Page 74 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
He lowered himself onto his side next to her. After a moment or two of catching his breath, he rose to his feet to grab a cloth and wash basin. He dipped it in the cool water and began dabbing it on her, cleaning her almost reverently.
“Ye daenae need to do that,” she said as she tried to rise, which was useless as he guided her back down onto the bed.
“I told you, you will want for nothing ever again, my tempest,” he said as he dipped the cloth in the water and ran it over her hot sex. “I will take good care of you.”
After he finished washing her, he covered her with the lush duvet and walked over to a table that held watered wine. He poured her a small glass and offered it to her lips.
“Drink,” he said, and she did.
He crawled back into bed and pulled her close. She settled her head on his chest as they looked up at the ceiling. She had not noticed before the beautiful intricacies of his four-poster bed and the fabric on the ceiling. There were tiny golden stars that created a pattern along a deep crimson fabric. She found her eyes getting lost as she moved from one star to the next, creating shapes that morphed into moving comets.
“I like to look up at the stars, too,” he said. “Ever since I was a young boy.”
“I loved to go out to the fields and lay in the grass on warm summer nights to do just that.”
“We will share it together, my tempest,” he whispered in her ear.
“I like the sound of that,” she said as her heavy eyes began to close. “Aye, let us talk more of that… in the mornin’…”
Chapter Thirty
Marion woke the next morning, nestled against Anselm’s side as they lay in his bed. She felt the weight of his arm around her. It was a warm, anchoring presence across her waist that pulled her tight against his body. She arched her backside into him, earning a sleepy, satisfied sigh from her husband.
Aye, I could get used to this,she said, feeling every bit the goddess Anselm said she was.
She looked up to the soft light of dawn. Her eyes followed the rays of sunshine that painted the room. She realized it had been too long since she just laid still and observed the light. She took a deep breath, realizing that she was utterly content. Anselm’s embrace was the embodiment of peace, something she did not know she needed so badly.
“Good morning, wife,” he whispered in her ear.
“I dinnae ken ye were awake,” she said as she turned around to face him. “Good mornin’, husband. It seems about time for yer fencin’.”
“I think I will be skipping that today,” he said as he ran a hand over his eyes, shaking off his heavy sleep. “If I recall, I exerted myself quite a bit last night and think I earned a reprieve from exercise. What do you say, Duchess?”
“I am happy to grant ye a reprieve,” she said. There was a silly, playful tone in her voice.
“Tell me though,” Anselm started, his tone serious. “Do you feel all right this morning? Are you feeling well?”
“I hate to tell ye, but I daenae feel so good…”
He sprung up from the bed and ran to a nearby chair to fetch his dressing robe. He threw it over his shoulders quickly and then fumbled for his slippers, nearly falling onto the floor. A laugh escaped Marion’s lips at the sight.
“Why the devil are you laughing at me?”
“Ye dinnae let me finish. I daenae feel so good… I feel fantastic, husband. Completely and totally fantastic.”
He plopped down onto the chair and smiled at her as a small chuckle came from deep in his chest. He shook his head from side to side and wagged his finger at her.
“I do not know what to do with you,” he said. “But I think I will find a way to sort that out. One thing is for sure… will never again sleep elsewhere. You belong in my bed, wife. Do you not agree?”
“I agree very much, husband.”
True to her word, from that night forward, Marion only slept in Anselm’s bed. The vast, intimidating room transformed into their shared sanctuary. She brought her favorite pillows and some paintings, combining his aesthetic with her own to make a room that was truly theirs.
At first, she assigned it to coincidence, but slowly Marion noticed that the only thing absent from their bed was his nightmares. She knew in her heart that something about her presence steadied him, just as he did for her.
She thought of all he had been through. The many years of nightmares, like the one that had led to that raw, agonizing scream that brought her to him. They had simply ceased. She watched him most nights and found joy in how he slept deeply and restfully. She knew it was something he had not done since his childhood.
Perhaps we are meant to be, Marion wrote in her journal one morning before she went down for breakfast.Our movements and lovemaking are as if we are one being. The way I sleep with him is so restful and pure, as if we have been together since thebeginning’ of time. I cannae wait to see what the coming weeks bring.
