Chapter 47: Homecoming

Inside the manor, the four of them made their way to the upper floor, pausing in between Isaac and Sonia’s rooms.

“Be careful, and lay low,” Isaac said. “I have no idea who is still here. Cyril could still be waiting, and I know mother will not be happy that we were gone.”

“We’ll be okay, Izzy,” Arabella said. “You need to go lay down. You’re no use to us if you’re barely on your feet.”

“Call me if you need-”

“Lavinia,” Arabella interrupted. “Just get him in bed, no messing around. He needs to rest. Tomorrow is going to be a nightmare.” She put her arm through Sonia’s, pulling her back towards her bedroom.

Lavinia stayed close to Isaac as he limped towards his own room. She opened the door for him and he staggered to the bed, all but falling onto it. He unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it away from his open wounds. He threw it to the floor, trying to lie back, but Lavinia stopped him.

“We need to get you cleaned up. You’re not going to sleep with gashes like that.”

“I’ll be fine, Vini,” he said. “I can’t get infections.”

“Do you know that as a fact, or are you just assuming?”

Isaac did not answer.

“That’s what I thought. Get up.” She hauled him to his feet and walked him to the bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub. Lavinia turned the faucet on and started letting the water fill up. She checked the temperature, trying to avoid overheating Isaac’s already damaged body.

“This is unnecessary,” he complained.

“It is absolutely not. Have you ever had an infection?”

He shook his head.

“Then be quiet and let me work.” She stood up and opened the wardrobe. Above the hanging robes and nightgowns were a stack of towels and washcloths. She pulled one of the dark colored ones down and dipped it in the filling tub. She started dabbing the deep scratches across Isaac’s chest, cleaning the residual blood off of his skin. He help his face set, trying not to show pain.

Lavinia moved down to the wound on his stomach. It was much deeper than she thought and she froze for a second, staring at it. The silver tip had burrowed deep into his body, leaving black veins stretching out from it. She felt the cloth grow cold in her hand, as though the blood saturating it was frozen. Isaac could not contain his wince of pain as she wiped down the tender area. He closed his eyes, trying not to look either up at Lavinia or down at his own body.

When the bathtub filled Lavinia helped him stand and remove his trousers before settling him into the water. At first, the water stung his wounds, but the longer he sat, the more relaxed he felt. Lavinia searched Arabella’s store of salts, trying to find anything labeled healing or soothing. She settled on a mix of juniper and lavender, hoping to calm the irritation on Isaac’s chest. Laying still, his head fell back, allowing himself to let go for the first time since his betrothal ball. Lavinia moved her hands to his shoulders, massaging the knots that coiled into his neck and watching him slowly sink into the feeling.

As she rubbed his back, Lavinia could hear soft noises of pleasure escaping Isaac’s lips. His head tipped forward, hair falling into the water, as he exposed more of his neck, silently asking for more. Lavinia wordlessly acquiesced.

This, she noted, was one of the only truly silent moments they had shared. There was no back and forth, no discussion of what was to come, only the present moment. Previously, such bouts of silence had been inspired only by passion and the feel of each others’ bodies pressed together. This was different. This was an implicit trust, an understanding that spread between the two of them. Lavinia could sense Isaac was pliant under her hands, completely relying on her to help him, to lay her hands on him to heal him.

And she, in her fragile mortal state, was trusting him as well. From the very first moment they had been alone together she had put her life in his hands. In that moment she had expected something terrible, a drawn out end to a short life. But now, the love she felt for Isaac made it nearly impossible to recall that exact fear.

She looked down at Isaac, seeing that the water he rested in had quickly discolored, a grey haze overtaking the clear bath. He was still bleeding from the poker wound, a grim irony that was not lost on Lavinia. She left him for only a moment, retrieving a second cloth and holding it against the puncture. Isaac folded his own hands over top of hers, still keeping his eyes closed.

“Thank you, Vini. I lo...” he trailed off. His voice was low and his words were slurred, but Lavinia knew what he meant.

“I love you, too, Isaac.”