He rolled me over so I laid against the back of the sofa, tucked into his side.
“Ah, but what will your mother say?” His smile took ona teasing slant. “Though perhaps she’d be relieved you aren’t costinghera good many head of cattle.”
My nose wrinkled, and I gave him a shove. “You make it sound as if you’d have to be bought to have me.”
His impish look softened into sincerity. “Pen, I would give everything to have you.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I need nothing else.”
The thought of how Mother would react when I brought Kit home, not as my master or traveling companion, but as my beau, made me giddy.
“So, youwillhave me?” I asked.
Kit nodded. “Of course, I will. I love you.”
I was still grinning and bobbing my head in enthusiastic agreement when his statement struck me. It circled back through my brain three more times before I was certain I'd heard it aloud and hadn’t imagined it.
But Kit didn't look surprised at all. His expression was so even, so perfectly measured that it drove me to near madness.
“Kit, did you…” I swallowed. “Did you mean to say that?”
“I did.” A smile cracked his facade, and my heart fluttered.
“You're sure?”
Kit shifted so he was flat on his back and I was laying on top of him. He draped an arm around my waist, and I wondered how he was so calm. Was this the same man who had told me barely two months prior that he wasn’t sure he could love anyone? He said he’d like to,but… and I’d never known how he intended to finish it. I did now.
But me. He lovedme.
“Don't act so surprised.” Kit’s dark eyes danced with mirth. “I think you knew it before I did.”
“Ihoped,” I corrected.
“And inferred.”
I caressed his cheek while fighting back the prick of sudden tears—joyful ones. “But I felt it, Kit,” I murmured, touching him gently. “I felt it, and I knew, and now…”
Kit arched up to press a kiss to my lips. “I know it too,” he said.
He kissed me again and, as much as I wanted to get back to what we'd been doing when I started talking, I was distracted. Delighted, actually, by what indeed my mother would say about the handsome man on my arm, or how jealous Sayla would be that Kit’s strong shoulders were all mine.
Kitwas mine. Like no one else had been or would be. I could barely believe it. He wanted me like I wanted him, and we would be blissful together. After everything with the Bone Men was behind us, we would go home to the farm, and we would share a life. It was a future hope I’d barely held onto. But I'd managed it, at least the start of it, and I had a very good feeling about the end.
35
Kit
We spent the whole day with barely space for a breath between us. Sometimes talking—mostly Penny gushing about how excited his mother would be when we went back for spring planting, or all the things we’d do once the Bone Men were gone—and other times leaning together in quiet while Penny filled pages in his new sketchbook.
While he dreamed of bright futures and family reunions, I found it difficult to think past the end of our Oaths. The months ahead brought four new chances for Penny to see the things I had been privy to as a teenager and to realize why I had been so hesitant for him to interact with the people here. There was so much I hadn’t yet told him, despite ample opportunities to share personal stories, because I was so afraid of what I would see in his eyes if I did. The look of horror on his face when he found out I’d spent years grave robbing had been bad enough.
I had something wonderful now, and I was happy. Iwantedthat future. And, while part of me finally believed I deserved it and accepted that much of my past had beenbeyond my control, there was still a part that was certain Penny would turn me away if he knew everything.
It had been dark for hours when Penny set his sketchbook aside and tugged me up for bed. We made it as far as the mouth of the hallway before I pulled up short. My eyes strayed back to the couch.
For three months, I’d squashed myself onto those stiff cushions and dealt with the drafts, and the aching back and shoulders, and the discomfort. Punishing myself for past and current transgressions and fearing the lingering remnants of my father in the room at the end of the hall. Even thirteen years removed, he hung like a dark cloud over me. Four years dead, and I was still letting him run my life.
He had no power anymore, but I’d been living like he might walk through that door at any moment and rage at me for all the ways I’d brought shame to his name and how weak I’d become. How disgraceful it was that I let someone he’d have considered a lesser man court me. How he’d always known I’d grow up to be a failure. Too soft, too sensitive, too… good.
But I was done letting his ghost make me feel small.
