Page 104 of My Hero
“Garth,” she crooned, slipping one bare leg over him and running a finger along the sensuous swell of his shoulder.
“Aye, wife?” He arched against her thigh and nuzzled her hair. It felt divine.
“Do you remember,” she said, slightly distracted, “at the wedding…”
His lips curved into an irresistible smile that she naturally had to kiss. And then, when she found he tasted of mulberry wine, she had to kiss him again.
Chuckling, he lapped at her mouth with a delicate tongue, taunting her, enticing her, until she could wait no longer. Completely forgetting what she meant to tell him, she threw her arms around his neck and clambered atop his fine-muscled body. Heedless of her own sinful abandon, she kissed his forehead, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, settling again on his delicious mouth. Her low-slung belly brushed his, and he stroked her softly there, lingering awhile before he cupped the heavy weight of her breasts. She gasped. Her breasts prickled as his fingers grazed the distended nipples.
He laved her tongue languorously with his own, making deep, primitive sounds in his throat as she rocked against his warm, naked flesh.
Just as she thought she would burst with need of him, he lifted her hips and settled her down slowly onto his lap, filling her sweetly.
Their dance was subdued now. Her girth allowed only gentle movement and soothing rhythms. But it was exhilarating beyond belief to feel Garth’s sweet restraint, to watch the ecstasy crease his features as he mastered his own release. And it was empowering to ride astride him, setting the cadence, choosing the tide, quivering with rapture as her body edged closer to the precipice.
This time, she leaped over the edge first. A hundred tremors shook her on the wondrous journey down. She cried out his name, squeezing him between her thighs, clutching at his broad shoulders. Her hair shivered over her breasts, which tingled almost painfully. And then she was floating.
He followed her almost at once, thrashing his head across the pillow, bucking against her like an untamed stallion, groaning as if he endured unimaginable torture. And then he, too, was still.
She continued to straddle him, too exhausted to move, yet almost asleep sitting up.
“Now,” he inquired silkily, grinning, “what were you saying about the wedding?”
She peered at him through nearly closed lids. It was hard to remember anything in the presence of that captivating crooked smile. “Nothing that can’t wait,” she said, slipping languorously aside to snuggle against him.
They had a lifetime ahead of them—mellow autumns, cozy winters, vibrant springs, sultry summers. Their love was firmly rooted in fertile soil now. The stock was strong and hardy. And the growing season had just begun. Contentment, the warmth of Garth beside her, and the soft rhythm of their mingling breath lulled her to sleep.
Epilogue
“It won’t be long now, my lady,” Elspeth said, swabbing Cynthia’s brow with primrose water.
“Breathe,” Jeanne the midwife bade her with irritating calm. “That’s it. Slow and steady.”
“Get,” Cynthia ground out. “Father. Paul.”
“As you can see,” Jeanne continued, ignoring Cynthia’s temper to lecture the eight maidens gathered around her heaving belly in various states of interest and disgust, “it’s helpful to have at least two individuals attending the birth. One stands here,” she said, moving to the foot of the bed, “to monitor the progress of the birth…”
“Bring…Garth,” Cynthia panted.
“And one here,” Elspeth added, indicating herself, “to comfort the laboring—”
“El!”
“Aye?” Her eyes were suddenly sweet and concerned.
Cynthia let out a breath of self-disgust. She shouldn’t be impatient with the woman. Elspeth was so excited to have a new charge on the way. She couldn’t help it if her enthusiasm was occasionally annoying.
Still, Cynthiawasin labor. It was painful and, though she’d delivered dozens of other women’s babes, having her own was strangely frightening.
“Please…get them.”
Elspeth bent near, whispering as if to a child. “My lady, I know the de Ware men have a certain history around the birth of their babes, but truly it isn’t appropriate for a husband…” Then she frowned. “Why do you want Father Paul?”
Jeanne turned to the maids and explained. “Sometimes at this stage of the birth, the mother gets confused and—”
“Listen!” Cynthia snapped. Quickly, before the rising wave of pain could incapacitate her, she hauled Elspeth to her by the front of her surcoat. Elspeth dropped her rag, and the maidens stared in surprise as Cynthia spat out her demands. “I need Father Paul and Garth, and I need them now!”
Elspeth’s perplexed face blurred as the dull ache in Cynthia’s back sharpened, forcing her attention to her labor again.
