Page 20 of So Close To Heaven
“Oh, gosh, no. I don’t need you to do that, but, um, maybe could you take this room right next door?” She asked, feeling small and weak, but determined to know some peace with his close proximity. Nervously, she pointed to the wall at her left, beyond which her nosing around had already shown her was another small cell like this.
Alaric hesitated, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then, with a short nod, he said, “Aye. I’ll see that it’s occupied.”
She noticed that he hadn’t specifically said he would occupy the room.
He turned slightly, half ready to leave, but then his gaze dropped. His eyes fell to her bare feet, still pale and chilled, and he went suddenly still. And then his entire body jerked back a fraction, as though he'd just spotted a snake curled beside her toes.
“What is—?” His voice faltered, and he pointed abruptly, his brows knotting tightly. “Is that... is that blood?”
Startled, Ivy looked down, following his wide-eyed stare to her red-painted toes.
“Oh! No.” She huffed a small laugh, more breath than sound. “No, it’s not blood.”
He didn’t seem convinced. “It glints in the torchlight. Red... shimmerin’. Ye—ye’re not wounded?”
“It’s not blood,” she repeated, gentler this time, lifting one foot between them to show him. “It’s nail polish. You know—” She caught herself. “Well, no. You don’t know. It’s paint. For toes. A cosmetic thing. But not... not war paint or anything.”
She could see the confusion in his eyes, the effort it took while he attempted to categorize this strangeness. His gaze returned to her feet, then back to her face, then again to her feet.
Ivy grinned, rather amused by his befuddlement. “It’s just a thing some women do,” she added. “Paint their toenails. It’s pretty,” she informed him. She was and always had been a firm believer that unpainted toes were very unattractive.
He made a low sound in his throat—part grunt, part exhale—then slowly nodded, still clearly baffled.
The corner of her mouth lifted again, but her good humor didn’t last.
Because his face—that reaction, his bewilderment—was just more proof. Proof she wasn’t crazy, and she wasn’t merely dreaming. She was far, far from home, hundreds of years from anything familiar.
Her smile fell. The air between them cooled again.
Alaric seemed to catch the shift in her but said nothing. He gave another small nod, this time more to himself than to her.
“I’ll be nearby, if ye have a need,” he said at last, voice low and sure once again.
Then he was gone, the door closing with a whisper-soft scrape behind him.
***
Light spilled across the rough flagstone floor, bright enough to rouse Ivy from a fitful sleep. She blinked against it, her body heavy, her mouth dry. For a moment she lay still, remembering where she was, the stone cell, the narrow cot, the fourteenth century.
She closed her eyes and sighed, her hand reaching for her belly, concern etching her brow. She had to wait several minutes before she felt her stomach leap. Ivy smiled in relief. A moment later, she laughed softly when her stomach continued to move.
But then the other truth dawned on her and her smile slid away. Nothing had changed. Or rather, she hadn’t woken from this dream.
After another few minutes, she sat up. Being seven months pregnant meant that having to pee was a near-constant state of being. She cringed internally at the thought of making use of the garderobe during the day, possibly running into or being walked in on by a MacKinlay soldier.
She thought for a minute before she stood, having made a decision. Though she had no idea how long they’d make use of this place, one thing was certain: men had less need of a chamber pot than a woman—especially a pregnant woman. With that in mind, she tiptoed down the cold corridor to the garderobe she’d used yesterday. The tiny room was dank, drafty, and as unappealing as the night before, but she found a chamberpot tucked along the wall. Hesitating only a moment, she took it up, cringing as she dumped its contents out the glassless window before carrying it gingerly back to her little room.
She’d barely made use of the thing before a firm knock sounded at her door. Ivy startled, shoving the pot beneath the cot, and then took a second to make sure her jacket wasn’t accidentally tucked into her leggings before pulling the door open.
Alaric stood there, shoulders squared, though his eyes looked shadowed with fatigue. His nod was curt, more of an acknowledgment than a greeting.
“We’ll be out again today,” he said without preamble, his deep voice rasping with weariness. “I dinna ken for how long. Kendrick and Blair will remain behind. Ye seek them out if ye have a need.”
“Okay. Thank you,” Ivy replied, her tone a little brighter than she felt.
He gave another short nod and began to turn away, but she blurted, “Quick question before you go.”
He stilled, his head angling slightly back toward her.
