Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Bedrooms and Beds

Having tea with him and Varya in a rather cosy sitting room, undisturbed, wasn't so bad. She hadn't realised how hungry she'd been until she sank her teeth in her first scone. Varya kept whipping her head left and right, gawking, while enthusiastically chewing a pastry.

"I'm not going to conk out, don't worry," he murmured, and Anya jolted.

"What?"

He gave her a side glance, a smile hiding in the corners of his lips. "You keep throwing me concerned looks, älskling," he answered and took a sip of tea. "My medication is wearing off. Two nights in the hospital weren't the best for my back either. So I reckon, it's best I went to bed soon."

Anya froze, her second scone lifted to her mouth. Don't ask, she ordered herself.

"Where are we going to sleep?" Varya inquired offhandedly. She'd gotten up and was now standing in front of a large landscape in a heavy bronze frame on a wall. "At the farm Mum and I slept together, but it's because there was only one bed. And so you know, she always hogs the duvet." Varya looked at him over her shoulder. "Thought I'd warn you."

"Thank you for the warning," he said and chuckled. "You won't have to share a bed with your Mum. There are plenty of bedrooms. Let Mrs. Little show you around, and you can choose any room in the Western corridor. If memory serves me right, there are five bedrooms in that wing. My Uncle and Ms. Atieno occupy the East side of the floor, thankfully separated by a gallery."

Anya didn't fail to notice that her sleeping hadn't been discussed just now.

***

There were indeed five bedrooms in that part of the manor, and Varya stuck her nose into each one of them. Since Bjornsson kept encouraging and teasing her, his ashen face lighting up with small smiles, she was getting pretty bold. Anya had to bite her tongue a few times, acutely uncomfortable with how familiar Varya was behaving with the man. It had nothing to do with decorum, of course. It was the pain and disappointment that she was hoping to spare the girl when the time came to say goodbye to the comfort of a stately home, and having their tea served to them on a posh looking tea trolley, and a housekeeper following them around waiting for Varya to choose a room - more than anything, to the man himself.

"This one!" Varya pointed into a cosy room, full of light, its walls of pale cold pink, the bedding and the furnishings in teal.

"Very well, Ms. Varya," Mrs. Little said. "Let me show you where everything is."

The woman stepped in after Varya - and suddenly his fingers locked around Anya's wrist, and he pulled her after him, away from the door, along the hallway. Anya threw another quick glimpse into the room and let him lead her away.

He opened another door and hauled her in. He started turning, and she felt the grip of his hand on her forearm tightened. His fingers were so long that she felt his little finger dig almost into the crook of her elbow. He spun - and slammed into her, closing the door and pressing her against it. A raspy hollow grunt fell from his lips. Anya's breathing caught.

"Sorry," he muttered. She could feel his whole body shudder, again and again. "I can move– away– if it's not OK. Just say–"

Anya firmly wrapped her arms around his middle, mindful of his injuries, and lay her cheek against his sternum.

"That took a lot–" he whispered. "I'm not their employer anymore. Not even their master– but I couldn't let them scoff at you and Varya."

Anya softly slid her hand on the side of his spine, first up, and then down. She wasn't sure how much pressure, or contact in general, would be uncomfortable for him - but he didn't seem to mind.