Chapter 7: The Kiss

Caleb came back before dawn with snow in his hair and frost on his eyelashes.

I was awake on the bunk with the cloak around me, listening to the stove tick.

He stood in the doorway with the cold coming in around him.

"The drivers are asleep," he said. "The horses are fine. I walked to the ridge and back twice."

"In that wind?"

"It helped."

"With what?"

He didn't say. He shut the door and leaned his back against it.

His eyes were hazel again, but his hands weren't steady.

I sat up.

The ache in my chest had ground on for hours.

It eased with every step he took toward me, until I could breathe all the way in.

"Come here," I said.

"Rosalind."

"I'm cold."

"That isn't an excuse," he said.

"I know it isn't."

He crossed the room in three strides, knelt in front of the bunk and put his forehead against mine.

For a moment we only breathed.

Then I turned my face and kissed him.

It wasn't gentle.

He made a rough sound against my mouth and pulled me forward until I knelt on the edge of the bunk.

His hands were in my hair, and my fingers were knotted in his collar.

His mouth was cold and then it wasn't. He tasted of snow and smoke.

I tugged at the buttons of his coat.

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