1
Penny
Heat from the stove flushed my face as I opened the door and peered inside. A round, red ham glistened within, wafting its honey sweet smell. The two days since Kit kissed me for the first time—since we kissed each other—had seen a change in the tone of our tiny house. We went about our duties as before and worked together in the smithy until I left in the afternoons to bake with Rosie. But when I returned home each night, I found myself consumed with anticipation, watching the front door for Kit’s return and planning when I might get close to him again.
Kit, in contrast, was distracted with the journals. His father’s work demanded so much of his attention that I was becoming envious of them. Though now when he insisted we study them together, we sat side by side, and he rested his hand on my knee or played with my hair. I got the feeling he liked that it was growing longer, past my chin in the front and tickling my nape in the back. If that were the case, I might never cut it again.
That night, I’d decided I would make another advance.The memory of Kit's hungry lips on mine and the warmth of his body pressed against me was still vibrant, and I couldn’t let it fade. Also, each day the pain from our initiation brands lessened, so we didn’t need to be as careful about how and where we touched.
When the front door latch clicked, I bolted upright and slammed the iron oven shut. My cheeks were no doubt pink from the heat, but another kind of blush flooded them when I saw Kit paused in the entry, tugging off his boots and untying his cloak from around his neck. We’d been living together for weeks, but lately I'd taken to imagining we were married men building a life together.
Of course, I could never have imagined I would be building any sort of life within the confines of a cult’s hidden encampment, far from my family and the farm where I grew up.
I wrung my hands at my waist as Kit approached. Not a day had passed since we met that I didn’t admire him, but the evenings he came from the smithy might have been my favorites. Sweat made his pale skin glisten and pasted his shirt to the muscles of his arms and chest. He was dusted with soot the same color as the curls that tumbled over his brow as he met my eyes.
Before I could speak, he moved close and cupped a calloused hand to my cheek. He drew me in for a kiss, and I smiled against his lips until he pulled away, leaving me leaning into the space he left behind.
“That smells wonderful.” He nodded toward the stove. “I assume dinner’s underway?”
The meat in the oven and the pot of potatoes simmering on top of it made for one of my more extravagant efforts since we’d arrived in Ashpoint. Still, I lookedtoward the stove with a measure of remorse when I recalled placing the order with the local butcher.
“It’s a ham,” I told Kit. “I’ve always been fond of pigs, so it makes me a bit sad to eat them. They’re clever creatures, you know.”
Kit frowned. “Why make a ham then?”
“I’ve been thinking of Tessa bragging about how succulent hers was.” I wrung my hands again. “Then I wondered if you’d been thinking of it too.”
Kit’s lips quirked the beginning of a smile. “Penny,” he said on a long breath, but I cut him off.
“If you’re going to think about anyone’s ham, Kit, it should be mine.”
It felt tenuous, this thing between us. So much of my life had changed in recent weeks, and I found myself clinging to the few familiar things I had here. Kit was one of those. His was a constant presence—and a comforting one—and the thought of some woman wooing him with a cooked pig galled me.
After a moment, Kit nodded slowly. It looked as though he was fighting a grin.
“This may surprise you,” he said, “but I’d forgotten completely about Tessa’s ham.”
I blushed fiercely as he chuckled.
He brushed a lock of blond hair behind my ear, then held it there. “I don't think about her at all, honestly.” With another quick kiss to my forehead, he moved past me to retrieve the wooden spoon from the stove and give the potatoes a stir.
“Well…” Something hung in my throat, and I coughed to clear it. “I hope you enjoy the meal. Someone should.”
“I’m sure I will. And Reimond and Thoma will no doubt appreciate your efforts, as well.”
He swirled the spoon around the pot casually and sounded so at ease that I almost missed the meaning of his statement.
“Reimond and Thoma?” I echoed, recalling our fellow initiate and his beau, a couple I’d immediately envied upon meeting them a few weeks prior.
In my hometown of Eastcliff, I was a member of a scarce minority. I’d confessed to Kit during our early days together how perplexed my parents had been when trying to convince me to wed. They’d foisted me off on every young woman in town, only to find none of them to my liking. As the heir to a modest farm, I had plenty to offer as a suitor, and my mother assured me I would make a fine husband one day. But none of my own visions for my future involved a wife.
Kit gave no further explanation until I prompted, “What about them?”
“I invited them over.” He tapped the spoon on the edge of the cast iron pot, then set it aside. “They should be here in a few minutes.”
I glanced at the door as though the couple would stride in that very moment. I was wholly unprepared for company with my sleeves rolled up and my apron splattered with glaze from the ham. Tugging the apron off over my head, I wadded it into a ball and dropped it in the sink basin.
“You should have warned me!” I exclaimed as I moved on to other worries. “What if there’s not enough food?”
