He didn’t answer, just shifted with a heavy sigh, then took another sip of his whisky. But he kept his arm around her, even hugged her a little tighter. So there was that.
“I don’t ever want to go to the Dreaming again,” she said and meant it. Maybe someday the Weavers would find her. Maybe not. Either way, it was time for her to learn to trust and to fully commit. “Not ever,” she said, hoping it would nudge him into responding.
“Aye, ’tis a terrible place,” he finally said, “better left to the Dream Weavers and the immortals.”
This conversation, this clearing of the air between them, was not going as she had wished. Apologies weren’t making any headway with him, and sitting in his lap had done little to convince him that she really was sorry. A possibility, a way to prove she was ready to fully commit, and he was really and truly stuck with her, came to mind. “You said Nicnevin would want us to have a ceremony even though we already took the binding oath. Right?”
He took another slow sip of his whisky, tempting her to take the glass away and set it aside. “Aye.”
“I think a ceremony is a good idea. Even though you and I know we are bound, it would be an outward display to show everyone else.” She held her breath, counting his heartbeats as she waited for a response.
He started to lift his glass, apparently realized it was now empty, then set it on the table beside his chair. “Ye want a ceremony?” His leeriness and disbelief was impossible to miss. It stung, but she refused to give up.
“Yes. I want a ceremony—not some big elaborate something that costs a lot of money or uses resources we shouldn’t waste since winter’s setting in. But something where everyone could come and see that we mean it.”
“See that we mean it,” he repeated.
She pushed herself upright and looked him in the eyes. “I do mean it, and this time, I am not holding anything back. I know I love you. I just have to learn to trust you, and a ceremony would be a good kickoff.”
“Kickoff?”
“A good start. A beginning. An affirmation.”
His dark brows slowly drew together, furrowing his brow. Genuine confusion filled his face. “Why would ye not trust me?”
“Because the last time I trusted a man, I got pregnant, and he left me.” She hoped that was a flicker of realization in his eyes—the realization that she feared being abandoned just as much as he did, but simply handled it differently.
“And that mistrust made ye protect yerself and hold on to the safety of family and friends ye might never see again.”
She allowed herself a heavy sigh of relief before snuggling against his chest once more and resting her head on his shoulder. She was suddenly very, very tired. “Exactly.”
The hollow ache under her breastbone, the heavy knot of worry she had carried since spelling herself into this place was still there, but maybe now that she knew it for what it was, she could deal with it like an annoying case of heartburn—at least until she finally worked through everything and moved on. And work through it, she would. After all, the choice to be happy or miserable, whatever her circumstances, was hers to make.
Chapter 13
Emily slowly rose from the depths of a lovely, delicious sleep and became aware of Gryffe’s warm, callused hand resting low on her bare stomach. His fingers were splayed wide as if to keep her from floating up into the night, and every now and then, they would gently flex in a caress meant to be tender so as not to wake her.
The candle on the mantel had burned out so the only light in the room was that of the full moon peeping in through the window. Its light shone across the bed, setting them both aglow with an eerie blue-white luminescence. He whispered something, or at least, she thought he did. He was so quiet, and she was still so delightfully lethargic from their make up sex that she didn’t know for sure.
“Did you say something?” she asked, speaking softly in case he was asleep, and she had imagined him talking.
He kissed her shoulder and whispered, “I think we made a bairn.”
Still so nicely groggy, she kept her eyes closed and smiled. “If we didn’t, it wasn’t for the lack of trying.” He had masterfully re-energized her in the solar with kisses that had kindled all her fires. After they’d christened every piece of furniture in that room, he had carried her back to the bedroom, and they’d blessed every level spot, and a few not so level spots in that chamber as well. “But we won’t know for a while. My time is not due for at least another week or so.” And she wasn’t looking forward to it since what she had seen of feminine products in this century was appalling.
He shifted, propping up on his elbow to peer at her. “Yer time? Ye mean yer courses?”
“Uhm…yes.” Seems like she remembered Jessa calling them that after living in her eighteenth century for a while. “And my timetable is fairly reliable.” Well, at least it always had been, thanks to the dedication of taking her pills every day, but she’d been without her prescription since arriving here. Surely, she wouldn’t be likely to get pregnant right away. The thought both excited and terrified her. Her last pregnancy had broken her heart. “Did you have a dream or something that made you think that we’d started a baby?”
He frowned down at her, his scowl handsome and somber in the moonlight. “Can ye not hear the wee one’s song? Feel its soul stretching and dancing, even?”
So comfortably warm and contented that she never wished to move, she closed her eyes again. “Snuggle closer and go back to sleep. It was a dream.”
“Hmmpf.”
She smiled at the indignance in his growly huff. “Have I insulted you, my chieftain?”
“We started a bairn this verra night, and ye refuse to believe me.”
