He didn't blame her. He kept his movements careful, his touch measured, letting her see there was no force in him, only steadiness. That night, after the meal, the cabin grew quiet again. The youngest fell asleep first, curled on her side by the fire. The middle sister sewed patches in her skirt, her eyes still flicking up now and then toward Rowan and her older sister.
The eldest sat closer to him than usual, her shoulder nearly touching his. The firelight traced the curve of her face, the lines of her figure beneath the repair dress. Rowan kept his eyes fixed on the flames, but his awareness of her presence pressed against him like a weight. After a long silence, she leaned closer, her voice low. You alone long time?
Rowan nodded once. Yes. Now I'm not alone. Her words were simple, but her tone carried more. She was telling him she had chosen to remain, that what had begun between them was not chance, but decision.
Rowan's hand rested on his knee. She placed hers over it, light but firm. He didn't move away. The middle sister's stitching slowed, then stopped. Rowan saw her looking at them, but after a moment she dropped her eyes and returned to her work.
She hadn't given approval exactly, but she had chosen not to interfere. That was its own kind of acceptance. Later, when the others had finally lain down, Rowan lingered by the table. The eldest stayed, too, standing in the glow of the dying fire. She looked at him for a long time before stepping closer.
Her hand rose, touched his face, rough with the day's stubble. Rowan caught her wrist lightly, holding it there. His breath deepened, and this time, when he leaned in, the kiss was not hesitant. It was longer, firmer, carrying the weight of all the restraint that had held them back until now. When they parted, she pressed her forehead briefly against his chest before pulling away.
She returned to her sisters, lying down beside them. Rowan remained standing, his heart steady but heavy with something new. The questions that might have lingered for anyone watching, did her sisters accept this bond? Was Rowan's silence proof of sincerity or avoidance? Did she truly want to stay?
Were answered in small ways. The middle sister's wary gaze had softened. The youngest had shown no fear, and the eldest had chosen him with her hands, her eyes, her kiss. Rowan lay down at last, the fire dimming timbers. He left the door unlatched again, not out of habit anymore, but because the cabin was no longer his alone.
The thaw had not yet arrived, but the snow had softened along the edges of the creek. Dark patches of earth showing through where the current pressed against the banks. Rowan noticed it first that morning, leaning on his axe as he watched the water move faster than it had in weeks. He knew what it meant. The hard part of winter was turning, and soon the valley would change.