Candlelight stroked Cristina’s body, guided him as Patrik slowly took her over the edge. He covered her mouth and claimed her every moan, savoring her each shudder as she rode out her release. Then he drove hard and found his own. Bodies merged, he rolled over, drew her to his side and pressed a soft kiss upon her mouth.
“You are amazing,” he whispered, then kissed along the curve of her jaw.
“And you,” she whispered on a half groan, “are insatiable.”
He nipped along the curve of her breast. “Only with you.”
Beneath the flicker of flame, the shimmer of pleasure in her eyes faded to worry.
The playfulness of the moment fell away. Patrik pushed back the wisps of hair shielding her face. “What is wrong?”
“’Tis foolish.”
“If it places sadness within your eyes, it is not.”
Cristina’s gaze softened, but she remained silent.
He stroked his thumb along her cheek. “Tell me.”
“Did you see the three crosses upon the hill?”
“Aye.”
“Each is for a babe lost.”
He stroked her cheek. “’ Tis tragic indeed, but sadly common, a reality of the life we live.”
“But they have graves,” she whispered, her words rough.
“They do,” he agreed, confused by her words.
“And a mother, a mother who loved them very much.” Tears misted in her eyes. “Do you not see? Never will they be forgotten. In an orphanage, there is no family.” Her breath shuddered. “And within the cold walls, when children die they are forgotten, discarded as if trash.”
And he understood. Given her youth, the idea of someone caring about a lost child was foreign, but the concept moved her. All her life, she’d been alone, her marriage but a farce, her husband a man who’d taken advantage of a desperate lass. Never had she truly been loved.
Patrik claimed her mouth in a soft kiss, aching, wishing he could give her more.
Cristina broke away, questions haunting her eyes. “Why did you not tell Fergus we are not wed?”
He stroked her silky skin. “’Tis selfish, but I wanted to make love with you in a bed. On the morrow, we will reach my destination. There we will part.” Silence stretched between them. He pulled the last length of hair from her braid, splayed it across the feather pillow. “Do you forgive me for allowing them to believe that lie?”
A slash of red touched her cheeks. “I should not.”
Patrik arched a brow. “Neither did I hear you tell them the truth. Why is that?”
“It is unimportant.”
He chuckled. “Lass, it would seem you are as guilty as I.”
“It is not funny.”
“Nae,” he said, reaching down to slide his finger through her slick warmth. “It is far from a matter of jest.” At her soft moan, he teased her, stroked her until her body shuddered. “I cannot again so soon,” she gasped as he increased the pace. With pleasure, he proved her wrong.
Emma shifted, and bumped against Patrik. In the darkness, broken only by the near-gutted candle, she snuggled against his muscled warmth and embraced the memories of how they’d made love throughout the night. Too easily she’d grown used to his being at her side, to his protection, to the simple discussions that were anything but.
How easy would it be to give in, to ache each day for the night, to share with Patrik her every wish, her every dream, and her every desire? She stilled.
God in heaven, she loved him.
