Always so tender, her husband. In every touch, ever word.
“You are very quiet,” Grimult observed, turning to look at her from over his shoulder. She was mostly satisfied with the state of his wings, but there were a few more that required her attention, and she would see them done before she gave any more attention to her new mate.
Even if it was more struggle than she could ever have thought to do so, to not be drawn to his lap, to his arms, to the learning of this new craft they were perfecting together.
“I had said we would stay here until your wing heals,” Penryn reminded him. “It cannot do that if we abuse it so.”
Grimult hummed. “I seem to recall that it was you that was seeing to its abuse.”
Penryn flushed crimson, bowing her head and completing the last of the feathers. Was it proper to speak of such things when not in the throes of actually doing it? Probably not.
She should likely care, should chastise him for teasing about such matters that were still so new and lovely and to be treasured...
But then why did she even now feel a coil in her belly pulling taut at just the reminder of the sensations?
“I shall remember that,” she answered primly. “When next time you can expect a partner that does not move and makes you do all of the work for the both of us.”
A hum, low in his throat, and he caught at her arm before she could escape him, bringing her to him. He did not urge her to sit, simply eased her between his legs and hugged her to him, as close as she could be while standing before his seated position. “I cannot yet believe you are mine,” he murmured, and it was done so lowly she was not certain she was meant to hear it at all.
And she softened against him, leaning down to place a kiss amongst his dark hair. “I am relieved, for I feel quite the same.”
There was still sadness tucked away inside her, that he should have chosen a simple life, a mate to share his days and his home that did not come with such complications.
One that he might lose before they had enjoyed the fullness of a life spent together.
Her throat tightened, and she wanted to press all the nearer, to distract herself from such thoughts until they at last departed and all that was left was him.
“I am worried,” she confessed, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to carry that burden entirely alone. “For what comes next.”
Grimult turned his head, and she had to smile how near his chin was to her breasts. She had never given much thought to them, but it was apparent how Grimult relished their presence. “Which aspect?” he prompted, and she wished she had not spoken for his muscles were loose and languid, lacking the tension he had always carried during their Journey. They were safe, if only for a little while, and she should not have allowed thoughts of later to trespass here.
They had until his wing healed. They had not spoken of it directly, but both seemed to understand it well enough all the same. They could not cross the Wall otherwise, and she would not risk further injury to his wing. He had risked too much already, and she would not see him crippled simply from their impatience.
Even if the cause was just.
She took a breath, ready to retract her statement and allow him to have her again—or maybe more truly, to take him again—this time mindful of his wing. He was positioned well now where little harm could come to them. Perhaps if they were careful and she was attentive to the placement of her knee, and everything was just so they could make do with his current position...
“I see your thoughts taking a turn,” Grimult acknowledged with a chuckle, although there was an added heat to his gaze that suggested he did not mind their new direction. “But I would know of your worries as well.”
Penryn sighed, disappointed, but also grateful for his deliberate care of her. The whole of her, not merely the tantalising new aspect that threatened to consume them both if they were not particularly mindful. “That they will not believe me,” she began, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. It was longer than it had been when he had first been assigned to her, and she wondered if he liked it so. Although she would not dare cut it herself, so she supposed his preferences mattered little. “That they will accuse me of simply coming back and made up a fiction to justify it.” She took a deep breath, readying to give her utmost concern. “That they will find out about us before we even have a chance to warn them at all, and I will be killed, or worse, that you will be hurt, and—”
“That is not worse,” Grimult contradicted, his own grip about her middle tightening, leaning backward and pulling her with him, so she was cradled on his lap. “You think I would idly watch as they brought you harm?”
Penryn swallowed, torn between sinking into the safety she felt with him and being truthful. “I know you would not,” she answered quietly, shutting her eyes in an attempt not to picture it. “That is the problem. And then you will be killed, and so will I, and what exactly will have been gained?”
Something remarkably like a rumbling groan emitted from his chest as he pulled her to him. “Then I would ask why we would attempt this undertaking at all,” he groused, and there was a part of her that agreed with him.
Their life here would be imperfect as well, and she could not forget it. He would be banned from flight lest an errant walker in the woods spot him and
