#bread please stop referring to this fic as a birth

[isjeonginsoup]

It is here!

Now would be a good time to mention that this is a minchan fic :D IT BEGINS!!!

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Twenty-Eight

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death.

Please enjoy the twenty-eighth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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~~ Chapter 28 ~~

In the morning, I wake feeling sore, still tired as I stretch, my fingers brushing Peeta’s warmth. I sigh and roll into him, sliding my arm around him to hold him close and resting my face on his back, nose between his shoulder blades. I drift for a few more minutes, until Peeta lifts a hand to twine with mine over his belly and I can feel the small fluctuations in his body that precede his waking.

It is a stark waking as I fly up in sudden terror.

“Miranda?” I ask and Peeta flips to face me, sleep gone from his eyes in an instant as I stumble from the bed and begin searching the room. “Miranda?”

Mary knocks and enters at my command, watching my search for a moment before clearing her throat.

“Mrs. Mellark… she is already dressed and downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” Peeta asks, half dressed and pulling his boots on, clearly thinking more practical as I nearly tore apart our room. Mary quickly assists me dress and then together, Peeta and I venture downstairs.

We find her in the laundry house, dressed in a clearly borrowed or pilfered dress, the fabric worn and a dull shade of brown. The sleeves are not long enough to cover her wrists and the hem hovers a good couple of inches above her ankles as she labors. Washing clothes. The air is thick and warm with steam, a cheerful fire warming a basin of water. Beside her, Lavinia explains in hand gestures how the washing is to be done. Miranda nods in understanding. She lifts her drenched, soapy hands from the water, my silk stocking dangling from her red, raw fingers.

“Miranda?” I ask and she startles, dropping her hands hastily into the water, once more submerging the stockings. Peeta stifles a laugh and I scowl at him. He gives me an indulgent smile and then slides his coat from his shoulders. Her eyes are round and frightened as he approaches her, rolling back the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Ladies. If you’ve decided that the washing must be done before breakfast, then do let me assist. I apologise if the cleanliness of Katniss’ and my clothing has offended you.”

She shakes her head and I bite back the tart words that clearly she didn’t really think—

Peeta thrusts a hand into the water and comes back up with his small clothes. 

“Ah. I did wonder where these had wandered off to this morning.” Mary stifles another laugh behind me and Miranda’s face burns bright red. Lavinia shakes her head, but the twitches in her lips are a clear sign that she is attempting to hold back a smile.

“Do stop teasing her.” I know I sound waspish but my ire is piqued. Peeta smiles at me then bends low to speak to Miranda. I have to step closer to hear his words.

“Did you know that I too, was adopted in a way?” She gazes up at him and shakes her head. “I was. My mother was a ladies’ maid. I had been raised by her and her husband, a baker. After he passed and she lost her post, she could not afford my care. We were quite poor and desperate, and so she deposited me with my birth father and demanded he take responsibility. He was the one with the money and the fancy title. I was used to a much more humble life.

“For the first month I lived with him, I was furious with my mother for leaving me and desperate to do whatever it took for him to keep me. You see, he was not thrilled to have me, not in the least, not the way Katniss and I are thrilled to have you be a part of our family…” He lets those words sink in a moment before he begins to scrub. “For weeks, I woke early and baked bread with the cooks, watching the trays disappear upstairs for breakfast, and hoping that it would be enough to earn my keep. When I saw no signs that it would be, I began to assist the gardner. Even the scullery maids. I was found cleaning a fireplace and rather making a mess of it one day.”

My heart cracks as understanding spreads through me, even as I watch it dawn on Miranda’s face. Even Lavinia and Mary have a new sort of understanding spreading across their faces.

“You have begun this task, and I will finish it with you, but know this, Miranda… each of us has tasks to complete, work to be done, but we brought you here first and foremost to be a part of our family. You must remember that we chose you. We came looking for you, and you alone will always be enough for us to love, regardless of how hard you work or which chores you take on. Do you understand?”

Miranda nods and then I watch, astonished as Lavinia hands soap to Peeta. Soon the trio is absorbed in the washing and I slip from the room to see about breakfast and other household matters, to ensure that the food will remain warm when my husband and Miranda finally make it to table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days proceed, cold outside the walls of the manor and yet cozy within. We begin to form a pattern of living with one another. After that first night, once I have reassured myself that Maysilee did not inadvertently cause Miranda’s night terrors, I ask if she would like to rejoin her bed fellow or remain with Peeta and I.

I ask every night, until she indicates that she wishes to sleep once more with Maysilee. Although there are still nights when she wakes half the household with her screams, when Peeta or I race down the hall to her in a state of undress, the night terrors slowly recede.

Her lessons are stuttered and fitful at first, as we quickly realise her knowledge of letters and numbers is not much more advanced than Maysilee’s. They become school room companions and seem to become friends as well, often found playing with one another, the air around them filled with Maysilee’s chatter and girlish giggles as she compensates for Miranda’s silence.

“Maysilee, darling, Miranda will never speak for herself if you constantly speak for her,” Madge admonishes one morning. Maysilee remains undeterred.

“You said we were to make her feel welcome!”

“Yes, but…” Madge trails off as she glances at me and I shrug. “Oh very well, darling. Just be prepared to take turns speaking at any moment, alright?”

My mother takes to Miranda in minutes, and Miranda is often found trailing either her or my sister, tugging on their skirts and asking silent questions of the herbal remedies prescribed. There are many days when I find her in the kitchen, standing on a stool and bent over a steaming bowl, her red curls struggling to escape her blue turban as the clouds of vapor curl around her and my mother speaks of their herbal concoctions as though they are indeed witches’ potions. I even spy them wriggling their fingers over the pots and releasing spine tingling cackles, much to the superstitious horror of some of the staff.

After a few stuttered attempts, my father sits in conference with both Peeta and I, that we might set out guidelines for the financial handling of our household since it seems to be continuously growing. Father turns nearly green in the face with shock when we reveal just how much Peeta’s inheritance upon marrying me amounted to. 

After we’ve ironed the wrinkles in finance and household management, I linger and send Peeta along when I see that my father is still in shock. He leans over the mantle, staring into the fire and gouging the floor with one booted toe.

“Papa?” I ask and he startles, looking up at me with pained eyes. I huff in aggravation. “It is not a disaster, Papa. All turned out well.”

“I might as well have sold you to the highest bidder.”

“You think me worth so little?” I ask and he snorts then stares back into the flames.

“To me your worth is far beyond any earthly riches. I will recover from the shock, Firecracker, if only because I know that you are right. The love between you is… obvious and everything I could have hoped for you. I can see, when he looks at you, that he thinks the same. No amount of coin could equal how he loves and values you.”

I leave him after that. To find my husband and steal a kiss. There are no more comments about the number of strays in our house. No hesitation when the winter gifts to tenants are distributed. As loathe as I am to depend on anything from the Marquis de Vale, there is no denying that what he settled on Peeta makes our lives infinitely less complicated.

There are days when Madge frets that Maysilee is inserting herself into Miranda’s life as a friend Miranda may not want. The thought had never crossed my mind before then and I too begin to worry. Until Maysilee falls down the stairs one bitterly cold afternoon, wailing in pain as her hands are burnt on the carpets. 

I do not witness the incident, only hearing Maysilee’s cries when Miranda guides the girl to me and gently presents the injury for repair. We work silently, Miranda showing me what she has learned as I leave it mostly to her, only guiding when needed. And then…with Maysilee’s hands soothed with balm and protected with bandages, Miranda kisses her palms and wipes her tears, linking their arms before guiding Maysilee back out of the room.

I am left in astonishment and joy, hurrying to find Peeta and then Madge to inform them of the development.

It is not all perfect. There are still days when Miranda’s actions are clearly a need to feel as though she is irreplaceable. Peeta does catch her cleaning a fireplace one day, covered in soot and handed off to me for a bath. Still another day when one of the maids finds a hoard of food already gone stale in her room. It takes some minutes for us to ascertain the reason.

A stash in case she needed to leave us for one reason or another.

There are days when she explodes in a fit of temper, as though testing us to see if we will send her away. We do not.

The heavy snows arrive and we are mostly confined to the cozy halls of Everdeen, although I cannot complain much. Miranda is studious in her lessons and eager to fit into our family. The black cat has become her constant companion, often perching on her shoulders as she moves through the house or sits at her studies. Miranda and Maysilee begin to make plans for their shared room. Decorations and improvements, Miranda sketching out as much of their ideas as she can manage. Work begins on a painted mural. Peeta and Miranda paint the walls while Maysilee supervises the work.

There is another room in the house with mirrored work being accomplished. A nursery for a baby. Perhaps more than one child, I think fondly as I run one hand over my barely curved abdomen and check on the work. 

Christmas arrives with all the warmth and gaiety of the yuletide. Father enlists Peeta’s help in selecting the yule log. Gifts are exchanged. Kisses beneath mistletoe steal my breath and lead to kisses that need no tradition to spark them. I cannot seem to stop kissing my husband and it somehow renews my hopes for the coming year as Peeta smiles down at me after, his fingers caressing promises into my skin, his words reaffirming the love I see in his eyes every day, feel in his actions, hear in each beat of his heart beneath my ear as we sleep entwined for both comfort and warmth.

Day by day, Miranda’s comfort and affection grow as I eagerly await the day she finally speaks. While there are no signs of imminent words, she begins to wear the turban less often. First she ceases to wear it during the days spent in the house, although it makes a reappearance in time for all meals. Then it becomes only a necessity when she leaves the house.

Maysilee often offers opinions of the linens and clothing I begin to work on for the babe who will arrive in the summer. Her excitement over having another child in the house is rather contagious.

I do not wish, however to raise her hopes to high as Madge begins to speak of perhaps leaving. Of no longer being a burden to us. I am surprised when it is my father who insists that she stay, my father who suggests building an extension to house the growing number of bodies at Everdeen.

There are many days when Peeta dresses warmly and spends the hours of light out and about the local area with Dr. Aurelius or with my mother and Miranda. In that way, he receives a dual education on healing.

My father and I make plans for spring planting, even as the storms of winter howl outside.

The New Year arrives with bitter frost and evenings spent checking the windows for the lantern that signals Peeta’s returns from his rounds with Dr. Aurelius. I worry that he might slip on ice or be lost somewhere. He has shown himself to be reckless and careless with his own person in the past. 

Then one day, as I sit and stitch a simple dress for my babe, I feel it. The slightest flutter just beneath my ribs. I cannot be certain and seek out my mother, who gives me a soft smile of understanding and caresses my cheek.

I had thought…that the first motions of the babe would fill me with love, and they do. Yet, with that love comes a terror that feels old as time itself. Miranda is still not speaking. One day, my father will die and Everdeen will be entailed right out from under my feet. I have no assurances that I can provide the sort of future for our child that I wish too. So much could go wrong and it begins to haunt me.

“We could repair Willow Park,” Madge suggests one evening as I pace her room, worried for the future. “It would cost a fortune but…”

“With what funds?” I snap, rather unfairly and she glances back down at her embroidery work. Work she attends to for me. 

I excel at the simple creation of the garment but haven’t the patience nor the creativity to sit and garnish the clothes for my own child with the sort of beautiful decorations Madge is now adding to them.

“I only meant…Madge I am sorry. I only meant that you may own the land yes, but at what terrible cost?”

“It was not such a terrible cost.” I snort and she sighs. 

It is not fair of me, to dredge up such ugly facets of history. There were no male heirs for her family seat, not even so much as a distant cousin. The Undersee line was dying anyways and so Madge’s father used his considerable fortune to alter the future of his estate. To leave the house and the land to Madge. It can be done, of course, but the sum it requires is so formidable that few ever manage it without driving themselves and their families into irreconcilable debt. It has never been an option for my family, but for Mr. Undersee with his much older and deeper family coffers…

In the end, it still as not quite enough. He was left in dire straights, although not utterly hopeless. There were still options. And so, Madge was swiftly launched into society, a land heiress with rumors of financial ruin and no proof of it. The Undersee family had managed, scrabbling along for two years and concealing from everyone the status of his finances. He betrothed his daughter to the Earl Hargrove, Ferguson Charmaigne, and then…

And then before the wedding could take place, a bad year of crops left him in such debt…the best course he saw was to take his own life and set Madge on her path to financial recovery, through her marriage and immediate inheritance of the land. Only, his death made the situation worse. Something broke in his widow and Lady Undersee set the house ablaze… the fire that scarred me and nearly killed my sister and my dearest friend…

I stop my pacing as the chill takes over me at the soft, determined tone of her voice.

“There are many things I regret. The loss of my parents and my innocence. The years I had to devote to the earl. The loss of you for so many years, but then… I would not have Maysilee. You might not have Peeta. Who would be Miranda’s friend? And I would not have…” she trails off and sighs again. I stare at her and wait for her to continue. “It is my hunk of ruined house and land. You know this. You know I’ve no money of my own to do a thing with it, but you do. I know it is a great deal to ask of you and highly unorthodox, but you and Peeta have already…the past year…”

“What are you asking, Madge?”

All further discussion is cut off by Maysilee’s excited squeal.

“They are back!” I move to the window and look out into the gloom of the evening to watch as Peeta hands Miranda down from where she rides in front of him on Cicero whenever she accompanies him and the good doctor, as she did today.

When I meet them in the hall, Miranda hugs me about my knees and Peeta kisses me, his lips cool behind my ear and the touch of his hand over my belly a soothing caress.

“Good evening, wife,” he murmurs and I cannot stop the silly smile taking over my face.

I spend the rest of the evening fussing over both my husband and my daughter and am unable to return to my discussion with Madge.

Weeks pass and the thaws arrive. Large puddles of brown mud begin to appear in the thinning blanket of snow and the constant sound of rushing water fills the air. Then soft green shoots as we dress warm to take to the fields, churning earth beneath plows to prepare for the spring planting. Preparations also begin in earnest for the return of Rory Hawthorne and a visit from Mr. Gale Hawthorne.

I begin to show, my belly softly rounding outward, and Peeta’s desire for me seems to increase with my expanding waistline. Although he rarely seeks a full coupling of our bodies anymore, seeming content to pleasure me with his lips, his hands, and with whispered words. His penchant to fulfill my desires and allow his to fester worries me at first, as I fear that either he no longer finds me attractive — rubbish as indicated by his frequent arousal in my presence and the delight with which he loves me — or that he does so out of a feeling of obligation or desire to make himself irreplaceable — also utter rubbish as there are a thousand reasons he is already irreplaceable in my heart and my life. 

It is a peculiarity I do not understand until one evening as I sit pretending to read while he regales the girls with the latest adventures of the sister princess and witch. While Peeta has told them many a story during the cold winter months, these two characters make frequent reappearances and are the most requested stories. 

After he has finished the story, Peeta bends to wish Miranda sweet dreams, only tonight, she holds him to her and then kisses his cheek along his scars. It strikes me then that my husband is… a most extraordinary father. And I find that knowledge unbearably arousing. 

So much that despite the added weight on my body, I am the aggressor in our bed that night. I am the one biting at his chest and tearing the clothes from his body, pushing him down onto our mattress then rising up over him in a frenzy. I am the one sweating and thrashing, teeth clenched in determination and refusing to relent until Peeta sings his release to the ceiling. And it is this, the deep echo of his moans from behind his ribs, layered with the symphony of breath in his throat, a near whine in his nose, and the bruising clutch of his fingers on my body, the exquisite expression of stunned or pained relief on his face, the flush of the effort to wait for me spread across his naked form that sends me tumbling after him.

It is only then, as we lay tangled together, his fingers dancing a sensual pattern over the stretched skin of my belly and a content sigh on his lips that it occurs to me that perhaps he finds the thought of me as a mother unbearably arousing as well. 

As Sae and I sit knitting socks and hats for the babe one morn, Peeta stops in to inform me that he is off to see a patient with Dr. Aurelius.

“Broken leg, caused by a wagon accident. I may be late,” he says as I tilt my head back to receive his kiss on my cheek, perhaps a little too close to my mouth to be seemly, but what do I care for such ridiculous propriety. “My apologies to Mrs. Chilton for the extra efforts with dinner.”

“She will not mind keeping your dinner warm, my love.” I murmur and then whisper to him that I shall be happy to help him warm up when he returns.

As he leaves, Sae remarks to me with a satisfied smirk on her face, “We best be making extra of these, as I sense the next babe will be close on the heels of the first.”

I blush and wonder if she knows that my mind has been wandering about the bedroom with Peeta or if she heard what I whispered to him. It is not my fault. He should not be so damn attractive if he did not want to fulfill all my considerable desires for him…

“Whatever do you mean?” I ask as innocently as possible.

Sae chuckles and shakes out her work to review the stitching. “Only stating the obvious, my girl.”

I knit and stitch and read. Miranda begins to join me in the library almost daily, climbing onto the sofa beside me and pointing to passages in my book until I read aloud to her, my finger tracing a path of words beneath the print so that she might hear and see the words at the same time. 

Peeta draws and bakes and studies his medical texts until some nights I have to chase him down and remind him that he should sleep upstairs, with his leg removed for comfort and his wife’s body curled up close to his. He smiles whenever I cajole him thus and answers with a simple, “How could I possibly deny myself such a temptation,” before lifting me into his arms and carrying me upstairs as though we are newly married every night.

I worry over Miranda’s continued silence. Peeta does as well. There are nights when we sit before the fire in our room, discussing the days events, and I can plainly see that he is distracted, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense, yet not in the way they are when he draws or bakes or in those moments right before he kisses me. Those are a pleasant sort of intense. These are not.

Most times, when his face takes on that distracted intensity and his words are more halting, all it takes is my fingers twisting a lock of curls and a soft kiss to bring him back to me. To bring forth the bright smile that I love and the reassurances that all will work out. Sometimes, though, I wonder if he truly means it.

I begin to ask Miranda more questions that are not easily answered with a simple shake or nod of the head in an attempt to surprise her into providing a verbal answer. Peeta notices my tactic and begins to use it as well. While there are no immediate results, we continue hopefully.

Peeta continues to draw for me, a growing record of our life and love and family all bound between the leather covers of the book I keep always beside the bed. As the days once more lengthen, he begins to paint again, granted the added light of spring.

Together, we spin fantastical stories for the girls. We lead games and amusements whenever we can. One day, Miranda points to the scars on Peeta’s face as they settle in for bed, after Peeta has given their nightly story. 

“You wish to know how I came by them?” She nods and he plucks at the coverlet, thinking a moment before answering. “I worry this may not be an appropriate tale for bedtime,” he explains with a look at Madge across the room.

“She should know the truth,” Madge says. “Maysilee as well. They are ready to hear it.”

“I will attempt to tell it in a way that encourages bravery, rather than fear,” Peeta nods and resolute, begins the story. Although he simplifies it a bit, the tale is understood, as evidenced by Miranda standing in bed and taking his face in her palms before kissing his scars.

“Thank you, darling. All better now,” he murmurs. She opens her mouth as though to say something and then hides beneath the covers.

“What about Miss Katniss?” Maysilee asks sleepily. How did Miss Katniss get her Courage Kisses?”

“That is for her to tell,” Peeta answers and Madge clears her throat. “Or your mother.”

“Oh yes, Mama! Tell us how Miss Katniss saved your life!”

Madge looks to me for approval and when I grant it, she quietly shares the story. Miranda eventually peels back the covers enough to watch me through the whole story.

There are no screams that night.

Something changes in the air the following days. I cannot place my finger on it, perhaps it is the arrival of spring. For the first three days after Peeta and Madge tell the girls about the source of our burn scars, it rains. Nothing but rain for three days until the entire household is anxious and restless.

The approaching planting season is a promise of new life, and yet the rains are a reminder to me of where we were but a year ago. Peeta is overly attentive and sweet. Massaging my back and legs every night, baking my favorite treats in his spare time. I find untold amounts of joy in the simplest of things, a lazy day sitting upon a settee with my fingers combing through Miranda’s fiery hair, Peeta’s head in my lap as I read and they listen. Moments in the dark when his hands span my belly and we wait together to feel the movement of our child.

Our child. The thought still fills me terror and yet, when he looks up at me with that bright blue delight in his eyes with each push of growing infant hand against his…in those moments, I truly begin to believe that we will be alright. No matter the obstacles thrown our way, he and I can find a way to overcome, to make this world a home for those who depend on us.

Then one day, after an entire three days of nothing but frigid rain, spring begins in earnest. Warmth arrives almost overnight, and the girls escape to the gardens to play. I watch as a new light sparks to life in Miranda’s eyes and refrain from scolding her over the mud that quickly cakes her dress, and Maysilee’s as well. They play, rushing from one flower bed to the next and examining the new growth, the slowly sprouting greens and the delicate buds waiting to bloom.

“Oh, it will be so lovely once they bloom!”

I am distracted by my letters, tapping my pen on the small table of the verandah where I have chosen to enjoy the day, the sound of children playing a pleasant background sound as I work. Eventually, I lose track of time, and I am quite occupied in dealing with the matter of Mr. Gale Hawthorne’s approaching visit to Everdeen. He and his brother will arrive in a matter of days now, and there is still much to be done. I begin to make lists when a scream splits the sky, earth shattering and terrible.

I am on my feet in an instant, searching out the source of the disturbance. Miranda kneels in the mud, the tattered pieces of her rag doll cradled in shaking, muddy hands. Maysilee screeches at a young boy I recognize as one of the Father Crane’s sons.

“It’s just a stupid doll,” he insists and Maysille throws a great clod of mud at him. I hurry towards them, carefully picking my way over the paths that are sorely in need of some maintenance, attempting to not slip with my cumbersome pregnant form making balance a real trick.

Before I can reach them, Miranda stands and with a great sniff, pushes back the wild mass of her red hair and points at the boy.

“Toads legs and lizards heart, I curse you to be blown apart!”

The boy stares at her agog and then scrambles from the garden.

“Oh Miranda, we can fix her!” Maysilee says and turns to help with the pieces.

“What happened?” I ask and kneel before them. Maysilee quickly blubbers an explanation and I mutter indignantly. Furious that he snatched and played so rough with someone else’s toy, to the point of destruction.

We abscond to the bathing room and do our best to clean up the doll. I spend the afternoon stitching and patching the tattered pieces back together as Miranda sits at my knee and points out instructions, holds the pieces steady to make the work easier.

Peeta sends word that he will be late. One patient turned into two, then three and now he will likely be out past sunset. I delay the girls’ dinner and then bed as long as I can, but it is already night when I sigh and tell Sae to see them in bed and that I will be the one providing a story. I cannot find Madge and wonder at her disappearance.

As I make my way down the hall, I hear voices from their room and smile. Maysilee has been a wonder for Miranda. But as I reach the door, the voice catches me off guard. Unfamiliar. I halt and cling to the doorframe out of sight as I realise it is not an entirely unfamiliar voice. I heard it only this afternoon, discussing how lovely the garden would be once everything blooms, then hurling a curse at a boy. I hadn’t even noticed, so distracted by writing letters.

I stifle a laugh as I listen to Miranda, weaving her own story for a rapt Maysilee. Tears prick at my eyes and I wonder, how long has she been speaking to Maysilee? To the other children? It is wondrous, hearing the soft child tones of serious storytelling as Maysilee gasps in wonder and Miranda adopts an important tone as she continues the tale, twisting and turning until something terrible occurs to me.

She has still not spoken to Peeta nor to I…

I cling to the door frame and peek around to catch just a glimpse of the happy scene. Two girls in bed, sharing friendship and comfort, a story. Something cracks in my heart then. Unbearable joy and sudden melancholy. I do not even know what to do until I hear footsteps and spin about to stop the intruder.

Peeta. 

I shake my head and lift a finger to my lips to indicate silence. His brow furrows, but he complies, coming to stand before me, our gazes locked until the tones from within the room spark understanding in his eyes. His lips part in shock and he smiles at me, leaning forward to rest his forehead on mine. We stand there like that, hidden in the silence and shadows and listening as Miranda’s voice grows in strength and warmth, spreading wings and flying into my heart. My hands clasp with Peeta’s.

When the story is done, Peeta kisses my brow and squeezes my hand. It is only when Maysilee begins to speak that we turn and knock, requesting entrance.

We say our goodnights to the girls and Peeta asks if they would like a story.

“You must be tired, Mister Peeta,” Maysilee says. “You can tell us two stories tomorrow!” 

He chuckles at this and agrees before bending to kiss Miranda’s forehead. I ask after Madge.

“Oh she gave us our kisses earlier, then she said she was tired and heading to bed.”

Strange, but I do not question it overly much as Peeta and I extinguish lights and then leave the girls to their sleep.

“I was in a rush to see the girls to sleep and left Cicero untended,” Peeta says as we walk back down the hall, hand in hand. “I should return to the stables.”

“I will go with you,” I offer and he squeezes my hand. We can share details of our day as we work. Only, when we reach the hall, my mother has a pressing request for him. I take Peeta’s great coat and give him a wan smile.

“I will see to Cicero,” I promise and shrug into his coat. The extra fabric is perhaps a bit too much, but does a far better job of encompassing all of me than my own cloak does.

It is a lovely night, only a slight chill to it and a wide canvas of bright stars. I smile up at them and dance a few steps towards the stables. It is wondrous, Miranda speaking. Now it is only a matter of time before she speaks to me as well. I find myself giddy over the prospect and therefore do not notice until nearly too late.

I stop before I am fully through the stable door, frozen in place at the sight that greets me, painted in the warmth of flickering lantern light, an almost romantic aura to the scene.

Two people kissing. Both of their eyes are closed, unaware of my unintentional intrusion.

At first, I think to bash in Jo’s skull for daring such intimacy. For forcing herself on — 

But then Madge lifts her hands and sets them to Johanna’s hips. I watch, mesmerised as her delicate fingers that pluck tunes so deftly from a piano, clench tight, turning desperately pale as she clings to the rough trousers and pulls Johanna closer, until their bodies are flush. Johanna’s darker, dirt stained hands caress over Madge’s creamy cheeks, one slipping effortlessly into silken blonde hair, ruffling the meticulous coif, the other sliding down to tease at the flimsy material of Madge’s fichu. And then…then Madge tilts her head ever so slightly, resting her scalp into Johanna’s hand and opens her mouth on a heartbreaking sigh. They share the sound between them.

I am witness to the deepening of their kiss. To the flush that spreads Madge’s cheeks as Johanna palms her breast through layers of dress and corset. The lanterns bathing them in a golden glow and despite the night chill, I feel again as though I am afire. It is not entirely unpleasant, though.

Oh. Oh my, I think as Johanna takes a step forward, guiding them both into the shadows beneath the loft and Madge tugs up on the course shirt Johanna wears until her hands disappear beneath.

And then I know, this is not the fire of hell licking over my skin, not the prickling of disaster along my scalp, but the knowledge of desire and need rising up in empathy. In understanding. My body understands long before my mind.

I silently back out into the starlight and turn my back to them. I scan the courtyard for any other potential intruders, my heart pounding in my chest. They cannot be discovered so… at least not by anyone other than myself.

I gulp down air as I listen guiltily to the sounds in the stables, unable to yet wrap my mind around what I have witnessed although my body has grasped the truth already. Hushed words, the whinny of a few horses. The remembered heat of a lover’s mouth on mine, his hands on my body. Peeta’s whispers in my ears and fingers burning starlight into my veins. I squeeze my eyes shut and swear that I can hear them kissing, although that may be my imagination inserting the now familiar sounds.

Another soft moan.

“Will you deny yourself forever?”

“You know why I stay away.”

“Your heart is pounding. Are you still afraid?”

“I am not afraid of this.” Another soft sigh dances of the fragrance of hay and my cheeks feel near to combustion. “Only what others may do if they learn of us—“

“You cannot let that stop you.”

“Jo!” Madge’s censure in her tone is lost in the way she moans on the following breath. Such longing! Such desire in the sound.

“I am… oh I am a guest here.”

“Then run away with me.”

“There is nowhere we could go and be safe.”

“We would find a way.”

“Please stop. I cannot… cannot be strong much longer… I … I dream about you…”

“Tonight then? Will you come to me tonight? After everyone is asleep? I’ll be here waiting for you, my angel.”

“Yes… No,” Madge promises then rescinds. “Oh I do not know what I am saying. My head is all a muddle when you kiss me like that. I have to think of Maysilee and what is best for her.”

“Did you not tell me you want her to have the courage to seek the life she desires, the love she deserves.”

“I… yes,” Madge moans and gasps in the same sound somehow.

“How else can you teach her such a thing if you deny it for yourself?” An entwined moan lifts softly into the night. “Your wandering hands don’t lie. What you feel right now is no lie…”

“No. I know.”

“Be careful sneaking from the house, Angel.”

My eyes slide closed for a moment and my mind paints the scene within. I cannot help myself, even though I know it to be a gross invasion of their privacy. I picture furtive hands beneath a linen shirt, loosened trousers and a skirt ruched up to allow calloused hands beneath to caress creamy thighs. Up and up to heaven… 

“Katniss!” Madge gasps and I freeze in place, body tense with the surety that my perfidy has been discovered. 

“It’s Johanna, my sweet,” Jo states between kisses. “Are my kisses so powerful to stun you into confusion?”

“No, I know, it’s you… only… I cannot betray Katniss.”

Johanna grunts, the sound annoyed. The kissing ceases.

“Do not ask me to break her trust.” Madge’s voice is soft and pleading.

“Then tell her, Angel.”

“I cannot. You know I cannot. Please do not ask this of me!”

“You break her trust by not telling her, you know.”

“And have you told Peeta?” Madge asks accusingly. Johanna laughs.

The undertones of their voices are unmistakable. Enough to finally break the hold of shock and spur my feet into motion. I shake myself from my stupor, quickly leaving my post guarding them and scurrying across the courtyard to afford them some privacy to sort their differences. It is late, no one else will be heading to the stables now, and Johanna would not leave Cicero untended. I trust her to see to Peeta’s mount without being asked…

Trust. It is a strange predicament to trust someone I once feared might have designs on my husband, and yet, somehow I understand that to Johanna, Peeta’s happiness was far more important than her desires in this instance, because she loves him too. As I love Madge.

Oh, it begins to tangle and then untangle in my head, all of the connections and little touches, even though I fear to place a name to the thing I witnessed, I cannot stop myself. Single words are all I can manage as I return to the house. 

Lovers. Tryst. Quarrel.

Madge and Johanna are lovers, I realise. For how long, I cannot say, although the more I reflect on it, the less surprised I am.

Did Johanna not state that she enjoyed the intimate company of women as well as men? At the time, the reveal of her true identity had me shocked enough and my jealousy over her relationship with Peeta occupied my thoughts enough to barely register that statement. So much so that I was not shocked over such an admission. But… Madge? 

There is no denying my friend’s loveliness, her kindness and bravery. I cannot fault Johanna the attraction at all. It is Madge’s return of it that puzzles me. She gave no indication of her preference. None whatsoever in all our talks of marriage and intimacy. How is such a thing physically accomplished? Two women as lovers?

In all the nights we shared a bed as sisters and friends… my mind leaps from one thought to another and I find myself leaning against one of the outbuildings to catch my breath and hold one hand over my pounding heart.

A laugh escapes me, astonished and crazed. Tears prick at my eyes as I wonder if some of our late night confidences held something more than I had previously thought. Sudden rage and regret fills me at the thought of my dear friend hiding this aspect of herself, of carefully and cautiously phrasing her answers and questions to hide from me…

No. No I will not flatter myself into thinking that Madge had intimate thoughts or designs on me beyond what I already believe of our friendship. Even if she had, it would not matter. I do not believe that I could return them. Johanna however, can and clearly does… but it cannot be. 

Why can it not be?

True, the church would view their connection as a sin, and yet… I can easily see Father Crane chastising me for my seemingly boundless lust for my husband. My husband! I cannot countenance the belief that any such love is a sin, if it is shared and pure of heart. 

There is also the matter of their stations in life. I’ve no idea of Johanna’s origins but she is now employed as a stable lad… and Madge is a former countess! Even were it not considered to be a violation of nature’s laws in the eyes of the church, it would still be considered a violation of society’s. Even that does not truly bother me, although it presents many obstacles for my friend’s happiness…

No, what truly bothers me, I realise as I abscond to the gardens and listen to the sounds of my own pacing on the gravel pathways, inhale the comforting scents of an earth reawakening…is that Madge did not see fit to trust me with the confidence. Did she attempt to tell me in her own way and I merely did not hear? Have I failed her so spectacularly as a friend?

And more importantly… what are we to do about it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued…