Page 14 of When the Sky Breaks

“He probably just had something in his eye,” I replied as we started up the stairs. Sorcha snorted, clearly unconvinced.

The room was small, decently furnished. We weren’t spoiled for choice here in Santa Fe. There was a pretty tile fireplace, a painted dresser, and one bed pushed against the far wall beside the window.

I took off my coat and checked the locks as soon as the door shut behind us, then knelt to start building up the smoldering fire.

“You take the bed,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “I’ll get this going again and sleep here.”

I got up from the hearth and grabbed a few blankets from the top of the dresser.

“So you’re not . . .” Sorcha trailed off. “We’re not . . .”

“Sorcha, this is a political arrangement,” I lied through my teeth while I arranged blankets in front of the fireplace. “There’s no need to share a bed.”

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by slow crackling as the fire caught and the gentle rustle of Sorcha’s silk skirts.

“I can’t get the dress off by myself.”

I went stiff instantly, breath caught in my throat.

“Should I call one of the maids?” I offered. “I’m sure someone can . . .”

“That would cause a scandal,” Sorcha chided. “Now come here. It’s not as though you’ll see anything.”

I felt my hands shaking as I undid the line of tiny shell buttons down the back of her dress. Every pull of the cloth felt like a tug on something deeper inside, something I couldn’t control, dared not name aloud. I could feel the heat rising in my own cheeks as the silk fell away and revealed the transparent net of her corset underneath, layered over the gauzy, sweat-soaked cotton of her shift.

Something coiled low and hot and dangerous in my gut. But I couldn’t stop—she’d surely call me out on it. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, I chided myself.

Eventually, the buttons were unfastened, and she slipped out of her bodice, then the skirt. I abruptly averted my gaze as she started unfastening the busk on her corset. I stepped back, nearly stumbling, and then sat down near the hearth, pulling off my boots and busying myself with the fire before I did or said something I’d regret immediately.

“You’ll let me know if you’re too cold,” I said as I heard her climb into bed.

“And what will you do about it if I am?” Sorcha asked.

Hold you until you stop shivering.

Tuck you close in my arms so I can smell you and feel you and make you warm and safe and maybe just maybe get that vacant look out of your eyes that scares me so damn much.

“I’m sure they’ve more blankets somewhere around here,” I replied.

I blew out the light and lay sleepless for what felt like hours, listening to the crackling fire and her stirring in bed, breathing still tight and measured. I could feel her restlessness even through the distance between us, and it gnawed at me. The guilt was overwhelming, a constant reminder that in spite of my best efforts, I was somehow doing this wrong.

Hurting her. Hurting us.

And it was my fault.

My own damn fault.

Six

Sorcha

Iwoke at dawn. I’d barely slept. Neal was already up and tending the fire, back in his coat and boots.

“Once you’re up and dressed,” he said, not turning away from the fire, “I thought we could head back to the house to fetch a few things then saddle up and head to my da’s old cabin. It’s up on the river near Taos. We can spend a few weeks there. I’ll get you up to speed on some self-defense. It’d be traditional for us to go away, and I think it’d be worthwhile.”

“Because nothing says newlyweds like survival tactics in some dusty old fishing cabin,” I muttered to myself as I laced my corset back up and pulled on a petticoat. “Did Ansel say he can handle the Court while we’re gone? I don’t need to come back to another crisis.”

Neal nodded as I paused, looking at my discarded wedding dress and then glancing around the room—realization dawning.