Someone should’ve come through by now. Still, we wait, just as we have the three autumns before, the icy air stinging our throats until the sky begins to lighten with the birth of another dawn.
Eason’s gloved hand curves around my knee. “We should go back.”
“Only a few more minutes. Please.”
His light brows come together, a wrinkle forming between them. “Remember what happened last year.”
Last year, it had been raining, and I caught something the humans call “pneumonia.” I spent the following weeks bedridden while Eason nursed me back to health. For some reason, he is determined to keep me alive when all I want is to curl up and sink into the earth for eternity.
Although a protest builds in my throat, Eason is right.
No one is coming for us.
Silently, we make our way back to the cottage. When I struggle to untie my frozen boots, Eason kneels, props my shoe on his knee, and works the laces free. We both change out of our damp clothes and into the ones left hanging in front of the waning fire. As if we’d known all along that we would return.
The peach wash of dawn makes its way through our moth-eaten lace curtains as we lay back down, him holding me as my tears soak into the rough pillowcase.
Eason’s wide palm lands on the thick scars on my back, hidden by my shift. When I flinch, he relocates his hand to the top of my arm. “Please don’t cry, Allette. Maybe next year someone will come.”
The tender kiss he presses to my temple stirs nothing but guilt. I turn my face and listen to his breathing catch when his lips graze my cheek. His grip loosens, allowing me to twist around and rest my frigid hands on his warm chest, corded with muscle from endless hours of training.
He kisses me then, hesitant and sweet.
My mate is gone forever.
My life, my home, are both out of reach.
I need to focus on what I have.
So I squeeze my eyes closed and kiss him back.
Eason’s swordand belt clatter against the tabletop. I watch with my heart in my throat as he continues gathering his belongings, packing them into a canvas rucksack.
He glances up at me, his eyes filled with regret. “Widow Mae will be here in an hour.”
If this realm is hell, then Widow Mae is a demon whose sole purpose is to torture me. “How many times must I tell you: I do not need a babysitter.” I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself for a few weeks.
Eason sighs his same weary sigh, his mouth bracketed with displeasure. “You know the dangers in this realm. What kind of man would I be if I left you all alone to fend for yourself?”
The kind of man I need. One who trusts me. Who believes in me. “What is Widow Mae going to do if we’re attacked? Tie them up with her scarf?”
Closing his eyes, Eason pinches the bridge of his nose. “Will I speak to the warden about having one of the other guards fill in for me?”
Is he mad? Transporting prisoners to Dullen pays four times his usual wage. And with me being laid off from the launderette, we cannot afford to lose more money. I should be grateful he is willing to work so hard for us instead of giving him a hard time. He is only worried about my wellbeing.
“No, no. It’s all right.” I swallow my displeasure and pin what passes as a smile to my lips. “Mae and I are sure to have a wonderful fortnight together.”
He tugs on his gloves and heaves his pack over his broad shoulders. “I’ll actually be gone for three weeks this time.”
Three weeks minding my elderly neighbor. I can’t wait. “I’ll be lonely without you.”
Eason brushes back the chestnut strands that have fallen into his eyes before slipping on the wool hat I knitted. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It rarely does. “And I’ll be lonely without you. But the good news is, when I return, I should have enough saved for a larger house.”
A larger house means more cost to heat and furnish. More emptiness when he goes away. There is only so much emptiness I can take. Besides, there is no guarantee that his job will remain steady. We’d be better off saving our coin in case of a rainy day.
And in this realm, it’s always raining.
“We have everything we need,” I say.