Her cheeks warmed and she bit her lip, wondering how her life had taken such a lovely turn when she had expected so fully to know only despair.
She peeled off her shift and left it hanging on a hook, allowing the heat to seep in her, coaxing any tension from her limbs. It was a lovely bath, one she would miss when she was gone, and she watched her hair float about her, swirling as the tap continued to feed more water over her. She shut it off as soon as she could, lest it waken Grim or worse, have woken him and was now a persistent thrum that kept him from returning to the sleep he dearly needed. Even she felt that if she was not careful, she would slip into slumber herself floating in her tub.
Her lids were heavy, and she forced herself to wash simply to stay awake.
Her hands went to her hair, scrubbing lightly to free any oils and grimaced.
She really did need to find that comb.
And at some point, they would have to release one another long enough to gather up their supplies and tuck them away in their pack of belongings. Unless it would be too much for Grimult to carry? She nibbled at her lip, considering that. The journey back would be a far shorter one if they kept to the skies, but it would still take days to accomplish. If they had to do it without the benefit of anything more than a few water skins, it was possible, but time would be wasted on hunting and foraging for even the semblance of a meal, and Grimult would be so exhausted by the end of a full day’s flight, especially with her weighing him down...
She yelped when a knock startled her, hard followed by a muffled voice.
“Penryn?” Grimult called, and she stupidly found that her hands had immediately gone to cover herself, though he had not made any attempt at the door.
Nor was it anything he had not spent a great deal of time with already.
She forced herself to breathe, to calm her racing heart before she answered him. “You may come in, Grim,” she called back, wondering if she should have made a quick retreat from the bath and answered it herself, already wrapped in a towel.
He opened the door, his eyes averted, before he seemed to catch himself, shaking his head lightly before looking. She smiled at him softly, not unhappy that things had so changed between them that her nudity was a welcome thing, but not minding the glimpse at the way he was before. Protective of her in all things, even from himself and an impression of impropriety.
“You were missing,” Grimult answered, his fingers still tight as they held open the door. “I waited, in case you simply had to relieve yourself, but then you did not come back and I was worried.”
Penryn held out her hand and he was quick to come to her. “I did not mean to wake you,” she apologised. “Or to make you worry.” She gave him a rueful look, shrugging her shoulders and realising she had been foolish to think she could keep this from him. “I was a little sore and thought a bath might help.”
His dismay was quick and blatant, although she could tell he tried to shutter it away just as rapidly. But she had seen, and she gripped his hand more tightly with hers before he could escape to any foolish self-recriminations. “I do not regret a thing,” she told him firmly. “But I am rather new to this and it is possible that I tend to forget that when we are... busy.” She tried to give him a grin that perhaps was just a little mischievous, and Grim blinked back at her, obviously trying to judge the truthfulness of her lack of care.
“Busy,” he repeated, tasting the word and by the face he made, not entirely liking it as a description for their pairing. “An odd description.”
She wanted to be bold, but she could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks, not only brought there by the warmth of her bath. “Coupling?” Not the worst word, but he still had a strange look about him. “Copulating?”
He frowned deeply at that, and she could not blame him. It felt stiff and formal, lacking all the intimacy that was shared, as well as the smiles and the laughter when things did not go quite right as they learned of one another.
“Loving,” Grimult declared, looking to her with something that absurdly looked like doubt.
“Love, then,” she agreed. An action, just between the two of them. The culmination of what they already felt, an expression as natural as the words at her lips when she simply had to tell him one more time how she felt for him.
He glanced down at her, and for once his eyes did not heat. Perhaps he was tired and worn too, and she had to keep from asking if any of his muscles ached too or if that sensation was reserved only for her.
“Have you soaked long enough?” he enquired. “Will you come back to bed?”
She prepared herself to rebuff his attentions, to tamp down any mortification and tell him that while she had soaked long enough, that perhaps she should allow her more delicate places to rest. But when she looked at him, she did not see the passionate teasing she had expected, but a vulnerability that made her simply nod her head instead.
He wanted her close, wanted her there when he slept and when he woke again, and she could deny him nothing.
Least of all that.
And dried by careful ministration by her husband and her shift once more covering her, he carried her back to where she belonged.
◆◆◆
She liked watching him sleep. She did not make the same mistake as earlier, slipping away without his knowledge and thinking he would remain untroubled by her departure. Sleep had left her a while ago, and while she thought she would grow bored of lying there with no one to talk to and nothing to occupy her mind, that was not the case. He slept on his stomach, one gripped beneath the pillow, the other reaching outward in her direction. His wings rose and fell with each breath, tucked close to his body, obscuring most of him from view.
She remembered his hands skimming down her back, and for one brief, self-conscious moment, she thought that he was focused on the scars settled there. And it had almost been enough to break through the impassioned depths of her mind, but not quite. Not when he admitted, his voice thick and rasping, that he liked how he could see all of her, that she was not hidden even by something as lovely as her wings would have been.
Perhaps it should have insulted her, it should have brought back the pain and loss that so often accompanied thoughts of her wings.
But somehow, when he said it just such a way, when they were joined in the most intimate of ways, it was a compliment. That she was not lacking in some fundamental regard, unable to please him due to her abnormality. That he found her beautiful, found her appealing, even if she did not look as another of his kind might.
He stirred, but only briefly, before he settled again. Could he feel her watching him, even now? There were so few times during the Journey when she had awoken first, and even now her fingers itched to reach out, to touch. Would he like that? If he was drawn from the sweetness of sleep by the gentle touches of his wife, urging him to be with her? Much of her soreness had been eased by her bath, and if she was willing to admit it, she would like to be with him again.
Would that urge ever desist? Fading with time and familiarity? She did not know, but the thought made her sad.
Their time was short, and she would take hold of whatever happy domesticity she could.
She almost raised her hand to touch, to stir, but glanced at the kitchen instead. Would he rather breakfast first? To wake to the sounds of tea hitting a readied cup, to seduce him slowly as he had done for her only the day before.
Had it really been so recent? It felt far longer.
Smiling to herself, Penryn snuck from the bed. She would not tarry in the little washroom, and if he woke then he could find her easily enough with only a turn of his head. But she felt more ready for her seduction with all her morning needs attended to, and she was pleased that he was still sleeping when she crept from the room once more.
The kettle she filled from the tap in the washroom while the fire grew and heated. She placed it on its hook, content to wait, before turning to thoughts of food. The remains of the stew did not appeal to her, but hunks of bread w
armed by the fire and thick cuts of cheese and slices of fresh fruit were welcome enough, and she plated all of it, her attention drifting to the bed to see how her husband fared.
Only he was not sleeping any longer, his eyes open and watchful as he remained reclined on the bed.
“I do not seem able to keep you in my bed,” he complained, although there was nothing truly reproachful in his tone. “What are you doing, Pen?”
She rubbed her hands down the side of her shift, strangely discouraged that she had not been quite able to finish what she had intended. “Planning your seduction,” she answered crisply. “But you woke too soon.”
His eyebrows rose, and there was a small smile about his lips, and she warmed to know it had been put there because of her. “My apologies,” he was gracious enough to answer back with, trying to soothe the offence that was not truly there. “Would my seduction preclude using the washroom? I should hate to be uncooperative to the process.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she shook her head, watching him retreat and close the door behind him.
She checked the kettle and found steam coming from the spout, and with careful use of a cloth to retrieve it, had two mugs prepared by the time he returned, their breakfast awaiting their indulgence at the table.
Or should it be the bed? Where, if she grew no longer content with merely holding his hand, and she felt the need to push all the closer...
And if she reclined just so, and opened her arms in welcome, and he followed...
But then there would be plates and mugs of partially filled tea spilling on the bedclothes. Whereas now, if she felt that same urge, there was a table to support the cutlery and dishes while she made use of her husband’s lap, first to finish off the last of her breakfast, then the final sips of tea, and then the final craving that had yet to be sated...
She had not heard his approach so she startled when strong arms came around her from behind, followed by a warm kiss to the soft flesh of her neck, peeking out between long hair and the opening of her shift.
“What are you thinking of, wife?” Grimult asked, his voice low as his grip on her tightened. How could just a word from him send such flares of desire through her? She shivered, wondering if everything would keep well enough if she was to forget it all and simply forego the slow seduction she had planned and instead succumb to the quick and heady pull that he seemed so capable of drawing from her.
“You,” she answered back, not bothering to attempt to turn about. “Us,” she clarified, uncaring that she blushed and he would know as soon as he saw it that she spoke of their loving, both future and present.
Things would change when they left this place. When she found that his wing had healed and he was strong and ready for what was next required of them.
But for now, for these few, precious days as they learned what it was to be husband and wife...
They could have this.
Simple meals and tender couplings, and all that accompanied the in between.
And she was so very glad.
Nine
“We will not be back here,” Penryn commented mournfully. It was not the first time she had mentioned it, but it was the first time it was real. They were leaving, and that was that. She swallowed, brushing her hand along the bed that had been theirs, the fire that had been the source of warmth and delicious food shared between them.
And she did not want to go.
They had done their best to return the place to its proper order. The sheets had been laundered in the tub and dried beside the fire. The chairs were returned to their original positions, nothing suggesting there had ever been more than a solitary Lightkeep inhabiting the space.
“This was not meant to be our home,” Grimult reminded her, squeezing her hand and pulling her forward. It was a difficult thing to decide how best they should go, the order of things so important to their success. They could walk to the Wall in case a patrol was out and spotted Grimult’s wings. The treaty was sure to be voided on the spot, and the thought of that was intolerable. Not when they had already come so far. Grimult had suggested they keep to travelling by night, but that had been quickly rejected as they could not risk injury so soon into their travels, and she could well imagine a hearty tangle of boughs a formidable foe when inky blackness surrounded them, only the moon and stars to provide any sort of light source.
There was no more lantern to burden them, but it had been an aid as well, in its time, but Penryn could not bring herself to say that she missed it.
Even now, there was a stripe of thickened skin against her fingers where the handle had rested, incessantly rubbing against otherwise delicate flesh.
No, she would not miss it.
But she would miss this place, and the sweet memories that came from it.
But it was time to depart all the same.
Grimult’s wing had healed well, as well as the injury to his head, that disappeared far more rapidly than the wound on his wing. But Penryn was determined in her ministrations, and her admonishments if she saw her husband overextended the mending tissues, and finally Grimult claimed there was no accompanying pain when he moved it.
The ultimate test would be flight, of course, but they would risk that only once.
And so they must go.
“You are certain we should take it all?” Penryn asked one last time. She worried about the weight, about his strength having to carry her for so long, but evidently Grimult was tired of the old argument between them for he rolled his eyes.
“To discard unnecessary supplies here would mean they would be discovered and evaluated. Is that what you want?”
She scowled, realising she was picking fights as an attempt not to be sad about their leaving, and that was poor reason indeed. She took a deep breath and looked to her husband once more. “I am sorry,” she murmured, and he tugged at her hand, pulling her close.
“You are forgiven,” he murmured benevolently, and it would have been her turn to roll her eyes except that he was suddenly kissing her and she grew rather distracted when he did that. “I shall miss it also,” Grimult admitted when at last he released her, thoughts of anything but him sufficiently driven from the forefront of her mind. “But then I realise what I treasure most is you, and you will be with me.”
Well. When he put it like that, perhaps it was not really worthy of her tears.
They could delay no longer, not when they had agreed upon dawn for their departure. If patrols were to be made, it stood to reason that the guards would alternate their hours, exchanging lanterns and tired eyes for new compatriots, well rested and with warm bellies to comfort them during the chilled mornings.
Grimult watched as Penryn unlocked the door, her fingers reluctant to do so even as she required them to do so, and quickly too. They could not dawdle. They had eaten heartily, their pack was full of foodstuffs for later, and Grimult had promised her they could stop frequently for them to rest before pushing onward.
She stepped out first, judging their surroundings. There was a heavy mist settled around the cottage like a blanket, obscuring far more sight than she would have expected.
The decision was an easy one, an alteration to their discussed course. Grimult would have to be careful, but the heavy fog would surround them like a shield, obscuring their departure from any who might witness it.
And save them the danger of a walk through an unfamiliar wood, toward a Wall they might not see until it was actually upon them.
She bit her lip, thinking it was rather like a blessing, a confirmation that today was the day after all, and they had chosen rightly.
She took a step forward, gesturing that Grimult could follow. The cloak he had supposedly borrowed was tucked into the pack, confirming that the owner would not be receiving it back again. There was no safe way to do so, not without making it abundantly clear that another had been within the confines of the dwelling. And suppose it cast suspicion on the owner?
It was not worth the risk, and so Penryn said nothin
g when Grimult had stashed it away with a tight lipped expression of his own, and she knew well that the situation did not please him either.
Penryn was dressed in browns and greens, warm against the chill in the air that would only grow more so when the winds whipped against them as they flew. It had been a welcome when the day was hot and the exhilaration of being near him and finally—finally—experiencing flight for herself had made the entire experience shiny and glorious in her remembrances.
She wondered if it would survive untainted when tedium and strain inevitably came from unending days of it.
She took a deep breath of crisp air. Her hair was tightly bound, for she remembered Grimult’s complaint of it flying out into his face, a menace that she would not permit now that she knew of it. She wore a cloak for warmth, obscuring her leggings and overdress, and the boots were unfamiliar to her, but fit well enough.
And, as Grimult reminded her, there would not be much walking for her to do.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice a hushed whisper in her ear, as if any could be hiding in the mist, ready to expose them.
She shut the door behind them, offering a prayer that all would be well, before she tucked herself close.
“Yes,” she assured him, burrowing her head beneath his chin as he lifted her.
She had no qualms about wrapping her legs about his waist and clutching at him, trying to ensure that he was not solely responsible for bearing her weight with only his arms. It still brought a pinkness to her cheeks, but the clutch of fright she felt as the first thrust of his wings had them airborne drove away any distraction that might have accompanied such a position with her husband.
The Lightkeep Page 18
