Page 26 of Crown of Iron
“Don't any of you step foot in my kitchen until you've washed your hands,” she says, earning a chorus of moans.
The kids race down the hall toward the washroom, and Kyron enters the kitchen. I'm glad to see his tunic on his body and not in his hand. My self-esteem can only take so many hits a day, and after getting caught spying and then staring, I've reached my maximum. He gives Shianne a sheepish grin and holds his dirty hands up in surrender as he moves to the sink.
“You should be good on wood for more than two weeks. I reshoed the horse and greased the wheels on the wagon. Your trip into town tomorrow should be smooth,” he says, lathering his hands with soap.
“As always, you've done more than necessary,” she says, her tone filled with gratitude.
He shakes his head like a belligerent teenager anddoesn't say anything. For a man who’s godlike at Basecamp, he sure doesn't like the praise. And I get it. Today wasn't about glory, but humbling himself and serving the family of one of his fallen soldiers. Joel made the ultimate sacrifice for our kingdom. A small act of kindness in return doesn't compare.
Kyron looks out the window and dries his hands. I can't help but think about when I was sitting in that very spot. Embarrassment courses through me, and I wonder if he is remembering as well.
“Do we have time for one more quick project before we leave?” I ask, the words tumbling from my mouth like a landslide.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks.
“No more projects.”
I ignore Shianne's protest and step closer to Kyron. “It gets hot in here when the oven is on, and the window is jammed. I was trying to open it earlier.”
“Is that what you were doing? I thought you’d taken a seat inside the sink to gawk at me as I cut wood.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we fix it?”
Shianne huffs and mumbles about her children listening better than adults.
Kyron fiddles with the window, pulling on each side to get a feel for the problem. After several minutes, he manages to crack it, but as soon as he lets go, it slams shut.
He points back toward the stove and says, “Grab that can of cooking grease.”
I twist off the top and hold it out to him.
He shakes his head and grunts as he lifts. “I'm going to need your help. Slather it in the jambs at the bottom and top while I keep sliding it up and down.”
I assess the situation for a moment. Kyron is bent over the sink with a hand on either side of the window. My arms aren't long enough to reach over him and keep an appropriate distance. I glance at the can and back to him. Why does no good deed go unpunished?
I stand beside him and reach for the sides of the window, but his broad shoulders don't give me much space. My fingertips brush the bottom of the sill, leaving an insubstantial amount of grease, but I can't reach the top at all.
He lifts his arm and motions with his head for me to step betweenhim and the sink. “Get up here like you were earlier.”
I squeeze into the tight space, placing my back flush to his front. Images of the lean muscle I admired while he was chopping wood flash through my head. My body grows hot against his, uncomfortably so. The heat I felt while prepping the pastries with Shianne is dull compared to this. I work quickly to put some space between us and hoist myself onto the counter. Like I did before, I place my feet in the sink. My new position gives me better access to the window, but Kyron is still too close. He leans into me, moving the window up and down as I apply the grease. Each movement of his arms presses his chest to my back and his breath fans across my nape.
“Almost there,” he says, and I fumble with the can.
Statera help me, I'm a complete wreck with him this close. His strange power wraps around me, curling up my arms and sliding down my spine. Perspiration pebbles on my skin and the air around me grows warm and thick. The sensations should be suffocating, but they’re not. His gift reminds me of crawling into cozy blankets on a cold night.
The window reaches the top and Kyron slides it open and closed several more times. He looks to Shianne, who stands with her hands on her hips, and says, “Do you have something I can prop it open with?”
With an amused look on her face, she hands him a wooden spoon, and he wedges it between the bottom of the window and the sill. He steps back and I scurry to get off the counter. I flap my arms like I can shake off the feeling of his gift and work my hardest to maintain a semblance of composure.
As if our close encounter didn't rattle him at all, Kyron says, “It's a temporary fix. I'll take care of it properly in a couple of weeks.”
“It's much appreciated, Kyron,” Shianne says, breezing past me and bumping me with her hip. Our eyes meet and she winks.
I chuckle. How can I deny the humor found in this day? It started a mess, and it ended almost as terrible. Except it didn't. Shianne and her family gave me little reminders of home and I appreciate that.
The sun is setting by the time we say our goodbyes to Shianne, Blaze, and Mia. The children take an extra moment alone with him, making him promise he’ll return in two weeks. I understand the fear driving their need to hear the oath. They've known loss on so many levels, and it's comforting to believe this won't be the last time they see each other. Kyron freely gives them the certainty they crave.
Before the children are finished with the general, Shianne leans into my side and gently squeezes my arm. “I know it's hard to let go of the things we were taught, but I encourage you to look beyond Kyron's eyes and see the person behind them. He's an excellent leader and a great man, Elle.”
