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Marion lifted her head slowly. Her face was dirty, bloody, and entirely forlorn but she nodded.
“Thank you, Nathan,” she whispered hoarsely. “I - I would like that very much.”
Simon was absurdly proud of her. Carefully, he transferred her into his arms and then rose, preparing to carry her to the coach, relieved to be finally leaving this room in which he had thought he might lose her forever.
“Lead on, Nathan,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Oh, Mari!” Eleanor’s face crumpled as she looked at Marion as she was carried over the threshold of the town house. Marion tried to smile but her face hurt too much. All she could manage was a broken twitch of her mouth.
“I am alright, Ellie,” Marion said hoarsely, wanting to put her friend at ease.
“My darling, do not fret,” Nathan said, stepping to his wife’s side and slipping an arm around her waist. “Marion is hurt, but she is alive and with us still. I have sent for the doctor but I think what is most needed is rest and a bath. Can you arrange to have one run in the guest suite?”
“Of course,” Eleanor said, turning to her housekeeper, who nodded quickly and bustled away up the stairs. “Simon, why do you not take Marion upstairs and I shall tend to her wounds.”
“No,” Simon’s voice was sharp above Marion. She could feel his voice thrumming through his chest. “No, I shall tend to her.”
“But - but Simon,” Eleanor began to protest. Marion could see her friend’s worry—it was quite unusual for a husband to care for his wife in this way. But she also knew that if Simon left her side at this moment, she wouldn’t make it through. She needed him. He was air to her at this moment, and from the way he was holding her so closely, with her head tucked closely into the crook of his neck and his arms tight under her legs, she was sure there was no power on earth that would persuade him to leave her side.
“It’s alright, Ellie,” Marion croaked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“It’s hardly appropriate,” Eleanor whispered as her husband held her close and her eyes ran over Marion’s tattered body.
“I think we can overlook the propriety of the situation for the moment, darling,” Nathan said, softly pressing a reassuring kiss to Eleanor’s forehead. “They have had a brutal afternoon. Give Marion and Simon some time, let them see the doctor. You will have your time with your sister before they leave.”
Marion had never been more grateful for the stoic, calm nature of Simon’s best friend. He had clearly read and understood the nature of their feelings at this moment, and had expressed all the words that Marion hadn’t quite been able to say.
“Well…” Eleanor looked at her carefully, as if trying to assess if that’s what she really wanted. Marion nodded gently, even though it hurt her head to do so. “If you’re sure.”
“Please excuse us,” Simon said. “Please send the doctor up when he arrives.”
Marion closed her eyes, letting her head fall against the slightly damp collar of his shirt and sighing heavily. She was exhausted just by that minor interaction. She allowed herself to drift a little, her thoughts disconnecting slightly to allow her to distance herself from the pain she was feeling. Simon didn’t speak as he carried her upstairs and into the guest suite, where the soft scent of lavender bath oil floating on warm steam engulfed them. Marion inhaled deeply, feeling restored.
Marion felt the softness of fresh linen behind her back and around her as Simon lowered her carefully onto the bed. She opened her eyes reluctantly. Simon was looking down at her gently, his grey eyes stormy with anger and passion, his face marked with dirt and blood and his dark hair slick with sweat.
“I need to wash your face and head now,” Simon said gently. “Will you permit me?”
Marion nodded, clutching the bed linen tightly as she anticipated further pain, but Simon dipped a cloth in the bowl of warm water that sat prepared on the bedside and began to gently press it to the gash at her forehead. It stung a little, but mostly the warm water was relieving as it softened the matted hair and dried blood that had clustered there. She closed her eyes, trying to relax.
“Is it bad?” Marion asked, wincing.
“It is…long,” Marion heard Simon swallow above her and knew he was struggling with the sight of so much of her blood. “But it doesn’t look deep. I am sure it will heal in time.”
“Good.” Marion flinched as she moved, feeling the hard pain in her belly from where the man had kicked her. Simon looked down at her worriedly, his hand lowering to the front of her gown to touch her tenderly.
“I think the doctor may have to examine you,” he said softly. “Let me help you remove your gown.”
Marion sat up, allowing her husband to slowly ease her out of her ripped pelisse and unpick the buttons of her bloodstained gown, lifting it over her head. Despite the pain of the day, despite the deep despair inside her, she still couldn’t help feeling a flicker of desire as his soft, delicate fingers brushed against her skin. She looked up into Simon’s eyes. They were cloudy, like thunderstorms and rain, but she saw that he was also fighting his own desire for her.
“Simon,” she whispered. It was not a question, but in his name she felt as if she encapsulated all of her feeling for him at that moment.
I am hurt but I still want you. I am tired but I still need you. I am sorrowful but I still feel excited when you touch me. Touch me again.
Simon smiled, his eyes showing that he had understood everything she needed him to know. It was as if now, after everything that happened, their minds had truly moulded together as man and wife. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to an unmarked patch of skin on her naked shoulder. Marion shuddered, breathing deeply with the relief at his sensitive touch. After a day of horrors, it was heavenly to be reminded of this—that physical touch could bring healing and love.
“Marion,” Simon whispered back huskily, his nose rubbing gently against her skin, like a soft question or the way that a gentle horse greets its mate.
