For a moment, dark thoughts intruded, as she wondered how long it could last, but she pushed them aside and took control of their lovemaking, riding him until he cried out her name and shuddered beneath her. Roselyn fell down into his embrace and rested atop him, feeling him beneath her, inside her.
Finally she slid off him and lay at his side. He turned in her embrace, pillowing his head against her shoulder as she slid her arms about him. She brushed his hair back from his face. His eyes were closed, his long, dark lashes resting on his cheeks.
She wanted to question him about their journey, about their relationship, but before she could work up the courage, he gave a soft snore. She smiled, feeling warm and peaceful and strangely grateful, as she continued to stroke his hair.
“You were the first man to kiss me,” she whispered.
He didn’t react to her words except to snuggle his head against her and pull her more tightly to him. His face seemed open and vulnerable in sleep.
She felt braver now. “You were the first man to care for me.” Then softer: “My betrothed.”
She pulled the blankets up over them both and fell quickly to sleep.
~oOo~
Before dawn, Spencer awoke as if swimming up from deep water. At a level just below true consciousness, he remembered the words Roselyn had whispered as he’d fallen asleep.
She’d never been kissed.
What kind of monster had that stable groom been? When she had lost everything in her gamble for happiness, had he only punished her?
Spencer opened his eyes and looked down where she cuddled at his side. He’d already known she’d never experienced pleasure in her husband’s bed. As he imagined how unpleasant sex must have been for her, he felt a strange ache in his chest. He wished he could have kept the pain from her, that he could remove all those ugly memories.
He smoothed her hair back from her cheek, and just the sight of her sweet face made his heart come to pieces in worry for her. Had he brought her deeper into danger?
He realized then that he loved her.
The thought made him all the more terrified for her safety. Aye, he loved Roselyn, loved her bravery in choosing her own life and living with her decisions, no matter the outcome.
He cursed himself for not even bothering to get to know his betrothed, to see how they might have made the best of their parents’ command. He had not thought a woman could love him, and was still uncertain if Roselyn did.
He slid his hand down her warm stomach. He ached for her that she’d been a mother so briefly. Even now she could be carrying his child.
What if they executed him for treason? Roselyn and their child would be banished, outcast, and it would all be his fault.
How could he tell her he loved her, when he might be dead soon? Better she hate him and think he used her, than to know he’d gone to his execution loving her.
But he was still a weak, selfish man, and he woke her as he wanted to wake her, caressing her body to welcoming life, then forgetting his sorrows briefly in the shelter between her thighs.
Afterward Spencer washed quickly in the cold basin. It was difficult to keep his mind on the day when Roselyn lay warm and dreamy on the pillow they’d shared.
She laughed softly. “Your body tells me you’re not ready to leave my bed.”
“This freezing water will soon change that.” He limped to his saddlebag and changed into fresh garments. “I’ll bring you food, my lady. Be up and about when I return.”
“Stop calling me that,” she murmured.
He could see the blush that flowed from her face down her neck. “How far does this lovely rose color go?” he asked, peeking beneath the blankets, then planting a kiss between her breasts as she laughed. “Right to there, I’ll wager. Any lower?”
“Spencer!”
“Ah, I guess this is not the time for exploring. And youarea lady,” he added soberly. He wanted to say “my lady,” but knew it might hurt her in the end.
After they’d broken their fast, he handed her a dagger and scissors he’d borrowed from Francis.
“What are these for?” Roselyn asked warily.
“I need you to cut my hair and beard.”
