Everyone was preparing for the festival. The castle was bustling with preparations. The fields were full of men bringing in the harvest. Magnus took a long turn watching at the walls, and I spent that time with Lizbeth but then he came to the nursery later. “Good afternoon Lizbeth, might I take Kaitlyn for a time?”

He was so formal it sort of took my breath away.

I rose and followed him to the hall. “I wanted tae walk tae the stables and see the horses. And I wanted ye tae go with me.”

“Of course.” He held out a hand and we walked through the halls, side by side, my hand in his. Near the bottom of the steps he paused. “Here.”

“What is here?”

“Here is where I tried tae get under your skirts so long ago. Remember that night?”

I smiled at the memory of his fumbling desire. “I do.”

We began to walk again across the wide foyer and through the courtyard. The sky was high and blue with tufts of clouds rolling across it. Brisk and cool, but a beautiful day all the same. I tucked my other hand around his elbow and held tight to his arm as we traveled across a wide field.

“We aren’t going to the stables?”

“Nae, twas just a ruse tae get ye tae come with me for a walk.” Without letting go of my hand he wrapped a strong arm around me and pulled me to his front.

We were very close, almost nose to nose, he looking down at me. I looked up into his eyes. “Hello, mo reul-iuil.”

“Hi.”

“You needed some warm sun on ye.”

His face was just right there, so close. I said, “I did. It feels good.”

“Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes. Warm sun on my face, my husband’s breath on my cheek. I peeked up and his eyes were closed too. His head bowed over me holding me securely around the back. I closed my eyes again and relaxed onto his arm and breathed deeply. I breathed in the scent of the field grasses in the sun — a smell almost like warm bread. There was also the scent of the woods farther along, pine tree and soil, and Magnus with the scent of the world here — woods and castle and wool. His head lowered and the stubble beard he had been growing for the past four days lightly pressed to my temple.

His breath in my ear.

I pressed closer, up, toward him.

And his voice from deep inside rising up to vibrate to my ear. “I have missed ye.”

I breathed that in and held it deep inside wrapping around my lungs, filling the spaces that had been so empty for so long.

My hand reached up to steady his face and to pull his lips closer, but I peeked. The images flashed through my mind — images of terror and pain and gore and — I clamped my eyes tight and pressed my forehead to his cheek. Then I tucked my head against his chest and the spell was broken.

He released my arm and we both stepped away from each other. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m trying. I really am.”

I looked at the ground, the woods, the far castle, anywhere but at him. His brow furrowed.

“What is happening tae us, Kaitlyn?”

“I don’t know, I just…”

He watched my face. “You just…?”

“I need more time to trust you.”

“Aye.”

I was so pissed at myself.

He shook his head. “Ye haena forgiven me yet.”

“I have. I mean, I understand and I…” My voice trailed off.

He looked away at the horizon and then back at me. “I am sorry, Kaitlyn. I am sorry that I canna tell ye in the right way so that ye ken what I mean. I love ye. I dinna mean tae break ye. I wanted tae save your life.”

I watched his face as he spoke. There was pain there. Sadness and despair. It wasn’t the face of a liar. I had seen enough of those.

I wrapped my arms around his injured chest, mindful of his hurt ribs, and tucked my head there. I nodded. And I gingerly held on.

I felt his strength. His arms wrapped around my back. His cheek pressed the top of my head.

The more I held him the more I felt loved. Until finally, my voice muffled against his chest, I said, “I know. I understand. I do.”

“Ye have forgiven me then?”

I nodded, rubbing my tears into the linen of his shirt. “Yes, I do, I forgive you, but I don’t know how to get back there from here. I’m scared that I don’t know.”

“I daena ken either, mo reul-iuil, I was countin’ on ye for the guidance.”

He pulled up my chin to meet my lips. I shook my head and pulled away. “We’ll figure it out.” I pushed the hair from my eyes. “We will, we’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t say anything. He held out his hand and I took it and we walked some more ignoring what had just happened — I couldn’t kiss my husband.

I didn’t want to.

And I was really really worried about that.

The long hours holding hands with him, watching him do the work of gentling me back to him. It was filling my heart with love. Because Lizbeth had been wrong about that — it wasn’t me that needed to do the gentling. It was Magnus.

And he was doing it.

But though I had forgiven him in my heart, I couldn’t stop my mind.

My mind kept reliving that feeling of being abandoned, and that struggle, that crime, that brutal death by my hands. The blood on them.

And the woman in his arms.

There was not enough soap in the eighteenth century to clean up this mess.

Not enough showers.

Maybe when we went home and I cleaned some more...