Page 16 of The Lord's Compass
“No. You will come to my room tonight.”
“I will most certainly not.”
The more he ignored her, the angrier she became. She knew, deep within that part of her that didn’t want to admit the truth, even to herself, that she was mostly upset at the situation she had placed herself in that had led to all of this, and the lack of control she had over what came next.
But it was much easier to be angry with him – even if it seemed she had no choice but to do what he said.
She sat there, silently fuming as her hand froze itself to blessed numbness, as he prepared everything – including handling her undergarments, although he did not seem perturbed in the least. He’d likely seen plenty of those before. Finally, he looked around, pleased with himself.
“Well, that’s it,” he said. “I’ll take this over and then return for you.”
“I can walk myself,” she said. “At least pass me my wrapper so I’m not walking the ship in my nightgown.”
He nodded, apparently completely unaffected that they had remained together in such deshabille. Although her nightgown probably covered far more than he was used to seeing women wearing in their chambers in the middle of the night.
He helped her into the wrapper, taking particular care of her injured hand. He lifted her valise in one hand and went to take the bucket with the other, but she waved him off.
“I can lift it myself,” she said.
“Very well,” he said, as they began the slow but short walk to his cabin. “Do you truly think it is broken?”
“No,” she said with a sigh at her overreaction, but it had certainly been painful. “Now that it’s been a few minutes, I would guess that it’s likely just bruised. Which is good. I would hate not being able to use it.”
“How could you ever shoot that bow of yours?”
She knew he was joking, but his statement was truer than he realized. Others saw archery as a pastime, but for her, it allowed her to release so much of the emotion that she kept within herself.
She stopped in the doorway of his cabin. He had been correct that it was bigger than hers, but not by much.
“How are the two of us going to live here together?” she asked, her mouth dropping open. “There is but one small bed and no private space for me to change my clothing or—or—” she couldn’t bring herself to say the rest.
“I am happy to turn my back or leave when required,” he said. “As for sleeping, you can take the bed. I shall gather the blankets from your cabin and sleep on the floor.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Very well,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “If you’d like to take the floor, that would be preferable for me.”
“I am not sleeping on the floor.”
“Share the bed, then?” he asked, one corner of his lips uplifted and his eyes twinkling.
Faith would have liked to tell him exactly what she thought of that suggestion, but she couldn’t help the short laugh that emerged.
“Oh, she responds to some humor, then,” he said.
She sat on the bed, holding her hand.
“I am not a complete witch.”
“I never said you were.”
She dropped her head, unable to look him in the eye. “I know that’s what everyone thinks of me. That I am the ice queen. Devoid of emotion. Unsympathetic. Unloving. Unlovable.”
“No one thinks that, Faith,” he said, sitting down next to her, lifting her injured hand out of the bucket before placing the bucket of water on the floor and lifting her arm by the wrist, taking a closer look at her injury.
“I have to ask you something,” she said, her heart pounding a bit harder, although whether it was from his touch or the conversation, she wasn’t entirely sure.
“Yes?”
