Britta and I relinquished the bathroom and brushed each other’s hair by the fireplace, the serenity only interrupted by the occasional splash outside and pathetic moan. “Is Foss outside?” I asked Mace, who was still in line for the bathroom.
Charles nodded. “He’s using the second wind I gave him to try to get information out of Harold.”
“What?” The moan became more clearly heard as a groan for help. I leapt to my feet and scampered outside, immediately peppered with more rain. “Foss! You get inside right now! Leave him alone!”
“Go back in, Lucy. He’s our only shot at getting inside Pesta’s head.” He dunked Harold’s head underwater in one of the rain barrels with his giant muscles that punished with renewed strength.
“Stop!” I screamed, running with bare feet to him through the mud. My heart pounded, and the icy rain pelted me like fat fingers falling from the sky that was one thick gloomy cloud.
“Get inside!” Foss ordered again. “And put some real clothes on!”
I tried to wrestle Harold away from Foss, but if you can imagine, I lost. I did manage to dodge Foss’s backhand, though. “Please, Foss! Don’t do this! Just give me some time to talk to him. If that doesn’t work, you can try again.” I grasped around for anything to win the argument. “Don’t you want to dry off? Go inside. I’ll make sure you get the bed tonight! I’ll… I’ll make dinner for you! Just please let me try.”
Foss hesitated as he held Harold up by his arm. Harold looked so pathetic; I couldn’t allow Foss to work him over any longer. “He won’t tell you just because you ask nicely. This isn’t a tea party, Lucy.”
I took a risk and placed a hand on Foss’s muddy back. “If that’s true, you can have him back when I’m done. Please. If I was your real wife, wouldn’t you do whatever you could to make me happy?”
Foss spat on the ground. “You’re not my real wife. You’re the bane of my world.”
Back at you. “I don’t ask for anything. I’m your only chance to be married. Please. I saved your life twice. Do me this one thing.” I tapped my chest where his ring rested, an eternal reminder that I was a dead man’s property. “This hurts me. You’re breaking my heart hurting Harold like this. You should protect me from things like this.”
Foss stared into my eyes with a hard expression I never expected to change. “Lucy, I…”
I rubbed his back, feeling the ache in the firm muscles that were slick with sweat, rain and mud. “You’re so tired. You’ve been through so much. Let me help you. Remember how I helped you with the boat? The nets? Let me help you now. Go inside. Get yourself clean. Rest up a little. Let me handle Harold for you. You work so hard.” I laid it on thick, but in reality, every word was true. Foss did work hard. He’d carried a full-grown huge man I don’t know how many miles through mucky terrain. I leaned up on my toes, pulled him down and kissed his cheek. I could feel his exhaustion and the adrenaline that was ebbing. “Let me take care of you now. You can take care of everyone else in the morning.”
Foss’s shoulders drooped, a dramatic sweep that dropped Harold to the ground with a splat. The bloodied newbie was smart and stayed there, the sole witness to Foss brushing his lips to mine in a kiss that could only be described as grateful, and yet was somehow still platonic. He nodded, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’m so tired,” he admitted.
“Then let’s get you cleaned up so you can go to bed.” I gave up on the notion that my robe could be salvaged and hugged Foss, bracing myself when he sagged against me, nearly knocking me over. “Whoa! Okay, buddy. Inside with you.” Foss nodded, and allowed me to lead him into the house like a puppy. “Jens, could you go get Harold cleaned up? No more hurting him. I mean it. I’ll talk to him and see what I can find out, but he’s been through enough. Get him some clothes and help him wash up in the rain bucket outside.”
Jens nodded, standing from the designated mud spot near the front door. He was next in line for the bathroom, but sacrificed his spot for Foss, who looked half-dead and wholly beaten down.
Jamie had bathed in one of the rain barrels outside just so he could hurriedly clean himself and turn in. I tapped into my psychic link and saw that he and Britta were taking advantage of their rare moment of privacy in the master bedroom. I checked out of the link right quick before I eavesdropped on their alone time.
Charles exited the bathroom freshly bathed and wearing clean trousers borrowed from the man of the house that were a little too big on him. “All yours.” His tired grin met mine, and I could tell all of us would sleep well tonight. It had been a long time since we’d had a home to rest in. The crackling fire was a luxurious treat that proved a great comfort to the group.
I ushered Foss into the bathroom, expecting him to release my hand so he could have some privacy. Instead, the giant beast of a man pulled me into the small space with a lost expression that told me he wasn’t together enough to put thoughts in a proper order.
I took pity on him. He was too pathetic to take care of himself, but too proud to ask aloud for my assistance. “Do you need help?”
Foss just stared at me, and in the dim candlelight, I could see bags under his eyes and a haunted look I wasn’t sure would ever go away. “What?”
“Okay. Sit tight, darling husband.” I offered a small smile he did not return as I got down on my knees and ran a rag around the large steel basin, washing out as much of the leftover mud from the previous bathers as I could in one pass. I turned on the spigot that was connected to one of the rain barrels outside and ran a few inches of water in the tub. The emerald robe I wore was thoroughly wet and muddied, so I unhitched the belt and let it fall to the ground, hoping I’d be able to get the stains out. The child’s dressing gown I wore was only barely damp in spots, and totally devoid of dirt.
When I turned around, I noticed that Foss still had not moved. I stood in front of him, but he didn’t see me. It was a sad thing to watch someone so big and powerful be reduced to a shell of a man who couldn’t string words together.
Slowly, and with fingers gentle enough to stroke a child’s face, I coerced Foss to stand in the center of the bathroom. I had already seen him naked before, but this time I wasn’t angry at him for it, nor was I embarrassed as his trousers fell to the floor. I helped him into the tub and lowered him down. As I poured the cup of water over his head and started to wash his hair, Foss began to cry.
Silent tears I never expected to witness drooled down his cheeks, collecting in the water that was no longer clear. He made to cover his face, but I pulled his hands away. Finally the dam broke, and Foss clung to me, burying his face in my bosom and sobbing for all that he’d been through and everything he’d lost. The wall of bravery crumbled in my small hands, and I tried to be gentle with the damage he permitted me to carry for this brief moment. Behind closed doors, Foss trusted me. When there were no witnesses, he allowed himself to be a person.
He pulled away after a good ten-minute breakdown. We said nothing of it as I washed him, caring for him as if he was my husband. The tender time we spent in the bathroom was special to me. I treasured the small moment I was allowed to be there for him. This would most likely be my only chance to have a husband, and I was determined to do it right.
I picked up the hard soap and drew circles into his shoulders, noticing the tension there. My small hands worked on his large muscles, hoping to rub a bit of power back into them. He moaned at the pampering. Jamie was a big guy; it was no wonder Foss was in pain after carrying him for so long.
When he was clean and his shoulders properly massaged, I reached for the razor on the sink. “I don’t really know how,” I admitted. “Teach me?”
A mild dose of life lit in Foss’s black eyes. “You don’t have to. I don’t know why you’re being nice to me.”
I kissed his forehead, leaving a mark of love on him he did not move his hand to erase. “I want to. You should let me be good to you. It’s what friends do. If I was your real wife, we’d be friends. This is what I’d do afte
r you’d had a hard day.”
“Okay.” He still looked lost, but he found me in his darkness, which was a start. “Thanks, then.” He nodded and pointed to the powder and bowl on the sink. He shook a bit of the white powder into the bowl and mixed in a small amount of water until it made a fluffy paste. I spread it over his face, rubbing his jaw to relax him further, taking time to be gentle. I wondered if anyone had ever shown him how to be kind.
In the dim light, I learned how to shave my husband. His soundless tears streaked the shaving cream, but neither of us addressed them. It was a delicate dance we did, but we were learning to be good to each other.
I rinsed his face, wiping away the last of the cream to discover a freshly shaved, but still defeated man before me. “Tell me it gets better,” he whispered, “having your life burned away.”
I nodded, running my fingers through his short hair to soothe him. “It gets less painful after a while.”
“I don’t know how you do it. I lost everything.”
I tapped his bare chest. “You’re still you. They can’t burn that away. I’m still me. No matter how many of my homes Jens had burned to the ground, I still take me with me everywhere I go.” I gave a perfunctory chuckle. “Though, I didn’t have nearly as much to lose as you did. Every move, I lost more and more. Now all I own is stuffed into a backpack. Queen Lucy, indeed.”
“How are you okay?”
I offered up a sad smile. “I’m like, the cockroach of survivors. I should’ve given up a long time ago. Not totally sure why I’m hanging on.” I put the bowl back in the sink, gravity taking control of my shoulders and pulling them downward. I touched my Linus heart on my chest, hoping some comfort still remained in it for me. “I’m not okay, Foss. Most days, I’m barely hanging on.”
“I know I’m already dead, but I feel like I’m slowly dying,” he admitted. “Is that normal? Will it go away?”
I nodded, scooping up some water to rinse a few rogue hairs on his cheek off. “It dulls. Little by little, you find purpose in other things. This mission helps. When it’s over, you’ll carve out a new life for yourself somewhere. Start over. You built up a name for yourself once. You can do it again.” I tapped my finger under his chin, raising it to instill a bit of self-esteem in him again. “You’re a survivor. I have faith you’ll make it. We’re both too stubborn to let go completely.”
The anguish in his eyes was hard to take, but I did not look away from his rare moment of weakness. He swallowed, and I noticed a stray bit of cream on his Adam’s apple I missed. I wiped it away and swished my finger in the water. He touched my hand as he studied my face. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Me being nice isn’t actually a new thing,” I informed him, standing to get a towel. “It’s you letting me that’s the shocker. You’re growing. That’s a good thing, darling husband.” I stretched the towel out and turned my head as he stood, dried off and then wrapped the cloth around his waist.
He was giant in front of me. In the close proximity, I don’t know why, but I was suddenly too timid to look up at him. I was damp and chilly, and he was nearly naked. “I’ll go get you some clothes.”
I turned to leave, but Foss grabbed onto my arm. He stared at me with sudden lucidity, as if a modicum of purpose was coming back to him. “I’ll not forget your kindness this time. This… you… I don’t deserve this.”
I shrugged, casting up a simple smile at him. “Then make it your business to start deserving it.”
Foss stilled, his eyes looking past all the things that irritated him, and he finally saw me. He drew me closer, and though he had been much more naked seconds ago, I was very aware of his lack of clothing as he examined the curves of my face. With one hand gripping my arm and the other cupping my cheek, Foss raised my chin and kissed my lips lightly, just once, and let me go. “It wasn’t a mistake, making you my wife.”
Lucy! Jamie yelled in my brain. You’ll not carry on like this!
I pushed Jamie out my mental door and locked it tight. The same confusing explosions rippled through me, coloring my cheeks and making me take a step back to right my messed-up brain. I put my hand on the knob and steadied myself. “Easy, tiger. Get some sleep. By the time you wake up, I’ll have Harold all sorted out for you.”
Foss wiped his hand over his face. “No. I’ll help you.”
“He won’t talk to you. You’re the great Master Foss. He’s terrified of you, but he’s got that Fossegrimen stubborn streak. You can’t beat information out of someone like him.”
“Maybe you can’t,” he jabbed. “Take Jens, then. And put on some decent clothes that aren’t completely transparent.”
“Well, it wasn’t see-through until you got me all wet,” I defended myself. I softened under his wistful gaze. “Look at you, caring about me. Goodnight, darling husband.”
Foss cracked a sliver of a smile. “Goodnight, lovely wife.”
Twenty-One.
Harold
Jens and I sat across from Harold, who was tied to a chair at the kitchen table, not saying a word. Harold had a black eye, split lip, and was covered in bruises from Foss, who was passed clean out on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Mace was asleep in the young girl’s bedroom, and Jamie and Britta had long since retired to the master bedroom.
Jens was exhausted, but he stayed by my side as I sat with Harold, who was not speaking. Alrik tried starting up a conversation several times to no avail, and I could tell he and Jens were growing frustrated.
I stood and rummaged through the cupboard, pulling down a cup and filling it with water. I placed it in front of Harold and sat back down. “Guys, give us a minute. You’re both tired, and I’d like to talk to Harold alone.”
“Lucy, I don’t think…” Jens argued.
“Just go lay down by the fire. Uncle Rick, make Charles share his bed. It’s not like Harold’s going to hurt me. You’re all right here if I need you.”
It was obvious Jens wanted to protest further, but Uncle Rick offered his hand to Jens, enforcing my offer. They were all so sleepy. It didn’t take much to convince them to let me handle things. The living room where Foss slept and where Jens would retire was right next to the kitchen, and in perfect shouting distance. I wasn’t scared. Maybe it was foolhardy, or maybe I was just that tired. Either way, it was clear Harold wasn’t in the mood to talk.
Once we were alone in the kitchen, I lowered my voice. “If I untie you, will you behave?”
The man who had remained unresponsive throughout the entire trip and interrogation focused on my face and nodded slowly.
“So you do understand us. Good.” I stood and moved to his chair, crouched at his side and worked on undoing the knots that were much too tight for proper circulation. “Did Foss tie you? That’s awful. That’s gotta be uncomfortable.”
Harold nodded again, and I could feel him studying my every move as I fiddled with the knots.
“Sorry. I suck at this. Give me a second.” My fingers pulled, and slowly the bindings began to give. “I’ve been calling you Harold, but it’s only because I don’t know your actual name. Do you feel like telling me who you are?”
Harold shook his head once.
“That’s alright. Harold’s fine by me, if you don’t mind it.”
Harold shrugged.
“I’m Lucy. Well, when you first met me, I was in Prince Jamie’s body. Long story, but I’m me now. Not that you know who that is.” I sighed. This must’ve been the frustration Foss felt when I stopped talking. “You understand me, but you won’t talk back?”
He stretched his neck and shook his head again.
“You can’t talk?”
Harold nodded vigorously.
My heart tugged. “Oh, man! You poor thing! Foss was trying to get answers out of you, but you can’t speak. I’m so sorry.” I succeeded in releasing his left arm, and watched with trepidation as he moved his large wrist around. It was a dangerous game I was playing, setting loose the man who tried to kill us, b
ut it seemed the right way to go.
Harold reached for the cup, his hand shaking. I met him halfway and molded his fingers around the vessel. Then I helped him tip the cup to his lips. He trembled as he swallowed, and I wondered just how injured he was.
“Is anything broken? Can I help you?”
Harold gave a noncommittal shrug, which I took to mean, “Sure, kid. Help me out a little.”
I wetted a rag and put it to his lip, dabbing at a spot of blood that had not yet dried. He was big, like the others, but the poor guy looked so defeated, I wondered how crappy his life had been before Pesta got her hooks into him. “Can I ask you about how Pesta possessed you? We’re all kinda curious.”
Harold shook his head. It wasn’t defiance; it was helplessness. The poor guy truly had no answers. His ponytail had come loose, and long, greasy strands of hair swayed at his cheeks.
“Can I ask you about your life before she stuffed someone else’s soul in you? I mean, that’s pretty crazy. You’re just walking along, and bam! Table for two? Were you aware of what your body was doing?”
Harold nodded, morose. He hung his head to show his noncompliance with Pesta’s commands.
“Dude, that’s rough. So she had someone else in you that she could control? One of the souls in Be?”
Harold nodded again, moderately grateful that someone was catching on.
“Have you always been mute?”
He shook his head.
“So, this is a new thing since Pesta took over, huh.” I observed his utter defeat and tipped the cup to his lips again, brushing his hair back from his face. “That’s good news. Maybe your voice’ll come back after your body adjusts. Then you can tell us your name.”
Harold did not look like he had much hope in this. He mouthed, can’t remember.
“Can’t remember what? Pesta? The other soul?” I could see his frustration as he tried to push me to understand. Then it dawned on me. “You can’t remember who you are?” He nodded vigorously, and my heart sank. “You don’t recall anything before Pesta, do you?”
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