing,’ indeed,” he repeats with a snarl and pulls away. I hear him move through the room.
I almost call out to him. I don’t want to be alone. But I keep my silence. Oren needs him more than I do. And based on what the creature said…there must be some kind of ward, or protection around this house. They just need to hold off the beast long enough that they both can get back behind the wall. It must be safe in here.
It must be…
It’s twilight when I open my eyes next. My shoulder is stiff and screams as I try to move it. But I can wriggle all my fingers and bend my elbow. I think it’s just a terrible sprain. My head is splitting but my vision is no longer blurry. I sit up, rubbing lightly where my temple met the rock. My fingers come away bloody. I’ve bled on the pillowcase, too.
I curse under my breath. Fortunately for me, one upside of womanhood is that I’m already well versed in getting blood out of linens. I pull the case off the pillow, swing my legs off the bed, and stand slowly. The world does a little tilt, but nothing too alarming. I’m stable enough to make my way to the washroom. I look a mess, but washing my face is a significant improvement in getting me back to “human” again.
Pillowcase cleaned, I emerge back into the hallway feeling refreshed. I notice a note has been pinned to the door that leads to the main, central tower. I cross over and read the elegant script that I can only presume was made by the strong hand of Lord Fenwood.
K~
There will be an exception to the rules tonight only.
When you wake, if it is before dawn, you may come out and access the dining room and kitchen. Take whatever you need to care for yourself in body and spirit.
My stomach is still toounsettled from the events of the day to be particularly inclined toward food. But my curiosity is far too intense to turn down this opportunity to wander at night. I crack open the door.
The main hall looks…normal.
I don’t know what I was expecting. There’s been such a fuss made about me not emerging at night that perhaps I thought the entire castle somehow changed. That beyond the door was a portal to another land. I laugh softly at myself.
Dishware clinking in the dining room stills me. My heart races as though I am back in the forest. I take a deep breath. I am safe here, I repeat to myself. I’ve lived here now for over a week. For over a week, that monster had been in the woods. It only attacked me when I ventured too far. Within these walls, I have nothing to fear.
The golden glow of candlelight strikes out the frame of the dining room entry on the dark floor. I pause at the side of the door, not looking in. There are two possibilities on who is eating late, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.
“Lord Fenwood?” I say. It’s my turn to have my back against the wall, shoulder barely exposed. “Is that you?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. “Just a moment and I’ll be done.”
“Don’t rush on my account; I’ll come back.”
“No, no. Stay.” Is that longing that I hear in the unfathomable depths of his voice? I don’t move.
“What are you eating?” I ask, before the silence can become awkward.
He chuckles. “Nothing particularly fitting of a lord. A hunk of cheese I cut mold from and a knob of bread that I couldn’t let turn stale.” He hates wasting food. That similarity between us, however slight, softens my stance. “But at least the mead is good.”
“Oren didn’t make you dinner?” Dread fills me at what this might mean.
“He’s had quite the day so I gave him the night off.”
“Is he all right?”
“He is.”
