He merely stared, and thinking he did not understand, she reached out and grasped his hand, plunging it into the flow of water. “Warm, see?”
Grim nodded, and she could not quite make out his expression. How could hot water ever be displeasing? He seemed to be making it so, and she was frustrated that she did not understand him. But now was hardly the time, not when he should be allowed to have a proper wash before they...
Her cheeks burned. They had slept closely before and tonight was hardly different. Even if it felt so, now that they had spoken of love and shared kisses between them, and would soon be retiring to bed.
A part of her wondered if he would insist on sitting upright in one of the chairs, guarding the door while she had the bed to herself, but the thought did not settle well. She wanted them safe, and most importantly, wanted Grimult’s presence to remain hidden from any of the land-dwellers, but there was no denying that she craved his nearness, even in sleep.
“I do recognise that we have bathed together before,” Grimult commented stiffly, and if she peered just so in the lantern light, she thought she could see a pinking about his ears and neck that suggested he was embarrassed. “But did you intend on remaining here for this one as well?”
It was Penryn’s turn to flush, turning hastily to put down the lamp. “Of course not,” she assured him, all blushes and fumbles as she made her retreat. “I will...” she made a vague gesture toward the main room, not knowing what exactly she intended to do while she waited, before she shut the door behind her before she had to finish her response. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment she imagined Grimult peeling off his layers of clothing, revealing warm skin and strong muscles, and she bit her lip. She required a distraction, and although the drowsy part of her insisted she crawl into bed and wait, the other reminded her that if Grimult held more confidence in the bolt on the door, he might be inclined to retire with her.
Tucking her shawl more firmly about her shoulders, she went back to study the mechanisms on the door. They were twines of metalwork, the crafter obviously inspired by nature, leaves and vines twining and twirling into an elaborate dance, although what their function was on a door she could not begin to name.
Reason told her that they must be some manner of lock, and she reached out a finger, wondering if touch could reveal something that her vision alone could not. There was no handle, nothing to suggest that some inner working was truly a simple bolt in disguise, but the work continued onto the doorframe just as the receiving end of the upper lock did, so that must be its function.
A slight give when her finger passed just so. A hole. Larger than her own digit, suggesting it would accommodate a man’s as well, and although she felt a moment’s fear that it was some sort of trap, that it was not wise to stick delicate appendages into unknown spaces, she reminded herself firmly that this dwelling was maintained by the sages and they would not see her harmed.
Or so she hoped.
Her finger placed, she gave a slight pressure and the whole device turned smoothly, hooking and securing into place, metallic clicks suggesting that it was solidly placed and would allow no entry.
Satisfied with herself and her mastery of the strange door, she took up their mugs from earlier and set to washing them with a soft cloth and a chunk of soap already waiting by the basin in the kitchen. It felt so wonderfully domestic, like any other home with a warm fire and dishes to be washed after an evening shared.
Awaiting a husband before they could truly retire for the night.
She frowned, the fantasy ending. He was not her husband, and likely never would be, not when none would see them wedded. There were times before such things, of course. When mates were taken, their bonds sealed when a fledgling appeared rather than by solemn vow or a blessing, but she did not think Grimult could overlook tradition so completely.
She shook herself. There was no point in dwelling on such matters. She did not have a life to offer him, happily domestic or otherwise. She would have to return where she was forbidden, and if they did not execute her outright, then she would likely spend the rest of her days locked in the lowest reaches of the Keep, until time had taken its toll and none could hear secrets she likely could not even recall in her later days.
The thought was a sobering one, and she dimmed many of the lights save the on by the bed. She added another log to the fire to give them warmth through the coldest hours, and then retreated to bed with far less anticipation coiled in her belly.
They would sleep, that was all. There could be no fledglings, no deeper
