Deathmark, p.17
Deathmark, page 17
The feelings had come so subtly that she didn’t mind. She supposed that she ought to tell him, someday, but the last thing she wanted was for Rowe to reciprocate.
Logic told her that he wouldn’t. He already had Juliet, and Nell had no desire to compete against a specter, as she had no chance of winning. Besides, he’d told her from the start that he didn’t get attached. If he discovered that she had fallen in love with him, he might cater to her feelings out of pity.
Nell didn’t want that at all.
“I can’t take it,” said Rowe beside her. “Shall I carve my name there too?”
“No!” The protest burst from her so vehemently that he jumped. Her ebbing blush flared to a deep scarlet under his startled gaze. “I told you my name alone is fine,” she said defensively. “Stop making fun of me.”
“Who’s making fun? Strictly speaking, if I added mine, it would only be completing yours.”
Nell frowned.
“Nell Rowe,” he prompted. “That’s your name.”
She blinked. Of course that made sense, but it still sounded strange to her ears. Perturbed, she looked away, fixing her gaze on the pale bark of the tree and the darker letters she had cut there. “Just Nell is good enough,” she mumbled.
“All right, Just Nell,” said Rowe, and he leaned back on his elbows. “Do you have anywhere else that you’d like to carve your name, or shall we head home for today?”
“Are those my only two options?”
“What else would you like to do?”
She lay on her back and looked up at the blue sky. Fluffy clouds floated in one corner of her view. “What would you be doing if you weren’t here?”
“Oh, chopping wood for kindling, or some other dull chore that always needs the upkeep.”
“I mean if you weren’t here by the sea—if you were still back in Middlewood. It’s not asking about your past,” she said when his sharp glance slid her way. “It’s asking about a pretended present.”
Rowe hummed. “The answer’s the same. Winter up on my mountain takes a lot of preparation. Back at Middlewood the leaves are probably turning already. So, I really would be chopping wood or the like—storing food, making sure the house is ready for the coming snows, that sort of thing.”
“What happens if none of that gets done?”
“It’s a difficult winter.”
Her attention shifted from the sky to his profile, then back again. “I’ve kind of ruined things with my selfishness, haven’t I?” Winters at Baker’s Inn hadn’t taken much more preparation than any other time of year. They always kept a store of food and fuel on the premises and the highway still saw travel and trade except during the very worst weather. Rowe’s homestead was removed from general civilization, though, tucked away in the higher-elevated forest. Of course he would have to prepare. Depending on the severity of the storms, there might be weeks on end where he had no contact with the rest of the world.
He reached over and pinched her nose shut. Nell stared up at him in shock. “What things have you ruined?” he asked. “I’m here of my own choosing, remember?”
When he removed his offending fingers, she rubbed her injured nose with the back of one hand. “I feel like such a nuisance sometimes.”
“You are such a nuisance sometimes, but you’re a fun little nuisance, and good company—except when you’re waxing melancholy.”
“Are you saying I should keep quiet?”
He smiled broadly down at her, a teasing confirmation to her question.
“You’re too nice to me,” said Nell, and she idly plucked a few dry blades of grass.
A scoff cut through the air. “I just pinched your nose and told you you’re a nuisance. I hate to think how you’ve been treated in the past if you think that’s nice.”
She continued to pluck at the grass, oddly fixated on that simple motion. “I don’t know,” she said, for lack of anything better. She couldn’t explain to him how she had lived at Baker’s Inn—like a pack animal, less than human, regarded with apathy or contempt by almost everyone around her. That life seemed a hundred years ago, and she didn’t want to dwell on it. All the same, she had been conditioned by those experiences. Rowe treated her with friendliness rather than disdain. Even his supposed unkindness was tempered with good humor.
“You’re very pensive today,” he said. “Is something bothering you?”
“I don’t know,” said Nell again. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that the “something” was a pesky attachment she’d formed for him. “I suppose I’m tired, but not for any particular reason. I’m just getting lazy in my old age, I suppose.”
“Old age? You’re not even twenty-one.”
“And I never will be,” she murmured. Then, “Sorry. I broke a rule. No talking about the forbidden subject. Does that cloud look like a rabbit to you?”
He spared her a pitying glance before his eyes followed her line of sight. “It looks more like a marmot. Very nice job redirecting the conversation. Very subtle of you.”
“I don’t think it looks like a marmot at all,” said Nell stubbornly.
“Well, no, not now. The head is warping into something grotesque. Now it’s a demon marmot that’ll haunt your dreams tonight.”
She swatted his arm. “Don’t plant ideas like that! It might really happen!”
He merely laughed, the sound a pleasant balm.
A few days later, Nell arose before the sun, rekindled the fire, and set to work in the kitchen. By the time Rowe trudged from his bedroom, she had made blackberry scones, butter pastries, and a savory milk gravy to serve over toast.
He surveyed the food on the table with a furrow digging between his brows. “What’s all this?”
“It’s breakfast,” she said.
His expression remained cagey. “For what occasion?”
She shifted from one foot to the other, not sure whether she wanted to admit the truth. She’d rather he didn’t prod her or draw any wrong conclusions, though, so she pitched her voice to sound as innocent as possible. “Today’s my birthday.”
For a moment he froze. She mentally kicked herself for celebrating the milestone—the last one she would ever experience—when she might have observed it in secret instead. Twenty wasn’t a significant age. If not for her deathmark, she’d still be indentured for another year.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rowe asked, concerned.
“I did, just now.”
“No, I mean—” He broke off, tossing his head. “You know what I mean. Why didn’t you tell me before? We could have planned something.”
She had planned a nice breakfast, she wanted to say, but that would only increase the pity radiating from him. So, with a dismissive wave, she said, “You’ve never told me when your birthday is either.”
“It’s in the spring.”
“Oh.” Of course he’d never told her. She wouldn’t live to see it, so there was no point. Regret lanced through her at this thought, but she blithely pushed it away. “Well, I won’t be able to give you anything then, so you might as well enjoy a birthday breakfast with me now.” She motioned to his usual chair.
Still he hesitated, disapproval in the slant of his mouth. “You’re supposed to receive gifts on your birthday, not give them.”
She dropped into her own seat, pretending nonchalance even as a blush burned to her ears. “Strictly speaking, you did buy all the food. Besides, there’s no law that says I can’t give instead of getting.” When he still remained standing, she played her final gambit. “I haven’t had a birthday breakfast since before my indenture. I know it’s a small way to celebrate, but it’s all I wanted.”
He huffed a rueful laugh. “If it’s what you want, I have to oblige.”
Nell slid her napkin across her lap, sullen. “You don’t have to.”
With a reproving glance he sat across from her. “I do have to, but I’d do it anyway. It’s just… You never let me do anything for you.”
Her jaw dropped. “You do a hundred things for me every day! Did you want to cook?”
He grimaced. “No. But we could have gone into town and had Rufus cook instead of you making your own birthday breakfast. I could’ve gotten you a proper…” His voice trailed off, his attention dropping to the tabletop, eyes unfocused. Haltingly he said, “I do… have something… to give you.”
Nell, breathless, could only say, “You don’t have to—”
Before the phrase could fully form, though, he’d pushed back his chair, its legs scraping against the floor. Quickly he strode back into his room, from whence rummaging sounds emerged.
She sat frozen, caught between curiosity and guilt. She’d kept her birthday to herself so that he wouldn’t feel obligated to gift her anything. And yet, even without knowing what mysterious item he might produce, she wanted it simply because it came from him.
Soon enough, Rowe emerged, fist clenched. “Hold out your hand and close your eyes. There’s nothing nice to wrap it in, so this is the best I can do.”
She bit her lower lip but followed instructions. After a brief but captivating pause, something light dropped onto her palm. She opened her eyes to a slender silver ring. Three tiny, faceted stones shimmered on its surface.
“I bought a pair of wedding rings back when I was in Kinstol,” said Rowe, looking more worried than she’d ever seen him. “I didn’t know if we’d need them, or if you’d even want one. And I didn’t know your size either, so it might need an adjustment.”
Her heart fluttered as she slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. It slid over her knuckle but was looser at the base. “It’s fine. I prefer it like this.” There was no point in adjusting it when she’d only waste away.
Rowe rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.”
“Of course I like it. You think I’ve ever had any jewelry? But it’s just glass, isn’t it? I mean, we’re only pretending, so you wouldn’t buy a ring with real gemstones, would you?”
A wry smile broke upon his face. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“It’s glass,” Nell insisted.
He nodded. “Yes, obviously. Although, if I’d known about your birthday, I might have spent some real money—”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, too distracted with admiring the delicate ring upon her hand. She twisted it in a full circle, delighting in the smoothness of the band against her skin.
Rowe settled again into his chair. “At least my dignity is saved.”
Nell glanced up at him. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, even as she returned her attention to his gift, “but thank you. I do love it.”
He grunted. “I should’ve waited until after breakfast. All this food might go to waste now.”
The good-humored remark pulled her head out of the clouds. She focused on the birthday meal, on Rowe’s company, knowing she could revel in her new treasure later.
And when, that afternoon, she noticed that he wore a wedding band as well, she counted it a perfect day.
The first yellow leaves appeared a week later. Nell spotted them from the front porch, a cluster of gold that fluttered in the cool breeze. She felt no need to mention it to Rowe. With his acute awareness of the world, he’d probably seen them already.
He trekked into the village that very afternoon. She had dinner ready and waiting by the time he returned. He dropped into his chair with a heavy sigh, but his weariness ebbed at the sight of food.
“I’ve seen the landlord,” he said. “Most of the furniture stays here. Do you want to take the curtains?”
There was no preamble, no reminder that she had said they would leave if she survived to the change of seasons.
“No,” said Nell. “What would I do with them, turn them back into a dress?”
His mouth tilted upward in amusement. “You might hang them on the window back home.”
“Home?” she echoed. Alarm wrenched through her at that single word.
Rowe nodded, nonchalant as he explained. “I figured we could hole up in Middlewood for the winter. That seems like the most logical place to go.”
Instinctively she didn’t want to, but she’d already told him he could choose their next destination. Besides that, she’d pulled him away from his home for long enough already.
Still, it stung that, after escaping Middlewood, she was going back there to die.
Her voice cracked. “When do we leave?”
“Week’s end. I have to see about getting a cart, and it’ll take us a few days on the road—you don’t mind camping out underneath the stars for a couple nights, do you?”
“We’re not going by stage?” As the words left her lips, she realized her mistake. “We can’t, can we, because we don’t have the proper papers.” Enough time had passed that Dr. Preston’s affidavit was no longer valid. Short of forging a new one, she could never use public means of transportation again.
Rowe waved aside her concerns. “We have a horse. He’s old, but he can pull a cart with our few belongings and you in it. It’ll take us longer, but we’ll be a lot more comfortable. And we can avoid Kinstol altogether.”
At mention of that last detail, Nell readily agreed to the plan.
Week’s end was only three days away. She spent her time cleaning and packing to put the cottage in perfect order. Whether Mr. Clifford let it to anyone else was none of her concern, but she would leave it better than she had found it.
She and Rowe went together into town on their last day. While Nell exchanged farewells and sweet rolls with Rufus at the inn, Rowe sought out a decent cart to buy. They returned to the cottage in the falling twilight and spent a tranquil last evening there.
At first light, they loaded their belongings and started down the road. Nell, in the back, watched the cottage disappear from sight.
Regret pierced through her, sorrow that she hadn’t died there after all.
Her belongings lay packed in the trunk Lady Sarah had given her, with the exception of the bell from the porch. This she kept in its box on her lap, loath to part with it even in transport. More than once she opened the box, but she refrained from holding the bell aloft to hear its familiar, comforting clang. Rowe would think she’d become obsessed, even if he never spoke a word against her behavior.
Their horse plodded at a steady pace, Rowe careful not to push him. The poor creature had spent weeks roaming at will, with nothing heavier than Nell to burden him. Now he had a cart with two passengers and their belongings.
Somehow, though, he managed.
They skirted up the coast on a roundabout route that would take them the better part of a week if they had fine weather all the way. By the fourth day when their path finally curved inland, gray clouds lingered overhead and threatened rain. A chill settled in the air, fair warning of cold days ahead.
That night, Nell jolted awake. The whole of her mark flared with violent, burning rage. She curled into herself, agony twisting her face. The campfire had faded to meager light and scant warmth against the piercing cold that surrounded them. Her blanket, thick though it was, could not compensate. Her whole body had turned to ice while she slept, and now the deathmark burned a furious path straight through her.
Rowe was at her side in an instant. He tossed some firewood onto the coals and gathered Nell up, blanket and all, in his arms.
“No complaints,” he said severely when she started to protest. He moved to sit in front of the rekindling fire and wrapped his own blanket around himself and Nell together.
He emanated warmth. That was all she cared about in the moment. She burrowed her head against his shoulder and clenched one hand in his shirt to keep him close, greedily stealing his heat back to her own icy limbs. Pain carved its way through her for the better part of an hour, and when it finally ebbed, Nell drifted to sleep, too exhausted even to untangle herself from him.
At midmorning she awoke to the jostling of the cart beneath her. Wrapped snugly in both her blanket and Rowe’s, she moved her head to peer at him in the driver’s seat.
He saw the movement, small though it was. “You’re awake? There’s a little bread left if you’re hungry.”
“What time did we leave?” she asked groggily. “Where are we?”
“About three miles from the Capital Highway. How do you feel?”
She sat up, stiff and aching. They had camped at least a half a day from where the highway met the back roads they had followed. “Three miles? What time did we leave this morning?”
“Early,” he said, and then asked again, “How do you feel?”
She felt like she’d been crushed under a load of bricks. “Fine,” she said.
“Liar,” he muttered under his breath.
“You should’ve woken me.”
He cast a dry glance over his shoulder, proof that Nell was wasting her breath. She might’ve forbidden him to speak of the deathmark, but after an episode like last night’s, she could hardly blame him for acting this way. If their positions had been reversed, she wouldn’t have woken him either.
So, she gnawed on a heel of bread as the cart rumbled down the road. They were nearing the last of their provisions and the bread was noticeably dry, but Nell wasn’t worried about running out. If they were so close to the highway, they were also within a day of Middlewood. They might conceivably reach home that night, depending on how often they stopped.
Nell didn’t ask his plans. She trusted that he knew where he was going, but she also didn’t want to test his temper. Rowe always made her rest after attacks. It had been so long since she’d had one that she’d all but forgotten the toll it took on her.
“Hey,” she said suddenly, “thank you.”
Rowe turned a frown her direction.
Nell cleared her throat. “For taking care of me last night, I mean. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
