The hall door opened behind him. Warmth spilled out, along with laughter, smoke, and the smell of honeyed apples.
“Thomas?”
He closed his eyes briefly then turned.
Amelia stood in the doorway with her veil half slipping, a cloak clutched around her shoulders, and a small wrapped bundle in her hands.
“You left before dessert,” she said.
“I was not aware there was dessert.”
“There are honeyed apples. Edith said you stole some this morning, but I saved you one.”
He looked at the bundle as if it were a siege demand.
“You came out into the cold to bring me an apple?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She seemed puzzled by the question. “Because you like them.”
It was such a simple answer that he had no defense against it.
The wind caught a curl and blew it across her mouth. She pushed it back with an impatient hand, leaving a faint streak of honey near her cheek now, because apparently the woman collected marks of the day the way soldiers collected scars.
“You did well,” she said softly.
He looked past her into the hall. “You said that already.”
“I know. You looked like you didn’t believe me the first time.”
“I believe the rolls.”
“Do you believe me?”
The question landed too near the truth.
He looked at her then, properly, though it was unwise and he knew it. Grey light behind him, firelight behind her.
“Aye,” he said.
Her face changed, just a little, as she held out the wrapped apple. He took it, their fingers brushing.
It was absurd that something so small could feel like a vow.
“Good night,” she said.
“Amelia.”
She paused.
There were a hundred things he could not say.
Stay. Do not look at me like that. Look at me again. I cannot keep you. I would kill any man who tried to take you. I am not safe for wanting. You have made my house feel like a home, and I am in love with you.
He said the only safe thing left.
