Page 36 of Winterset

Oliver

The steep spiral stairs creaked beneath our feet as we ascended to the attic.

“So, what exactly is in the attic?” I asked.

“You mean, besides ghosts?” Kate smiled over her shoulder at me, and I felt it everywhere.

“Certainly not, seeing as I have vanquished all the ghosts from this house,” I teased.

“My dear Oliver,” she tsked. “It is precisely the ghosts I want to show you.”

“Now I am intrigued.”

When we reached the top of the stairs, it was cold, but with a few windows, it was somewhat light.

Still, I could not imagine how Kate must have felt having to hide up here.

I glanced at the hidden door that led to the tiny, dark priest hide she’d used for a bedchamber.

It pained me to think about her sitting all alone in the dark, so I shifted my gaze and saw her traveling trunk—contents of her past life all packed away. Life had been so unfair to her. Cruel.

“This way.” Kate looked over her shoulder at me, smiling as she moved toward the northwest corner of the attic.

I attempted a smile in return, but seeing this attic now made me feel so sad. She deserved so much more.

We passed the portraits tilted against the wall, then ducked under a low beam. She slowed when we reached the attic corner. The barren corner.

I glanced around the space skeptically.

“Look closely,” she said and pointed at the wall.

Squinting, I could see the faintest outline of a piece of furniture and a smoke stain on the wall above it. But I couldn’t guess what might be remarkable about this corner. I looked at her in question.

“I believe Mrs. Owensby told you about Winterset’s tragic history?” she said.

“She did ... Am I about to become part of this tragic history?” I eyed her teasingly.

“What?” Kate laughed. “Of course not!”

I glanced at the wall again, thinking I might find evidence of another priest hide, but saw nothing. “So, you brought me up to this hidden part of the attic to ... ?”

“Show you some of the things the priests left behind.”

That got my attention. “They left things behind?”

“They did.” She took a tentative step forward, tapping the floor with her toe. She did so a few times until she heard a hollow sound. She knelt and lifted the floorboard to reveal a small space. There was something inside, but it was covered with cloth.

Kate carefully peeled back the cloth, then looked at me as if to gauge my reaction.

It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing. Candlesticks, a platter, a cross; the vessels once used for mass. “I can’t believe it,” I said, kneeling beside her. “How long have these relics been here?”

“Likely since the time of Queen Elizabeth.” Kate grinned at me.

“Over three hundred years.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Incredible. May I?” I looked at her in question.

“Of course. This house and everything inside it are yours.”

Not everything.

When I made no move to retrieve the relics, Kate lifted one of the candlesticks toward me. I knelt beside her and took it. I turned the sacred item over in my hands. It was heavy. Silver. “There is a small fortune here,” I said. “It is a wonder these items have not been sold.”

“I believe they would have been had anyone before me discovered them.”

“What did your father think of these?”

“He didn’t know,” I admitted.

“You never showed him?”

“He forbade me from coming up to the attic. With the exposed nails and uneven floorboards, he thought it was too dangerous. And if I’d told him about these, he would have known I’d been disobedient.”

“You have always been sneaky?” I grinned at her.

“I have always been curious .” She corrected.

“Curious Kate,” I said, trying the moniker on for size. “I like it.”

“I don’t. I already feel bad about disobeying him. You have no need to tease me, Odious Oliver .”

“ Now who’s teasing?” I bumped my shoulder lightly into hers.

Even in the dark, I saw how her cheeks pinked. I liked it. I liked that I’d been the one to put it there.

I turned back to the relics, put the candlestick back in its hiding place, then ran my hands reverently over the other items: the lavabo dish used for washing hands, a chalice that once held wine as well as the matching communion cups, and the patten that had held the bread.

“I truly cannot believe these are here,” I said.

“There’s more.” Kate slid back and lifted another floorboard. “This is where the most precious items are hidden.”

I sucked in a breath when my gaze landed on the monstrance. It had an ornately engraved base that rose like a candlestick to a sunburst top. In the center of the sun, there was a cylindrical eye where the lunette once held the consecrated bread. It was quite literally breathtaking.

I reached out to touch the relic at the same time Kate did, and our hands brushed.

The unexpected touch sent a wave of warmth through me.

But I stilled, remembering how she’d fled when I’d touched her hair in the drawing room after our card game.

It was then I noticed how close we were sitting.

So close our knees nearly touched. Did she notice? Did she mind?

She didn’t shy away from me, and her eyes did not seem fearful, only searching, as her gaze rose to my forehead. To my scar. Did she find it repulsive?

I pushed my hair forward to hide the imperfection.

“Don’t,” she said, and her hand rose between us. “May I?”

I hesitated, not because I didn’t want her to touch me but because I did. Charlie’s words replayed in my mind. Kate was living under my protection. I should not be sitting here alone in an attic with her like this. And yet ... I nodded.

She leaned forward and brushed back the curls from my forehead with one hand. I could smell rose water on her wrist. Soft and sweet. She brushed her thumb lightly over my scar, studying it.

My heart raced.

Charlie had removed the stitches, but in their place was a one-inch scar. A straight line of fresh, white skin.

“It’s healing nicely,” she said, sitting back and setting her hand in her lap.

“I believe I might have you to thank for that?”

“You don’t remember?” Her beautiful brow furrowed.

“The details of that night are fuzzy.” I’d tried to recall the events of that night many times but had not been able to. “Could you remind me?”

“I would be happy to,” she said. “Tell me, have you any formal musical training? You have quite the vibrato.”

“I sang that night?”

“You did.” She grinned. “In both Italian and French, no less.”

“You jest.”

“I promise I do not.” She laughed to herself.

Lud! What she must have thought of me, returning to Winterset in such a state. Singing ! And with a head wound, which she’d had to stitch. “I only remember one thing about that night,” I admitted. “Your eyes.”

She looked away, feigning interest in the relics. “Yes, well, they have always been too big for my face.”

Was she in earnest? “If you are fishing for a compliment, you needn’t. Your eyes are beautiful, Kate. Truly, I thought of nothing else for days.”

She met my gaze.

I’d said too much. I knew it, and so did she. “Forgive me. I should not have said that. I can only imagine what you thought of me that night.”

“I thought that I had never wanted to paint a portrait more,” she said.

“Because you wished to erase this unsightly scar?”

She shook her head. “ Because of it.”

Was she lying? Trying to make me feel better about the imperfection? I’d applied salve to it every day since my accident to help minimize the scarring, but I suspected it was here to stay.

“It tells a story, Oliver. One you may not wish to remember but one I will never forget.” And there was something about the way she said that, about the way she searched my face that undid me.

“I overheard what you said to Charlie last night,” she said.

“While you were dressing for dinner,” she clarified as if it were not already painfully clear what conversation she was referring to.

I tried to recall exactly what was said and then, remembering, decided I’d rather not remember.

I trained my gaze on the priest treasure.

“Why did you tell Charlie not to pursue me?” she asked softly.

Was she asking because she wanted him to pursue her?

Or was she asking because she wanted to know my motive for asking him not to?

I was confused about my motive for doing so, so it stood to reason that she would be too.

But I had a history of not reading women well.

I tried to gauge her thoughts, but her expression was inscrutable.

“Does it bother you that I asked him not to?”

As soon as I’d asked the question, I wanted to snatch it back because I was not sure I would like her answer.

But then, ever so slowly, she shook her head. “No,” she said finally, and I felt like I could breathe again. “But I would like to know why.”

“You know why.” My gaze sank to her lips.

We sat only a breath away from each other; it would be so easy to kiss her. I wanted to—the devil, I wanted to—but what did she want?

I didn’t know for certain.

And until I did, I had no right kissing her.

There was too much unsaid between us. She’d heard our conversation so she must know something about how I felt for her.

But I didn’t know what was in her heart.

I didn’t want to do the wrong thing again and scare her away.

Worse, what if she felt she had to kiss me in order to stay here? The thought made me feel sick.

I sat back at the same time she closed her eyes and leaned toward me.

I wanted to lean in too. I wanted to kiss her. But it wasn’t right yet. It took every ounce of my resolve, but I managed to say, “We should return downstairs.”

“Oh.” Kate’s breath caught, and her eyes snapped open. She promptly sat back, her cheeks bright red. “Forgive me, Mr. Jennings,” she said, looking at the ground.

“There is no need. Kate, I—”

“I forgot myself for a moment,” she pressed on. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Oh, how I hoped that were not the case.

She stood and retreated toward the door.

“Please, wait a moment,” I said softly, but she sharply shook her head and continued toward the door.

“Kate,” I called after her, but she did not stop.

I wanted to run after her, to pull her into my arms and kiss her so soundly that we both forgot these past few moments.

But I couldn’t.

Well, I could, but I wouldn’t. I cared for her too much to treat her so selfishly. So I stood there and watched her go.