Page 19 of When the Sky Breaks

The question hit like a blow to the gut. What was I supposed to say to that?

“No,” I murmured. “It didn’t.”

“Nokona always said it wouldn’t hurt if he loved you.”

I was fighting tears of my own now. It was time to get over my qualms, my pride, to fix this—or at least attempt to. I stood up and shrugged out of my coat.

“It’s cold, and you need to sleep,” I said, tucking the blankets up around her and wrapping my own wool coat on top. She tried to push me away, but I persisted, repeating, “It’s cold, and you need to sleep. The last thing I need right now is you getting pneumonia.”

“You’ll get more blood on the sheets,” Sorcha protested.

“It’ll wash out.”

Then I took a deep breath, reminded myself that trying to keep distance had, as Ansel said, been a stupid plan anyways, and climbed into bed behind her. Sorcha stiffened as I curled at her back, resting a single hand between her shoulder blades—on top of the coat, on top of the blankets.

“I messed up.”

“That is a horrendous understatement,” Sorcha mumbled, voice still thick with tears.

“It is,” I replied. “And I’m sorry.”

One of the cats took a swipe at my ankle and I hissed as the claws met flesh.

“You deserved that,” Sorcha said dryly.

“I did,” I admitted. “I deserve a lot more.”

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the cats shifting and settling in the blankets and the crickets outside.

“I’ve been training for this job one hundred and eleven years,” I said. “I wasn’t supposed to take it for another fourteen.”

“And I wasn’t supposed to have this job for another three centuries. Your point?” Sorcha snapped.

“This isn’t what I prepared for. This isn’t what I expected.” I took a deep breath, steadied myself. “But, Sorcha, I think I’m in love with you.”

She flinched. And for a long, horrifying moment, I worried this was going to be the end. She’d tell me she didn’t share the feeling—call me unprofessional, request an annulment, send me back to Europe in disgrace, and bring on a new Steward.

But she didn’t. Instead, Sorcha rolled over, grabbed my shirt collar, and kissed me—hard, long, and deep, her body pressing against mine and her free hand tangling in my hair.

“I love you,” I murmured against her throat when we separated. “And I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” Sorcha muttered, turning over again. “You pull another stunt like tonight and I’m summoning the fattest pig in town to come smother you in your sleep.”

“Not a very dignified end.”

“You think what you did to me earlier tonight was dignified?”

“Fair enough.”

Sorcha shifted, moved my coat, pulled back the blankets. “Get in. You say you love me? Act like a real husband.”

The tension leached out of my chest and I suppressed a laugh as I climbed under the quilt. Sorcha cuddled into my chest immediately—warm and soft and perfect, still emanating that smell of lavender honey, mace, and campfires. I brushed coils of sweaty hair back from her face and pressed a gentle, soft kiss on her temple.

“You’ll stay until I wake up?” Sorcha asked.

“I’ll stay until the world ends, Sorcha,” I promised. “Now sleep.”

Nine