Fire Along the Sky
Page 34
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Hannah hesitated only for a moment. Then she went to a shelf on the wall and pulled down a pile of blankets, which she tossed to Jennet. They were worn soft with age, and smelled of hay and horse and sunshine.
“Sleep well,” Hannah said softly, and disappeared back into the dark.
Chapter 6
The surprising thing was, Jennet did fall asleep and quite quickly, once she had stripped down to her chemise and underskirt and arranged the blankets to her satisfaction. One moment she was studying the stars through a crack in the timbers and then she was dreaming of home, of the fairy tree where she had spent so many hours as a girl. In her dream the branches were filled with tiny dancing lights, the fairies like stars that had fallen down from the sky to be caught up in the branches.
She woke suddenly and with a gasp: someone had slapped her.
Luke was sitting next to her. He had brought a lantern with him that cast his shadow on the wall; a moth fluttered around his head.
“Mosquitoes on your face,” he said calmly, showing her the bloody smear on his palm. “Three of them at once, feasting.”
Jennet touched her own cheek and felt the swelling bumps. A quick pass over her face found too many more to count.
“If you want to sleep out here you'll need this.” He was holding out a jar, already uncorked. “Pennyroyal ointment.”
She put an arm over her face to hide the fact that she was close to tears, for no reason she wanted to contemplate.
“Jennet.”
“What?”
“Pennyroyal ointment.” He thrust it toward her again, and when she refused to take it, he swore softly under his breath and reached out for her arm.
She knew she should stop him, but he had already dipped two fingers into the pot and was busy rubbing the ointment into her skin. It was cool and his touch was gentle, and so Jennet sat glumly and let him have his way, waking up little by little as he worked up one arm and then the other, stopping at the shoulder where her chemise started.
By the time he had finished both arms she was very much awake, awake enough to wonder at herself, that she should sit here half-naked beside Luke. Outwardly she might be calm, but her body was responding in a way that she could not hide; he must see her flush and feel it in the racing of her pulse.
“Hold up your face,” he said, and she heard a gruff note in his voice that was new to her but immediately recognizable.
He was so close that she had no choice but to study him. He looked tired, his eyes red rimmed, his hair tousled, cheeks hollow and shadowed with beard stubble. There were faint shadows of pox scars on his cheekbones. It was the scars that scoured what might have been prettiness out of his face and gave him a hard look, but he was beautiful to her and could be no less. He was looking at her with cool blue-gray eyes as if he knew that, and more.
Luke touched the rising bumps on her forehead and cheeks and chin with the ointment and then, very gently, he smoothed it out with his thumbs, lingering over her cheekbones. His mouth was set in a line.
“What am I going to do with you?” His breath touched her face and woke all the nerves in her body.
“You might kiss me,” she said. “That's one place to start.”
He snorted softly at that but he smiled too, and took her chin between two fingers. Quickly, lightly, he brushed his lips across hers and then turned her head hard to the side. He went to work on her neck, both hands massaging the ointment in gently.
Her voice trembled, though she willed it not to. “Do you mean to throttle me?”
His mouth jerked at one corner. “Tempting, but no.”
He stopped at the hollow at the base of her throat where the ribbons tied her chemise closed. Her breasts pushed against the thin fabric, and she saw the muscles in his jaw knot and flex and then he swallowed.
He sat back abruptly. “Your legs,” he said.
“I beg your pardon.” She must feign shock, at least.
“Your feet and legs.” And he pulled the blanket to one side to expose the tangle of her skirt.
How very improper. She should say: You mustn't, but she did not. Instead when he took a foot in his hands she put back her head and tried not to sigh out loud. His hands were strong and very clever and they worked their way up over her ankle and to the knee.
He tugged the muslin free of its tangles and his hands were on her thigh; such big hands, rough and gentle too. She could not catch her breath. Then his hands were gone and he was reaching for the other foot, and with that Jennet collapsed backward onto the blanket and closed her eyes.
“You've been bit pretty bad.”
She jerked in his hands. “Unto death,” she agreed.
Then he was done and he let go of her. He was waiting, she knew that, waiting for her to say something. Come to me, or Leave me be, or Tell me that you love me.
She touched her own mouth and said, “You missed a bump.” She felt like a girl of sixteen and not a woman almost thirty, a widow who had shared her bed with a lawful husband for ten years full. A husband who had been tender when the need was on him, but who had never made her feel like this, as if her body were no longer her own to govern.
Luke leaned over her and looked, very seriously, at her mouth. “Ah. So I did. But you don't want pennyroyal ointment on your lip, girl. It tastes terrible.”
So he kissed her, because she wanted him to and he wanted to and they both were tired of not kissing for all the long years they had been apart and the weeks since she had come to him. He kissed her softly and then not so softly at all and Jennet sighed into his mouth and closed her eyes.
“Sleep well,” Hannah said softly, and disappeared back into the dark.
Chapter 6
The surprising thing was, Jennet did fall asleep and quite quickly, once she had stripped down to her chemise and underskirt and arranged the blankets to her satisfaction. One moment she was studying the stars through a crack in the timbers and then she was dreaming of home, of the fairy tree where she had spent so many hours as a girl. In her dream the branches were filled with tiny dancing lights, the fairies like stars that had fallen down from the sky to be caught up in the branches.
She woke suddenly and with a gasp: someone had slapped her.
Luke was sitting next to her. He had brought a lantern with him that cast his shadow on the wall; a moth fluttered around his head.
“Mosquitoes on your face,” he said calmly, showing her the bloody smear on his palm. “Three of them at once, feasting.”
Jennet touched her own cheek and felt the swelling bumps. A quick pass over her face found too many more to count.
“If you want to sleep out here you'll need this.” He was holding out a jar, already uncorked. “Pennyroyal ointment.”
She put an arm over her face to hide the fact that she was close to tears, for no reason she wanted to contemplate.
“Jennet.”
“What?”
“Pennyroyal ointment.” He thrust it toward her again, and when she refused to take it, he swore softly under his breath and reached out for her arm.
She knew she should stop him, but he had already dipped two fingers into the pot and was busy rubbing the ointment into her skin. It was cool and his touch was gentle, and so Jennet sat glumly and let him have his way, waking up little by little as he worked up one arm and then the other, stopping at the shoulder where her chemise started.
By the time he had finished both arms she was very much awake, awake enough to wonder at herself, that she should sit here half-naked beside Luke. Outwardly she might be calm, but her body was responding in a way that she could not hide; he must see her flush and feel it in the racing of her pulse.
“Hold up your face,” he said, and she heard a gruff note in his voice that was new to her but immediately recognizable.
He was so close that she had no choice but to study him. He looked tired, his eyes red rimmed, his hair tousled, cheeks hollow and shadowed with beard stubble. There were faint shadows of pox scars on his cheekbones. It was the scars that scoured what might have been prettiness out of his face and gave him a hard look, but he was beautiful to her and could be no less. He was looking at her with cool blue-gray eyes as if he knew that, and more.
Luke touched the rising bumps on her forehead and cheeks and chin with the ointment and then, very gently, he smoothed it out with his thumbs, lingering over her cheekbones. His mouth was set in a line.
“What am I going to do with you?” His breath touched her face and woke all the nerves in her body.
“You might kiss me,” she said. “That's one place to start.”
He snorted softly at that but he smiled too, and took her chin between two fingers. Quickly, lightly, he brushed his lips across hers and then turned her head hard to the side. He went to work on her neck, both hands massaging the ointment in gently.
Her voice trembled, though she willed it not to. “Do you mean to throttle me?”
His mouth jerked at one corner. “Tempting, but no.”
He stopped at the hollow at the base of her throat where the ribbons tied her chemise closed. Her breasts pushed against the thin fabric, and she saw the muscles in his jaw knot and flex and then he swallowed.
He sat back abruptly. “Your legs,” he said.
“I beg your pardon.” She must feign shock, at least.
“Your feet and legs.” And he pulled the blanket to one side to expose the tangle of her skirt.
How very improper. She should say: You mustn't, but she did not. Instead when he took a foot in his hands she put back her head and tried not to sigh out loud. His hands were strong and very clever and they worked their way up over her ankle and to the knee.
He tugged the muslin free of its tangles and his hands were on her thigh; such big hands, rough and gentle too. She could not catch her breath. Then his hands were gone and he was reaching for the other foot, and with that Jennet collapsed backward onto the blanket and closed her eyes.
“You've been bit pretty bad.”
She jerked in his hands. “Unto death,” she agreed.
Then he was done and he let go of her. He was waiting, she knew that, waiting for her to say something. Come to me, or Leave me be, or Tell me that you love me.
She touched her own mouth and said, “You missed a bump.” She felt like a girl of sixteen and not a woman almost thirty, a widow who had shared her bed with a lawful husband for ten years full. A husband who had been tender when the need was on him, but who had never made her feel like this, as if her body were no longer her own to govern.
Luke leaned over her and looked, very seriously, at her mouth. “Ah. So I did. But you don't want pennyroyal ointment on your lip, girl. It tastes terrible.”
So he kissed her, because she wanted him to and he wanted to and they both were tired of not kissing for all the long years they had been apart and the weeks since she had come to him. He kissed her softly and then not so softly at all and Jennet sighed into his mouth and closed her eyes.
