“And I think Da is very disappointed in me.”
“Bloody old hypocrite. No one so disappointing as your father has any right to judge. You did very well from what I hear, and you’ve found your soul match in a kind young man who knows how to look after you.”
A growl sounded from outside and Anton thrust his huge, slobbering head through the window.
“Now, that thing I’m not so sure about,” Cressida said, wrinkling her nose. “But he’s a good enough scarecrow in my garden, so we shall tolerate him a little while yet.”
“What did you tell Da?” Magdala asked with some trepidation.
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve sent him a vague letter informing him that you are not dead, no thanks to him. To which he replied that he should like to come visit sometime, and I said that he was not allowed until spring, when we would address it again, and if he told anyone where you are, I would replace his ribs with elkin bear antlers, so they prick him all day and night.”
“Gracious, Ma.” Magdala shuddered. “I think he loved Elegy more than me,” she said.
“I know he loved Elegy more than me.” Her mother laughed. “I’m very glad it’s burned to the ground.”
“Have you met Zephyr?”
“The handsome immortal? Oh, yes. He is really the prettiest man I’ve ever seen in all my days.”
“Ma, he’s eight hundred summers old.”
“I don’t care a whit!” her mother cried. “Have you noticed the cut of his jaw?” She made a clucking sound with her mouth.
Magdala retched. “He’s ancient, Ma.”
Cressida patted Magdala’s hand, and her smile lines deepened. “Lie down and rest. It’ll be dark soon, and I’ve left soup in the kitchen."
Cressida left and Magdala settled back on the soft bed to watch the wind toying with the curtains. Gentle rain pattered on the grass outside the window, and Magdala drifted into a contented sleep. She awoke when Asherton returned.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Magdala rubbed her eyes. Her aches were already fading.
“I’ve brought salve for your bruises,” he said, holding up a green jar. Asherton kicked off his boots and climbed into the bed beside her. “Take off your nightdress and let me rub some on.”
Magdala raised her eyebrows. It occurred to her, with a shock, that they had been married for more than three weeks and hadn’t yet consummated their marriage.
Slowly, she lifted her nightdress and found she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She clutched the sheet against her chest as Asherton scooped some of the salve on his fingers and rubbed it on her back. It was cold, and it stung her skin in a strangely pleasurable way.
She turned their situation over in her mind for a moment and then said, “I feel very well.”
“I’m so glad,” he replied, concentrating on her bruises.
“No, Ash.” She turned and let the sheet slip away. “I feel very, very well.”
Asherton’s eyes lit and he set the jar aside. “Are you sure? We can wait until you’ve recovered more.”
She gripped his shirt and lay down, drawing him over her. “I am so very sure.”
“Very well, then, my perfect goddess wife.”
His arm wound around her back, and he lifted her gently into a deep, warm, exploratory kiss.
Morning dawned cool and smelling of approaching autumn. Magdala awoke curled against Asherton’s side, the covers pulled to her neck.
After all the long nights watching him sleep, this was the first time she’d woken without a knot of anxiety in her chest. She cuddled into his warmth and let out a long, cleansing sigh.
Asherton stirred, drew her closer, and kissed her brow sleepily. “Good morning,” he said.
