Page 142 of The Pirate Queen

“Please don’t hurt me,” she says.

Richard sets one warm hand on hers. His left hand over her left hand. “Have I not proven these last twenty years that I would never hurt you?”

She nods. “You have.”

“Then, if you have never trusted me before, do so now.”

Grace nods again.

She lifts the quill.

She signs Gráinne Ní Mháille in the space that is left for her.

Richard signs his name beside hers.

It is done.

She is married for a second time.

Alec congratulates them, wishes them a good evening, and leaves. The room grows suddenly quiet and very warm. Gráinne is still at the desk, her eyes on the contract, but unfocused, her mouth slightly parted. She looks to be thinking rather than reading.

“Has it really been ten years?” Richard asks.

“What?”

She looks at him and her expression tightens when she sees him grab the bottom of his armored shirt and lift. The beastly hauberk weighs thirty pounds but feels every bit as much a part of his body as his own head. He could no more imagine leaving this chamber without it every morning than traipsing naked about the estate. But he also looks forward to shedding the damned thing at night.

Once it is over his head, Richard drapes it across an empty bench near the wall and sighs. He rolls his shoulders. Stretches his neck, then gathers himself before turning back to Gráinne.

“Ten years since you’ve been with a man.”

Richard moves to where she sits at the desk. He extends his hand and, after a slight hesitation, she takes it. When he pulls her up, he takes her place in the chair, then tugs her back down to his lap. “And how long had it been before you conceived Merrick?”

She shrugs.

“You don’t know?”

“I do not care to remember any of the nights that my husband came to my bed.”

“How did you separate that from your duty?” he asks.

“Likely in the same way that you separated yours.”

His smile is sad. “Though I did not love Aoife, I enjoyed lying with her. And I think…I think it was not such a great hardship for her either. I did not mind that she thought of him.” Richard lifts a hand and brushes it across her cheek.

“That does not seem fair to you,” Gráinne whispers. Her breath is warm against his thumb.

Richard shrugs, unconcerned.

“I want you to enjoy lying with me, mo ghrá. Is it a thing you have ever enjoyed?” He lets his hand drift down her jaw, her throat, until it spreads wide across her left breast.

Her breath catches.

She shakes her head.

“Ah. Then I am happy to teach you.”

Something flashes in Gráinne’s eyes, some bit of humor, and when he bends to kiss her, he finds the tip of a blade beneath his chin. A smile curves broad around her teeth. The knife is wickedly sharp, though small.