Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven & Eight
Chapter Eleven
Four days later, after speaking vows before God in the chapel and pledging herself, body and soul, to the leader who had conquered her clan, stolen her home, and claimed her as his bride, Gwendolen followed Angus into his bedchamber.
Dozens of candles had been lit. A hot fire blazed in the hearth. The room smelled of rose petals and wine, but not even those extravagant luxuries could calm the storm of her anxieties for she would soon be lying naked in bed with the great Scottish Lion.
He turned and shot a threatening glance at the drunken MacDonald clansmen who had followed them up the stairs, teasing and heckling. The men halted on the spot, then backed away and stumbled into one another as he shut the door in their faces.
He twisted the key in the lock, then turned toward Gwendolen, who stood in front of the window, uncertain about what to do next. Remembering the promises she had made-to be a devoted and dutiful wife-she raised a slightly trembling hand and pulled the pins from her hair, then shook it down her back, determined to do her best to please her husband tonight. If he was happy with her, she might eventually gain his trust and secure a more comfortable, influential role for herself, where she would not fear him quite so much.
He strode forward, his eyes fixed on hers as he slid the tartan off his shoulder. He unbuckled his leather belt, along with his dress sporran, and tossed everything onto a chair. Next he pulled his shirt off over his head, and stood before her, naked.
Gwendolen's lips parted, and she strove to control her breathing as she regarded his beautiful, gleaming body in the candlelight. Firm, thickly muscled, and marked with battle scars, he was an extraordinary image of strength and virility. Her curious eyes took in the contours of his chest, and the ripples of sinew across his torso. Down lower, he was copiously aroused, and the sight of his full male genitalia made her tremble with shock and apprehension. How was she ever going to survive this? How would she know what to do? She felt a strange heat from within, while her mind catapulted with nervous tension.
For a long while, they beheld each other, saying nothing. But what was there to say? Gwendolen knew what was expected of her on this night, and she had done everything she could to prepare herself.
Determined to relax and heed her mother's advice-which was to embrace and enjoy this experience -she lifted her hair and piled it on top of her head, then turned her back to her husband, waiting for him to unhook her gown.
He took his time undressing her. He removed one article of clothing at a time, then lightly tossed each piece to the floor the stiff brocade stomacher, the skirts and petticoats and wide, whalebone hoops. Gwendolen raised her arms over her head while he removed the linen chemise, then at last he stepped back to take in her naked form in the dim candlelight.
She blinked up at him timidly.
"Do not fear me, lass. I give you my word, I'll do my best to be gentle."
"I cannot help but fear you," she replied. "Not long ago, I watched you fight a battle in the bailey and kill dozens of my clansmen. I saw how you claimed what you wanted by force."
She shivered in a sudden draft, and he held out a hand. "You're cold. Come. Get into bed. You'll feel warmer soon enough, and less fearful of me, I hope."
He led her to the canopied bed and pulled back the thick covers. She climbed onto the luxurious feather mattress and slid her legs between the sheets.
Angus blew out all the candles in the room, then got in beside her. Now, there was only the firelight to illuminate his face. Gwendolen marveled at his handsome features his unfathomable blue eyes and strong, chiseled cheekbones. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that the great Scottish Lion, Angus MacDonald, was her husband and she had pledged herself to him today before her clan and under the eyes of God. Tonight he would seal that sacred union. He would make love to her, and perhaps put a child in her womb.
Slowly, he inched closer and laid a large, heavy hand on her belly. Closing her eyes, she thought of the lion in her dreams. Powerful, exotic, sensual, he had come to her in a meadow, rich with colorful wildflowers and thistledown that floated in bright shafts of sunlight. In the dream, she was engulfed by humid summer warmth, and never felt afraid. She longed only to stroke the lion's thick mane. She held out her hand and lured him closer. He licked her wrist, and his tongue soon found the sensitive flesh at her neck.
Gwendolen opened her eyes when Angus settled himself on top of her, his skin hot against her own. She slipped her arms around his waist and felt the solid bands of muscle at his lower back.
"Are you still afraid?" he asked, his voice husky as he kissed behind her ear. Her body responded in a tingle of gooseflesh.
She thought of the dream again and remembered how it felt to be completely unafraid and aching to touch the lion, but dreams were not the same as reality. Her belly was tied up in knots. Her heart was pounding wildly.
"Aye, but I can't seem to do anything about it."
He looked into her eyes. "I'll only take you when you're willing, lass, so give me a chance to make it so. Can you relax for me?"
She nodded.
"I'll not rush you," he whispered, as he touched his lips to hers and swept his tongue inside, while the heat from his body was surprisingly comforting and made her sigh in unexpected content.
He bent his head and kissed her cheek, and sure enough, his reassurances began to calm her nerves. His palm slid up her rib cage, and his thumb settled on the pebbled tip of her breast. He flicked it back and forth, while he kissed her collarbone with parted lips and a probing tongue, sending tiny waves of eroticism shimmying down her spine. Her legs parted, and he settled himself more comfortably between her thighs.
She trembled at the desire racing through her body, while her hips began to pulse. He laid kisses across her shoulder and down to her breasts, where he licked and suckled tirelessly for such a duration that the minutes began to blur into one exquisite path of rapture, leading her somewhere unfamiliar and thrilling in its promise of adventure.
A flaming heat began deep inside her. She cupped his head in her hands and let out a tiny moan.
He paused and gazed down at her. She felt suddenly lost in a feverish delirium and wondered if she'd had too much wine during the celebrations, but no... that was not the case. This delirium was something else. It was erotic and emotional, and she suspected she was in fact going to enjoy herself more than she ever imagined she could.
He held her in his gaze as he slid his hand between her thighs and began to stroke her. The memory of what he did to her five nights ago still burned in the fires of her imagination, and the intensity of his expression filled her with courage and daring, and a genuine desire to please him.
She reached down and wrapped her hand around his manhood, and was amazed by his size and stiffness. "Show me how to touch you."
"You're doing fine, lass. You need no instruction."
With growing passion, she stroked him, measuring her success by the intensity of his responses the catch of his breath in his throat, the movement of his hips, and the passion in his kiss.
Keen to explore, she squeezed down lower, but he lightly seized her wrist. "Not so aggressive with that part of me, lass. It requires a softer touch."
"Did I hurt you?" She was mortified.
"I've survived worse."
He lowered his mouth to hers again, and they each resumed their explorations. Angus rubbed and stroked her until she was drowning in wetness, then at last he shifted and positioned the swollen tip of his erection against her tender maidenhead.
"You're ready for me. Can you feel it?"
She nodded and braced herself, for he would now claim her as his wife. She would belong to him. No other man would ever receive what she was about to give him.
He pushed forward, hard up against the delicate barrier of her virginity, and paused. "Am I hurting you?"
"A little," she replied, "but don't stop."
He thrust forward again, more deeply this time, and the pain was significant, for he was incredibly large.
"Are we almost there?" she asked, clutching at his shoulders, biting her lower lip.
"Aye."
He gave one final thrust, all the way in, deep to the hilt, easing himself into the confines of her virginity, until it existed no more.
Her body stiffened at the painful invasion, and yet she wanted it.
Angus gave her a moment to grow accustomed to the feel of his body inside of hers. He lay very still. "Are you all right?"
A bewitching fever was overtaking her senses. She didn't feel like herself. Whatever pain she was experiencing seemed trivial compared to the raw need to drive her hips forward. Erotic sensation flooded through her body, and his initial penetration soon became a series of them, creating a rhythm of rapture that left her breathless. She clung to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips, matching each of his deep, smooth, pounding thrusts, measure for measure, delighting in the pain that still lingered with the friction.
His body grew damp with perspiration. She cried out and tossed her head back on the pillows. She was slick with moisture as he worked deftly in and out of her.
She was his now, it was done, and she knew that when he finally spilled his seed into her womb, their union would be sealed forever.
Her mother had been right. This was indeed something to enjoy.
She dug her fingernails into his buttocks, and pulled him all the way in, as deep as he would go.
***
Angus held still for a moment, acutely aware of the shocking notion that Gwendolen had finally surrendered to him. She had not resisted this most intimate invasion, but instead had placed her body, her life, and her future in his hands, which was an astounding occurrence-for no woman, and certainly no virgin, had ever given herself over to him like this before.
Another part of him, however-the darker, more cynical sidetensed at her unguarded abandon, for he had never desired passion or intimacy with any woman, much less a wife. Sexual release, yes. Power, definitely. But passion? It was not something he had wanted when he shouted from the rooftops that he would claim a MacEwen daughter as his bride.
But this was not the time for soul-searching, he knew. All that mattered now was his hunger for her body. Slowly, he began to resume their coupling. He drove in and out of her with a primal, reckless need, and it wasn't long before he felt the hot rush of an oncoming orgasm and was compelled to move faster and faster until it became some kind of wild sexual frenzy.
It had been years since he'd experienced such a buildup of pleasure, and he had to work hard to rein it in and stall his orgasm, but in the end, it was no use. He felt as if he were making love for the first time but he supposed he'd never been with a virgin before.
He couldn't think, couldn't even stop to consider Gwendolen's pleasure. He climaxed in a compulsive rage and exploded into her with a groan of blazing heat. He bucked and pushed, and she dug her fingernails into his back. It was rough, wild, and extreme-and it took some time to get his breath back before he collapsed onto her soft body with an immense sigh of satisfaction.
"That's not what I expected," she said, still clinging to him.
"Nor I."
In fact, he felt a sudden impulse to get up off the bed and exit the room. He resisted the urge, however, and rolled off her to stare up at the canopy overhead.
"Did I please you?" she asked-in that sweet, innocent voice that made him realize how very different they were.
"You were fine," he replied without meeting her eyes.
She paused. "I'll do better next time. I promise. I was nervous, that's all."
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. "You did nothing wrong."
It was a lie. She had held him too close, enthralled him too quickly, and he was reacting to it now with a sudden rush of uneasiness.
He rose from the bed and crossed to the fire. For a tense moment, he stood naked before it, staring into the red-hot lure of the flames. He reached for the iron poker and pushed the logs around. Sparks exploded and snapped and escaped up into the chimney.
He set the poker back on its hook and went to pick up his shirt, which he had tossed on the chair earlier. He pulled it on over his head while Gwendolen watched. She was sitting up now, hugging the covers to her chest.
"Are you going somewhere?"
He picked up his tartan and wrapped it around his waist. "Aye. Down to the hall for some ale."
"But why? Don't you want to stay in bed? You can have me again if you like. You could teach me how to do all the things that please you."
He tensed in response to her provocative proposition, and had some trouble with his tartan. He couldn't seem to locate the brooch in all the folds, and was beginning to reconsider his decision to leave, for he was keenly aware of her naked form on the bed, and her enticing suggestions were still reverberating in his brain. Would it be so wrong to stay and teach her a few things?
"How long will you be gone?" she asked.
He found the brooch and turned his back on her. "I don't know, but don't wait up. You can return to your own chamber if you'd be more comfortable there."
He didn't let himself look at her, but he didn't have to. She was hurt by his wish to leave. It was their wedding night after all.
"I would prefer to stay here," she informed him, with less innocence and more of that proud defiance he had witnessed on the day of the invasion.
"I may be a while." He sat down on the chair and pulled on a boot. "And I'll likely be drunk."
She sat up on her knees, still covering herself with the sheet. She crawled across the bed toward him. "Is that supposed to cool the fires of my lust?"
He glanced up at her in shock, and couldn't help but laugh. "Honest to God, woman! I don't know what to make of you!"
"How so?"
He pulled on the second boot and stood up. "Sometimes I wonder if there's a sharp-toothed tiger under all that virtue and purity. Who the blazes did I marry?"
She frowned at him. "Perhaps you'd understand me better if you didn't feel the need to leave every time we make love."
He strode forward and raised an eyebrow at her. "
Every time? We've only done it once, lass."
"You know what I mean. The other time... when you came to my bed... You didn't stay very long."
He felt suddenly as if the walls were closing in around him, so he started for the door. "I'll not explain myself to you. I am laird here. I'll do what I want, and leave a room when I please."
He yanked the door open.
"Even if you leave your wife unsatisfied?"
He halted abruptly in the doorway, seething with a mixture of fury and arousal, which had not abated since the moment she'd offered to let him have her again.
He turned and reentered the room. She stared at him with wide eyes terrified, probably, that she had crossed a line, which she most definitely had.
He kicked the door shut behind him and strode back to the bed for he had something important to prove to her: Angus the Lion never left any woman unsatisfied. Especially not his wife.
***
Gwendolen sat frozen in shock as her husband approached, for she was baffled by the stormy nature of her emotions. One minute she was overcome with desire and enraptured with her new husband. The next minute, she was shouting insults at him across the room and bracing herself for his sexual retaliation.
She had not intended to rouse his anger, but he couldn't just leave her like that. This was their wedding night, and he had just put an end to her life as a virgin.
He advanced to the side of the bed and pointed at the mattress in front of him. "Right here."
She moved to the place where he indicated.
"Now lie back."
She did as he commanded, and he wrapped his arms around her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the bed. He placed his hands on her knees and looked down at her. Her legs stretched wide, opening for him.
Feet still on the floor, he leaned over her and laid hot, openmouthed kisses on her breasts. His callused hands stroked up and down her sides, over her hips and down to her calves, then he used his mouth to blaze a trail of kisses down her flat, quivering belly. He probed her navel with his tongue.
She grew weak with yearning and the excitement of the unknown, as he kissed her hips and made her squirm with delight.
"How's this, lass?" he asked in a low, seductive voice. "Is this what you want from me?"
She could do nothing but nod earnestly as he knelt on the floor and brushed his lips across her inner thighs. A soft gasp escaped her when his mouth and tongue plunged into the sensitive core of her womanhood.
She'd thought she'd experienced everything earlier when he claimed her virginity and poured his seed into her, but this was something new and unimaginable. She had not known how intimate the marriage act could beor how satisfying. He was driving her to the brink of madness.
She bucked and writhed on the bed as he pleasured her, and soon she was plunging down that raging, foamy river of sensation. When it finally came, the orgasm was excessive to the point of excruciating. She clutched the bedcoverings in both fists and cried out, while he continued to thrust his tongue into her, until her arms fell open and she was faint with exhaustion.
Angus rose to his feet and rested his fisted knuckles on the bed on either side of her.
Her eyes fluttered open. She felt groggy. Drunk. And very happy.
"Are you satisfied now?" he asked.
She could barely think through the sexual fog that was clouding her brain, but somehow she managed to nod her head.
"Good. Now maybe I can have some peace and quiet."
He stalked to the door, but halted before he opened it.
"Bluidy hell," he whispered.
She leaned up on both elbows, wondering dazedly what he was going on about. He swung around to face her.
"I can't go down there like this." He was aroused again. His kilt wasn't hanging right. "Are you willing to have another go?"
"Oh yes," she answered breathlessly. "And since I'm already well satisfied, there's no need for foreplay."
Her ferocious Highlander returned to her, and with a fiery glint in his eye, said, "Are you sure, lass? Because I'm feeling energetic. This might last a while."
"I'm absolutely sure." All she wanted was to feel him inside her again.
He braced his feet apart on the floor, then slowly slid into her soaking depths with glorious ease this time. He made love to her while standing up, and he made it last a good long time, working inside her with smooth, plunging meticulousness that left her reeling with amazement. When he climaxed, she felt it as if it were her own. He finally collapsed onto her with a groan of deep satisfaction.
A moment later he climbed onto the bed explaining that he was too exhausted to make it to the door. He stripped off his clothes, then fell onto his back like a tremendous toppling oak.
He did not leave the bed again until morning, and by that time, Gwendolen was feeling somewhat addicted to her new husband's sexual expertise.
And quite thoroughly schooled in the enticing act of lovemaking.
Chapter Twelve
Angus strode in circles around the Great Hall, swinging his sword through the air in wide, sweeping arcs, waiting impatiently for Lachlan for arrive.
He had not had breakfast yet it was still too early for that -but he felt a great need to work his body into a lather and ease some of the tension he was feeling, for his wedding night had been more complicated than he'd expected. Gwendolen had drained him dry, and he needed to prove to himself that he was not entirely sapped of strength and vigor, otherwise he might have to lay down some boundaries.
At last Lachlan appeared under the wide, arched entrance and leaned a shoulder against the wall. His face was shadowed with dark stubble, his eyes rimmed with red. He watched Angus lunge and strike at the air, then he ambled forward, yawning.
"Is there a reason you dragged me out of bed on this, of all days, when you should still be shagging your pretty new wife? Bluidy hell, Angus, I only got to sleep an hour ago."
"And what were you doing all night?" Angus asked irritably.
"Ah, you know. The usual. Drinking. Singing. Shagging."
"I told you to stay away from the MacEwen women for a while."
"Not to worry. My little friend last night was a MacDonald from the village, and a bonnie one at that."
Lachlan drew his sword. They paced back and forth, eyeing each other intently.
Suddenly, Angus swung hard, and the heavy clang of steel against steel did wonders for his mood. He needed to feel like he was still the same man he had been on the day he stormed the gates of Kinloch. He needed to know that his desire for his wife was not going to consume him.
A particular memory flashed through his brain as he ducked under Lachlan's aggressive attack. He remembered wiping a tear from Gwendolen's cheek, just before dawn. She'd looked up at him and told him she was happy, and he had done the unthinkable and gathered her into his arms.
Lachlan came at him suddenly.
Angus shouted a fearsome war cry and defended himself against his cousin's impressive overhanded swing.
"Is there a reason you're so keen to fight this morning?" Lachlan asked, moving quickly to deflect another blow. "She didn't hold out on you, did she?"
"Nay."
They fought hard and fast for a few more minutes.
"That's it?" Lachlan said, as he turned away and circled the room. "That's all you're going to say about your wedding night?"
"That's all I'm going to say."
Lachlan came at him again. There was a piercing ring of steel against steel.
"No regrets then?" Lachlan asked. "You're pleased with your wife?"
"Stop talking, Lachlan, and fight me!"
Later, when they were both dripping with sweat and breathing heavily, they sat down on the dais. Angus threw Lachlan a towel.
"You know," Angus said, wiping his face, "I never imagined I'd end up married to a woman like Gwendolen MacEwen. I always believed that only foolish men took beautiful wives because they were thinking with their knobs instead of their heads."
"And love makes a man weak," Lachlan added. "So you've always said."
Angus looked up at the swallow's nest in the rafters, but the bird was not there.
"Has there been any word from her brother yet."
"No news, but I sent five men out to hunt him down, so one of them should be able to discover something. It might take a while, that's all. In the meantime, I'm extracting all kinds of interesting facts and opinions from Onora. She's an easy flirt and a fountain of information about Kinloch, and the people in the village."
Angus wiped the towel over his face again. "Do you ever feel like you 'll burn in hell for using her like that?"
Lachlan chuckled. "Nay, because she's using me, too. She's quite the seductress. And it's not as if I'd ever bed her."
"Just keep your wits about you." Angus wiped at his arms. "And don't forget your first priority to maintain a strong defense. Position the most reliable men at the battlements and keep sending out the scouts."
"I've got it all under control."
"Has anyone been out yet this morning?"
"Not yet."
"I'll go myself, then."
Lachlan regarded him keenly. "Are you sure? Don't you have a pretty young bride waiting in your bed?"
"Aye, but she took advantage of me last night. I need to refill my well."
Lachlan threw his head back and laughed.
***
A short time later, Angus strode across the rooftops to check on the sentries. He looked toward the horizon, then went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and crunched into it on the way to the stables. He told the groom to back off and mind his own business while he saddled a horse for himself, then departed from the castle through the main gate.
Galloping fast across the bridge, he relished the hollow sound of the hooves clopping over the planks, then trotted across the dewy field to the forest. As he delved deeper into the wood, the dappled shade cooled his body, and he stopped a moment to breathe in the fresh scent of the pines and listen to the sound of fast-rushing water nearby. A squirrel chattered overhead.
He was pleased to be home at last, after two years on a distant, windswept island. He felt at peace here something he had not thought possible for himself. Not in this lifetime. Yet here he was.
At the same time, he knew that if he was going to maintain control over Kinloch, he would have to be exceedingly careful. He could not allow himself to become distracted by a beautiful wife. Until Gwendolen's brother was found, the possibility of an invasion would be a constant threat. Angus would have to stay focused and remember why he married Gwendolen in the first place to improve relations between his clan and hers and provide stability at Kinloch.
He also needed an heir, and for that reason, he would continue to bed her. It was his duty, and he would fulfill it. With luck, the fires of his lust would diminish over time and these persistent thoughts about her would fade. Perhaps when she was with child, his passions would cool.
But she was not with child yet...
Turning his mount back toward the castle, he wondered if she was awake and imagined how she would respond if he slid back into bed beside her. He galloped through the wood, hungry for her body, and failed to notice the MacEwen clansman who was crouched low in the bushes, watching him with sharp and vigilant eyes.
***
After a record number of days of sunshine, it rained buckets in the Highlands for a month. Despite the wet weather and muddy terrain, the Kinloch scouts continued to scour the surrounding forests each day, and the sentries paced back and forth on the rooftops, providing security against the threat of attack.
Angus placed his trust in Lachlan, his devoted cousin and competent Laird of War, and poured a great deal of energy into the important task of providing Kinloch with an heir.
He and Gwendolen spent the afternoons indoors, ignoring the weather outside and alternating each night between her bedchamber and his.
"Has Lachlan always lived here at Kinloch?" Gwendolen asked, late one morning, as they lay naked in Angus's bed with a fire blazing in the hearth. His chamber was warm and they were cozy beneath the covers. Angus lifted his head on the pillow to look down at her, for they were at opposite ends of the bed. She was resting her head on the footboard. He was massaging her feet.
"Aye. We grew up together," he told her. "We used to compete in everything. I was a faster runner, but he had better aim with a musket."
"What about swordplay? Which of you prevailed?"
"We were equally skilled, and to this day our sessions almost always end in a draw."
She rubbed her toe over his shoulder and down the length of his arm. "How many of these scars did you get from your childhood competitions with Lachlan? Surely they were not all earned in battle."
"I'd wager more than half came from friendly fights, when one of us was not paying attention, or was too drunk to be wielding a weapon in the first place."
Her eyes flashed with excitement. "Could you teach me how to fight with a claymore? It might prove useful one day. You never know when you might need your wife to protect you.''
"Protect me?" He pinched her hard on the bottom.
"Ouch!" She kicked him under the covers.
Ducking beneath the sheets, he slid down to join her at the foot of the bed. "Are you carrying my child yet?" he asked.
"I can hardly answer that question," she replied. "We've only been married a month.''
"But we've shagged so much, lass, it seems more like a year."
Gwendolen was tempted to kick him again, but couldn't seem to do anything but gaze into the brilliant blue of his eyes.
"Is this normal?" she asked. "Do all married couples spend this much time in bed?"
"Don't think so. I believe we are strange."
She huffed. "I know for a fact that you are. Are you aware that you grind your teeth in your sleep?"
His eyes narrowed. "How would you know that? Do you stare at me in the night?''
"Occasionally."
"Why?"
She ran a finger over his lips and spoke with quiet seduction. "Because I am fascinated by your beautiful mouth and all the wonderful things you do with it."
"And I am fascinated by the smell of your skin." Smoothly, he rolled onto her. "Especially this shoulder." He brushed his nose down the inside of her arm.
"And your wristst... Your hands... And lovely little titties."
He took a nipple into his mouth and began that slow, succulent licking that never failed to bring her to the heights of trembling desire.
Gwendolen relaxed her body and let her eyes fall closed, accepting the fact that she was becoming rather obsessed with her brave, passionate lion, even when she knew that he did not return her feelings, for there was always something distant about him, even at times like this, when he was making love to her.
He wanted a child. She knew that much, and it was important to him that she was amenable in bed, so he did what was necessary to make it so. She suspected, however, that this was just a temporary interlude for him, a pleasant diversion from his warrior life, and the moment it was confirmed that she was expecting, he would retreat, and she would not see him again until the time came to conceive another.
It was not so for her. All her life, she had wanted a marriage built on intimacy and love, and she was frankly surprised that this first month had been so passionate, considering that they had begun as enemies. She still could not forget the fury she had felt when she watched him storm the castle gates and kill her clansmen, and often wondered what her father would think if he could see how infatuated she had become with his enemy.
Two nights ago, she had dreamed about their firstborn son on his wedding day. Angus proud and loving as any father could be -presented him with his prized claymore as a gift. She woke from the dream feeling elated, and wondered if some dreams did come true. It was possible, she supposed, for many of hers had found their way into the reality of her life. The lion, for instance.
A moment later, her husband slid into her with exquisite ease and looked down at her face, while he braced himself above her on both arms. She gazed up at him in the silvery morning light and prayed that, one day, something more than sexual desire would exist between them. She was coming to realize that she wanted a deeper, soulful connection with her husband. For she could not live for duty alone. Not with him.
The knowledge of that fact terrified her.
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