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“Wrap your legs around me,” he said, lifting his wife, who did just that. Kissing her thoroughly on the way to the bed, he reluctantly broke contact and instantly missed the touch of her skin on his. Not wanting to be without it, he climbed over her and did not hesitate.

Ensuring she was ready for him and spreading her legs, Haydn buried himself deep. He cried out, as did she, as he thrust into her. Again and again, watching her, but saying nothing. Reaching between them, he used his thumb, circling it, wanting to hear his wife scream in release. Wanting her to feel as uncontrolled as he was at this moment.

Nothing, including the goddamn king of England himself, could stop them.

Never taking his eyes from her, Haydn lowered himself, his hand still between them. When he claimed her mouth once more, mimicking each and every thrust with his tongue, Phillipa squeezed his shoulders, her nails digging into him.

Haydn welcomed it. The pain he’d caused her, caused them both. . . she could rake her nails down his back, drawing blood, and he would let her. Gladly. She may have already done so. As she cried out, Haydn did not wait another moment to find his own release as well.

Collapsing on her, when he was finally able to find his breath, Haydn’s heart beating so loudly that surely his wife could hear it, he raised his head. “Hello, Phillipa.”

“Hello, Haydn.”

Reluctantly pulling from her and dropping beside his wife on the bed, Haydn propped his head in his hand and pulled a strand of wet hair from her face. His eyes darted to the bathtub and then back to her. “How was your bath?”

She watched him warily. “Boring.”

His laughter seemed to lighten the mood between them. How he’d missed that smile. And ever thought he could stay away from her. What had he been thinking?

“I am sorry,” he said, “for leaving.”

Phillipa shivered, so Haydn repositioned himself, pushing the coverlet down and then back over them. Unfortunately she brought it up high enough that her breasts were now covered too. ’Twas well enough. He’d not be able to focus otherwise.

“Haydn—”

“Wait, let me start. We will think of a way to keep your sister safe. We must. Because I can not be without you for any day. I was raised by two parents who love each other so dearly, none of us ever hoped to find the same. But I think, deep inside, it’s why I’ve found one reason or another to reject every match my parents had suggested. I wanted what they had and never thought to find it. Certainly not with the daughter of a man who has the power to destroy my family. Or at least, try to do so. But I will not let him. If we have to fight, we fight. The borderers know little peace and have fought for as many years as I am alive. Never the king of England himself, but so be it. I was a coward, afraid of loving you.”

“Or maybe afraid you were not worthy of it.”

A lump formed in his throat. She knew him better than she should, given the amount of time they’d known each other. “Aye. Or that precisely.”

“I do love you, Phillipa. We will find a path forward, together.”

When her hand found his cheek, Haydn closed his eyes. When his wife’s lips touched his, ever so gently, he knew peace and the meaning of contentment. Would that he could stay in this bed, with this woman, forever.

Or mayhap not this bed. Though filled with feathers and not straw, it was not so comfortable as his own in Rymerden. He opened his eyes and she pulled back. Grasping her hand and weaving his fingers through hers, Haydn was content simply to look at her for a time.

“I missed you,” he said finally.

“I missed you too. When you rode away that day, I wanted to rail at you. To tell you that I would never, ever, betray you or your family, that you should have realized as much already. To ask if we might find a path forward, together, since I could never be without you again. Instead,” she sighed, “I remained silent. But it’s what I’ve known, what I’ve done, for so long.”

“I know, Phillipa. As much as I wish it otherwise, I know. If I could take away every cross word, every strike at the hands of your father, I’d do so. But you must know I welcome your opinion. Your thoughts. If you wish to scream at me, I welcome that too, as long as you love me as I love you.”

“I do, of course I do.”

He could see the truth of it in her eyes and hoped Phillipa could see the same in his. She smiled then and, quite unexpectedly, jumped from the bed. Too stunned to speak, he sat up and watched as his very naked wife went to her small trunk, pulling out a piece of parchment. Distracted by the way her hips swayed as she sauntered back, he tried to grab her and pull her toward him. But she eluded his grasp, giggling. It wasn’t a sound he’d heard from her before.

He liked it.

“No, you must read that first.”

Tossing the letter at him, she backed away. Smart woman. Reluctantly, he picked it up and began to read. Haydn’s eyes widened as he scanned it. He’d expected a letter to her father and, must admit, was curious what it contained.

Finishing it, he looked up and met her eyes, expectant. Worried even.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, swallowing. “Aye. I showed it to Holt too. He promised to find me a messenger this eve so it could be sent tomorrow.”