At last, Ichabod looked
up triumphantly from his sketch.
"I have finished!" he
announced, looking quite pleased. He handed the drawing to Anabelle
for inspection. His smile faltered as he thought about the supplies
he would need.
"Masbeth?" he called tentatively. "Young
Masbeth?!" When there was no reply, Ichabod looked at Anabelle
concernedly. "Where did he get off to?"
Anabelle laughed. "To
get a new door, Ichabod. Ours is off its hinges."
She rose
from the bed to peer out the window. She could see Young Masbeth
riding in the front of a delivery carriage with a man in a brown cap.
"Rupert is coming down the street now with a new one,"
she returned to the bed, glancing down at the sketch. She took a deep
breath. Ichabod surely had a lot of faith in her if he thought she
could construct something like that...
"Oh, good," Ichabod said. "I am going to have him go and get the supplies..." He paused, wondering how to phrase his next thought. "I would really rather not have you outside without me, alright?" He reached over and touched her hand gently. "Sorry. It isn't that I don't trust you, of course, but I don't trust...anyone else around you."
Anabelle smiled at
Ichabod's words. She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his lips.
"I understand. I have never had so devoted a protector. Thank
you."
She looked up into his eyes, her own sparkling.
Ichabod's grin had a
distinct glow now. He reached out and took both of her hands, pulling
her back onto his lap.
"You're welcome," he said into
her ear, his lips brushing her flesh. "Now that I am temporarily
done with work until we get this built... do you think that you
could still be considered a distraction? Or are you now my main
focus?"
Anabelle's breath
hitched in her chest. Without any thought, she slightly inclined her
head to allow easier access to her ear, jawline and neck.
"I
believe that all depends on what you think," she managed as her
eyelids fluttered closed.
"I do not know what I think," Ichabod said, running his lips in a trail from her ear to her jaw. "However, I certainly wish that it could be so that you are always in the center of my attention. If only that good-for-nothing boss of mine would leave me be."
"Soon this will
all be over, Ichabod," Anabelle relaxed in his arms. "And
somehow I doubt your boss will be back as long as I'm here...unless
he finds some reason or another to arrest me."
Ichabod's
fingers began to brush against the skin of her shoulder.
"If
I could be the center of your attention," she began, her
eyes still closed against the sensation of his fingertips brushing
her skin. "Is this what it would be like?"
She shivered,
his lips stopped at her neck, just resting against her pulse. Her
hands trailed up and down his back.
"If you like," Ichabod murmured. "If you could be at the center of my attention, you could do whatever you wanted. It would be what you wish." His lips worked slowly at her pulse until a light purple-colored mark arose there. He pulled back, peered at the peculiar marking, and frowned. "It is probably a good thing, that everyone thinks us married, is it not?"
Anabelle fought to control her breathing as Ichabod's lips gently worked her pulse. The sensation was dizzying and intoxicating. She felt him pull away and forced herself to focus on the words he spoke.
"I think," she opened her eyes to meet his, surprised to see what passion was burning in the shy constable's eyes. "I think it is a very good thing."
Ichabod grinned before
setting his mouth upon her cherry lips once more. It was another
minute before he pulled away. He looked up at her, brow furrowed
slightly.
"Are you alright, Ana?" he asked. "You
are breathing strangely..." He had a sneaky suspicion of why
that was. "You can relax. If you want me to stop, tell me. I
will respect you, and your space..."
Anabelle opened her
eyes to meet his. Ichabod really was incredibly sweet. She smiled
before setting her lips to his.
"Don't stop," she
murmured the second before she pressed her lips to his.
"Yes ma'am," Ichabod said, laughing lightly before returning his tender kiss to her neck. Another slight mark appeared on her neck, then another, as he roamed across the skin, softly drawing it in. There was a knock on the door, which Ichabod had closed when Anabelle had been leading him back to the bed. Reluctantly, Ichabod detached his lips from to spot just between her neck and chin, and looked around at the door. He glanced briefly to Anabelle, shrugging helplessly. Then he called out to whoever was standing at the door, "Come in!"
Anabelle smiled and shook her head, her long hair falling over her shoulder, covering the marks Ichabod had left. She pulled herself from Ichabod's lap and reached for her book, burying her nose in it. Ichabod reached over and, with a laugh, turned it right side up.
Just as he had set it
back into her hands, the door opened and Masbeth poked his head into
the room.
"Sir? The new door is here. They are putting it up
for you now, and then said they will calculate the cost," the
young man explained. "And...um, is there anything else you
need?"
"Yes!" Ichabod said quickly, waving the boy
over. He scribbled down a quick list and handed it to Masbeth, who
looked down and scanned over it blankly. "I need for you to go
get these things if you would. It's for making this." He handed
him the sketch for a second, then snatched it away again carefully.
"So I can get to the city hall and do something...useful."
"Oh!
Yes, sir. I'm right on it." Masbeth nodded, and then turned and
hurried from the room, shopping list in hand.
Anabelle watched Young
Masbeth scurry out the door with Ichabod's shopping list.
"Please
remind me to make him stay for dinner," Anabelle looked up from
her book. "He's been running all over the city for me and I
believe I owe Rupert a banquet."
She glanced sideways at
Ichabod.
"Are you quite relieved to be getting out of bed
soon? I'm sure you're anxious to be up and about...although
personally I can't say I've minded the delay; I just wish it hadn't
had to be so painful for you."
"Ah, but it hasn't been so bad," Ichabod said. "The pain lessens when you have a lovely woman sitting with you the majority of the time." He reached over and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "In fact, I'd much prefer waiting to get up until I'm fully healed, but that isn't exactly an option right now, is it?"
Anabelle's cheeks flushed. She had never particularly thought of herself as "lovely." It wasn't that she found herself plain, in fact, she thought she was rather pretty, but "lovely" wasn't something she'd used to describe herself. And yet, Ichabod had called her "lovely." She wet her lips, raking the lower through her teeth as she watched his thumb stroke over the back of her hand. Anabelle turned hers over, catching his and lacing their fingers together. When he met her eyes, she simply smiled, knowing her cheeks were still a tell-tale pink.
Ichabod raised an
eyebrow at her, his thumb now stroking hers instead.
"Say
something..." he whispered, watching her lips carefully.
"Say...anything at all. Possibly a thing that you have never
before said."
Anabelle paused.
Something she had never said before. Her pulse quickened as one
particular thing came to mind...
Nervously, she wet her lips
again, repeating the raking of her lower lip through her teeth,
watching Ichabod's thumb caress hers before looking into his
eyes.
"Ichabod," her voice was so low it was almost a
whisper. "I..." she took a deep breath. Why was she so
nervous? "I...have never felt this way about anyone before."
Anabelle looked down at their intertwined hands, studying the
matching wedding bands that encircled their fingers. Could she
possibly...?
"And, I...I am not sure I will ever feel
this way about anyone else," she whispered almost inaudibly.
"About anyone but you..."
Ichabod smiled
brilliantly as he pulled her to him and hugged her, entwining his
fingers into her dark hair.
"I," he began, but his
smiled slipped from his face like a drop of rain down a window pane.
He could not think of a reply to that. "I haven't either"
or "I never have felt this way as well"... He could say
it, but it was a downright lie. She would know it. He had felt this
way before, about Katrina. He could not deny it was different, but
yet so similar. He closed his eyes.
Would any of this have
happened if Katrina were still alive? Where would Anabelle be now if
she were? Shaking his head, Ichabod sighed, unable to think of a
sufficient reply.
"I'm glad you feel that way," he
whispered, knowing full well he sounded like an idiot.
Anabelle wrapped her
arms around Ichabod, pulling his body flat against hers. Her
quickened breathing caused her chest to rise and fall against his.
After a moment, she pulled away to meet his eyes. Her gaze softened
as she saw him glance away. He looked uncomfortable and a little
embarrassed, and if she were to guess why, she would say it was
because he was unable to reply in words similar to her own.
With
all the tenderness she could manage, she brought her hand to cup his
chin, bringing his eyes to hers.
"It's all right," her
tone was gentle and her smile was soft. "It was just something I
thought I should tell you."
All of a sudden, she felt a
little unsure of herself. Her gaze faltered for a second, but when it
returned to his, she studied the depths of his dark eyes. Once again,
they were pulling her in, making her forget about anything else in
all of creation, making her forget any uncertainty she had.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
"No, no, Ana! The other way," Ichabod was saying, frustration and laughter lacing his voice. It was nearly three hours later and the construction of the splint was nearly complete, but Anabelle was having some difficulty tightening the final bindings. "Here, bring it here. I will help you," he said gently, holding out his hands to her and smiling. Upon seeing her slight annoyance at not being able to get it right, Ichabod brushed back her hair and chuckled. "Don't worry... I am not entirely sure I can get it either."
Anabelle handed him the
contraption, her hands dirty, a smudge across her nose. She glared at
the piece that had given her so much trouble. It had taken a good
deal of her time, and most of her patience, to even get the bindings
this far. Although she did not mind Ichabod's help, especially since
he knew what he was doing, she rather liked the idea of completing
the project herself. Why, she had no idea, but the thought appealed
to her.
Anabelle watched as Ichabod's fingers worked with
precision over this invention of his. She marveled at how he could
understand something like this...how to fashion it, put it
together, make it work.
Hearing him call her name several times
brought her from her musings. Actually, he had called her "Ana."
She couldn't help but smile.
"I like when you call me that."
Ichabod looked up at
her, his hands freezing where they were. He furrowed his eyebrows and
gave her a strange look.
"C-call you what?" he asked.
"Ana?" He smiled and shrugged. "I hardly noticed I was
doing it. I'm glad you don't mind. Anyways, come here. You do this
last one yourself." He reached over and took her hands in his
setting them in a specific way on the contraption and showing her how
to correctly attach the binding. Then, slowly, he pulled his own
hands away and watched her expectantly.
For a moment she just
looked at him. Then she drew a deep breath and began to work the
bindings. It took her more time than it did for him, but she got it
fastened. She let her hands linger, glancing back at Ichabod.
"Did
I do it right?"
"Perfect,"
Ichabod said, smiling. He slowly sat up further and scooted towards
the edge of the bed, holding on tightly to Anabelle's hand. He looked
slightly nervous about trying out the splint, but did his best to
appear optimistic. "Alright," he started, pulling the
splint from her hands and setting it down on the floor carefully
beside his injured leg. "Let us try this out..." It was a
short splint, just long enough to cover his knee and prevent it from
bending. Most would probably think that it was very overdone for what
it was for, but not Ichabod. He looked proudly at his newest
invention before turning to Anabelle and blushing.
"I...will
need you to leave the room," he said, embarrassed. "It must
go beneath my trouser leg and...well..."
Anabelle averted her
eyes, slightly embarrassed at the thought of remaining if Ichabod was
going to be in such a state of undress. She closed her eyes, brushing
the stubborn locks that hung in his eyes, and pressed a kiss to his
forehead.
"I will be downstairs, then," she replied.
"Should I send Rupert up, in case you need assistance? Some of
those bindings look difficult to attach."
"Er, no," Ichabod replied, shaking his head and looking, now, even more embarrassed. "I will manage, I think. It should not be too difficult." In truth, he never before had had so much as his shirt off in front of anyone before, only his vest and jacket, with the exception of what had happened upon his last visit to Sleepy Hollow. He nodded and smiled as Anabelle left the room, then breathed a sigh of relief and started to slip of he suspenders and undo to buckle of his trousers.
Instead of going to the
kitchen to start dinner preparations as she originally planned,
Anabelle wandered off in the direction of the library. Quickly
scanning the shelves, she discovered a book with an interesting title
and plucked it carefully from the shelf. She retraced her steps to
sit at the foot of the stairs and await Ichabod's completion of
fastening the contraption to his leg.
The book was a terrible
distraction. In fact, it did not hold her attention past the first
seven words. Oh, no, her mind would drift to Ichabod. Anabelle
had never expected to come to know him so well or care for him as
more than her cousin's husband, yet she could not say she was
regretting either. She hoped that in whatever afterlife Katrina was
in, she would not mind, or at least not begrudge any happiness
Anabelle brought to Ichabod. However, somehow Anabelle truly doubted
this...once she had lost Katrina's ice skate on accident and Katrina
had never let her forget it. Now, Anabelle had somehow managed to
turn the thoughts of the shy constable who was head-over-heels for
Katrina...Anabelle shuddered at what Katrina's reaction would
be...the ice skate incident was bad enough.
Unconsciously she
began to trace the outline of another symbol on the stair with her
finger. Perhaps letting herself get so close to Ichabod was not a
wise move. However, she knew he would never let her go...not with the
Horseman on the loose or the magistrate against her. Deep down she
hoped, maybe...just maybe...there could be another reason, one she
barely dared to imagine at the time.
The symbol stood barely
visible in the dust from the calamity over the door. A symbol of
repentance...asking forgiveness...Anabelle leaned forward, allowing
one tear to splash against the wood.
"Forgive me, Katrina,"
she whispered as softly as she could. "Forgive me because I
cannot give him up."
