Kerrigan wakes late, sunlight streaming through the window. He sits up on his makeshift bed with a sleepy growl. Stormy has already left for the day.
Climbing to his feet, he stretches in the sunshine like a great golden cat. He glances at the clock on the dressing table: about half past nine. Lazy sod. Kerrigan grins sourly.
He returns to the window, folds up the quilt that serves as his bed and lays it aside. Picking up the pillow, he moves to replace it on Stormy's bed. She has left her nightgown flung carelessly across the rumpled covers.
Kerrigan tosses down the pillow, and has to retrieve another which it jars from a precarious perch. This done, he pauses; then on some odd impulse, he picks up the nightgown.
Such a frail, gossamer thing. He cannot imagine Leila wearing such a garment, even in private. But Stormy is not Leila. Thank the gods.
He is still furious with Leila. Her cruelty alone he could bear; he takes it as given that Leila is cruel, and bitter, and spiteful. It's the vindictiveness, the nagging pestering refusal to let anything go, that maddens him.
And to take it out on Stormy! The kid's so manifestly harmless, so little of a threat. Her crush on Hathorne she keeps as quiet as a banned religion, worshipping only in private; and what else could Leila possibly have against her?
I'm younger and prettier and Garry-chan liked me, she said that first night. Was that it? Was Leila afraid of losing him? --But hell, who wouldn't like Stormy? a pretty kid, good-natured and quick-witted. Not to mention kindhearted.
He turns her nightgown in his hands idly, letting the material slide between his fingers; watches the way the sunlight changes the color; pictures her wearing it, her black hair tangled from sleep --
Kerrigan almost hurls the gown from him, as if it had burst into flames. A kid, he reminds himself, his heart thumping guiltily, a pretty, lovesick kid.
Gods...
He turns away, to the window, and opens it; never mind it's March and he's only half dressed. Cold air can't hurt him. The noises of Spice Street drift up from far below.
Ya can sleep in the bed if ya want, Kerri-kun. I trust ya.
No doubt she does. She's a trusting creature, in spite of everything. Kerrigan sighs, his breath white in the chilly air.
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