The only book she had found on the subject was from a farmer, an illustrated guide for animal husbandry, the best times of the year and temperaments to put such creatures together to achieve the most desirable offspring. She had studied the pictures longer than was likely appropriate, the farmer adept with a pen.
It was only later, when she came to the end of the book that the instrument must have changed hands, the script more feminine in nature. It was in crisp, firm language that a wife was not a broodmare, and must be treated with far more consideration if a certain farmer was allowed back into her bed.
Penryn had always wondered about her words, although she dared not ask the sages what it really meant. It spoke of unpleasantness, if a husband was to be banished from their sleeping quarters, and she wondered if the animals themselves did not like it very much either.
Curious, she had looked through the shelves for more on the subject, but the sages must have realised that impressionable Lightkeeps would search through the library with exactly those questions, for she did not find much.
Grimult stretched as he stood from the bed, and Penryn had to bite back a warning not to pull too much on his wound, her mouth suddenly dry as she took in his form. He had not bothered with a shirt, but she had known that well enough spending most of the morning splayed in some away across his chest. But there was something more appealing in the way his musculature moved, speaking of strength and ability that she could not deny was wholly pleasing to look upon.
She forced herself to look away, to move and find something that might resemble breakfast. “Did you know last night?” she found herself asking, thinking that the Grimult she had known on the Journey would never have consented to exposing himself so thoroughly before. Not without a great deal of assurance on her part, at least.
He came up behind her, his hands settling on her hips. Her heart beat wildly as he embraced her from behind, his head nestled atop hers. She fit there, she decided. They were well suited physically, and the farmer had said that was of very great importance.
Her cheeks burned again.
“Did I know what?” he murmured against her hair, and Penryn had to clear her throat to gather some measure of control of herself.
It was only marginally successful.
“That we would be wedded,” she clarified, still worried it would not really count, that something more was surely required before it was truly so. She would have liked a witness, someone who could swear if necessary that they had exchanged their vows properly before...
Her hands trembled and she held tightly to his forearms. They were supposed to care about breakfast, were they not? He was hungry, and if her stomach would stop its coiling and flipping, she was hungry as well.
“I knew I would ask it,” Grim confirmed. “But I would not have presumed to know your answer. My mother always said I would find myself in trouble if I did that.”
Penryn smiled softly, wishing she could know the woman that had raised such a fine man. A whisper of worry, of concerns that likely would never come to being, but she found herself asking it anyway. Would he always be able to pull such truths from her just by sheer proximity and a kiss to her temple?
“Would she like me? Your mother?”
“Yes,” Grimult answered so quickly and with such certainty that Penryn felt the need to turn, to look at him to see such confidence for herself. “You love her son.” She knew her doubt showed in her expression that such a quality—something that came so easily and so naturally—might possibly be sufficient to win a mothers approval. Grimult chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “And you are kind and curious and strong when you have need to be.” His hand came to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you know how to be selfless, to put others first.” His eyes suddenly seemed rather far away, and she wondered if he was back with them, if only for a moment. “My parents always said that was important in a marriage. Especially when...” And it was Grimult’s turn to appear suddenly embarrassed.
He was pulling away, and Penryn grabbed hold of his arm as best she could to keep his retreat from proving wholly successful. “When what?”
Grimult grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck. “When they decide to add fledglings to their family.”
Penryn blinked at him, her mouth suddenly dry. She turned from him, her heart racing as she busied herself with thoughts of food rather than of...
“Pen?” he asked, a large hand coming to her shoulder. Not rubbing, simply resting, a reminder that he was there. As if she could forget.
“There is bread,” she announced, pulling forth a large loaf and giving it a squeeze. It yielded appealingly, as if it had been made only the day before. That might do nicely, most especially if there was a slab of thick, golden butter and a smear of sticky jam. And tea. To add moisture back to her mouth when it seemed her throat was threatening to choke her.
Her heart ached when she realised that there could not be the closeness she craved not if... not when...
“Penryn,” Grimult said again, this time adding a gentle pressure to his touch, obviously intent on her turning to look at him. “What is it?”
She tried to give him a smile but it came as a stiff, sad sort of thing that did nothing to allay whatever worry he
