Henry didn’t want to disturb them, but he knew that if he didn’t remind them that supper would soon be served, someone else would do so. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed next to Kat and pressed a kiss to her face while at the same time letting his fingers comb through her golden curls. She turned to look at him and smiled, so he kissed her lips.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, “but it’s nearly suppertime. Do you feel up to coming downstairs?”

He saw her shift slightly, which he’d come to recognize as an indication of her pain. He was pleased when she smiled again and said, “I would love to come downstairs. Is Amala . . .”

She paused when he pointed to the other side of the bed, and Kat turned her head to see Amala sleeping.

“Oh, my,” Kat said. “The poor dear must be exhausted.”

“It was a long journey to get home,” he said, and didn’t add that he suspected she likely hadn’t slept well last night, given the news she’d received. “I’ll let you wake her,” Henry whispered. “I don’t want to embarrass her. Would you like me to wait for you in the hall or—”

“We’ll see you in the dining room,” she said and kissed him again. “Let them know we’re coming.”

“Don’t be long,” he whispered close to her ear. “I’ve not seen nearly enough of your beautiful face today.”

Kat laughed softly, and Henry slipped quietly out of the room. He wondered for a moment—as he often did—what it would be like when she was no longer here. But a moment was all he allowed himself before he forced his mind to the present and went down the stairs.

* * * *