Page 14 of The Witch's Cottage
I opt to ignore that one. Grabbing the still-clean cloth, I pour a bit of the boiled water over it. Once it’s cooled, I use it to clean Alden’s thumb.
“Hold that on there while I make a poultice.”
“Poultice?” He goes to stand up. “No, I’m—”
“Alden.” My tone is so biting that it sends him right back into the wooden chair. If I knew a binding spell, I’d use it on him to keep him put. “Stay. Hush. I’m making you a poultice, and you’renotgoing to complain. Understand?”
His grumpy nod is all I need to turn back to my counter. I fetch my mortar and pestle, then sprinkle some slippery elm bark powder into the bowl. Using the water from the kettle, I pour a small amount in and start stirring. It doesn’t take long for the powder and water to mix into a thick paste, perfect for applying to wounds.
“Are you sure about that?” Alden asks as I approach the table with my mortar.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little cottage witchcraft,” I say, arching a brow at him.
“No. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.” His wary eyes say otherwise.
“I don’t nettle you about your carpentry; you shouldn’t nettle me about my concoctions. Hand it over.”
Reluctantly, Alden gives me his hand. I gently apply the poultice to his wound, then grab a strip of thin cloth and wrap it around his thumb to keep the wound clean and dry.
As I’m wrapping, I suddenly notice howwarmhis skin is. He’s like a big fire, and the heat he puts out is calming andcomforting. It makes me want to know what it would feel like to be wrapped in his embrace.
I finish with his bandage, tucking the end of the cloth into itself, but I don’t let go of his hand right away. Gathering my courage, I glance up and into his eyes.
And he’s staring right back at me. There’s a furrow in his brow, but it doesn’t look irritable this time; instead, he’s focusing on me intently, eyes narrowed just a bit so tiny crow’s-feet appear along the outer edges of his eyelids.
Something about his look makes me feel like it’s safe to lift my hand from his and trace my fingertips delicately across those tiny wrinkles. For a moment, I picture him working out in the sun, eyes narrowed against the bright light. The lines on his face and around his eyes tell stories—stories I want to hear, want to memorize, want to know deep inside my bones.
I want to knowhim.
As soon as my fingers meet his face, he softens, sighing into the touch. His eyelids flutter closed, and he presses his face into my hand, as if he’s been yearning for just this—my skin on his skin, our bodies heating this shared space as the bread bakes in the coals.
A whisper of a sigh leaves my lips. Alden’s eyes open, meeting mine. For a moment, I worry he’s going to pull away, to slam the shutters over the windows into his heart and deny me access yet again.
So imagine my surprise when he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
The kiss is sudden and somewhat clumsy. It takes me a moment to settle into the sensation of his scruffy beard onmy face, his mouth moving with my mouth. But after that brief moment of surprise passes, I can’t hold myself back.
I’ve thought of him every night since the afternoon I first knocked on his door, have imagined what his hands might feel like trailing over my skin as I’ve dressed each morning. And now that he’s given me this tiny chance, an opportunity to discover the truths to these questions I’ve wondered about, I don’t want to let it go to waste.
With a breathy sigh, I pull Alden’s bottom lip into my mouth, catch it between my teeth.
His response is immediate, like he doesn’t even have a chance to consider how he feels about this, aboutme. He reaches out, and the next thing I know, he’s pulled me onto his lap, and I’m seated on his knees, my arms snaking up to wrap around his strong neck. There’s a tingling between my legs, a warm wetness that makes me squirm against him.
If he were to reach for the hem of my skirt, I wouldn’t stop him.
One of his arms wraps around my waist, holding me tight, and he reaches up with the other to push a hand through my hair, tangling it in his fingers. My tongue darts out to trace his lower lip, and beneath the back of my thigh, his cock pulses.
And it sends a bolt of excitement through me.
So much excitement that it takes me an additional twenty seconds of heavy kissing to detect the smell of something burning, then another fifteen to realize—
“My bread!”
I leap off Alden’s lap, already reaching for the long brush propped up against the hearth to sweep the coals off the top of the baking pot. I’m vaguely aware of Alden standingbehind me as I grab my mitts and pull the lid off the baking dish.
A bit of smoke rushes up into my face, making me cough. When the smoke clears and I can see clearly into the dish, I sigh.
“I burned it.”
