“Afraid of you?” she parroted.
His expression softened, as he reached up and grasped a strand of her silky hair. “Beloved, we won’t have much of a conversation if you repeat everything I say.” He sobered, when he saw her perplexed expression. “Maggie?”
She bent forward, pressing her chest against his and crawling up him, until she could press her forehead against his. “I never knew I could feel such joy. Such passion.” She paused. “Aye, it hurt, but Niamh assured me it only hurts like that the first time.” She flushed at speaking so bluntly.
“One time is too many,” he whispered. “I hate the thought of causing you any pain.”
She shook her head, her fingers stroking through his long locks. “Don’t you see how you eased my fears? You soothed me and helped me feel like I had a choice. Like what I wanted matters.” She smiled. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I’m not the woman who—” Her eyes widened as his hand covered her mouth.
“Stop, Maggie. Stop speaking such nonsense.” He tilted his head, kissing her softly. “Only because you are an innocent do you not realize how much pleasure you brought me.” He looked deeply into her brilliant blue eyes, shining with an incandescent trust. “You are the woman I want. You are the woman I desire. You are the only woman I’ll ever feel such passion for.”
She gazed at him with a childlike hope. “Truly?”
He groaned and pulled her down, so he could wrap his arms around her, resting her head against his chest again. “Truly.” He buried his face in her hair. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“I’ll always trust and believe in you, Philip. You are honorable and good.” She ran her fingers over his chest, earning a shiver. Once, she would have thought that meant he was cold, now she suspected it was due to an entirely different reason. Rather than fear niggling at her, she felt a rising excitement that she could arouse her husband with a mere touch. “I know of no better man, Philip.”
He stilled, leaning back into his pillow so he could meet her sincere gaze. “Not even your father?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Not even him. I trust and love him, but you are my husband. And I love, honor, and cherish you, above all others.”
His expression belied deep emotions, as he pulled her close, unthinkingly rolling her over so he could kiss her soundly. At her soft groan, he swore and pressed himself up. “Forgive me for mauling you again,” he rasped, as he pushed himself onto his arms, holding himself over her.
She moaned in distress, arching up to press against him, and tugged at his shoulders. “No, don’t leave me. Come back,” she whispered. Her gaze filled with delight. “I’m not afraid of you. I want you to show me what we can have. Please.”
With a groan, he fell forward into her arms, any doubts or trepidations soon forgotten.
Chapter 13
“No!” Maggie screamed, thrashing from side to side. She punched out, screaming again, as a hand touched her arm, holding her against the bed. “No, I will not let you,” she cried, as she kicked out and fought. Her panic made her deaf to anything but her fear, which she was thankful for, as she had no desire to hear his mocking laughter, as he held her down. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her terror, stilling as she breathed deeply. The scent was familiar. Rather than the stink of an unwashed man and onions, she breathed in the scent of soap, horses, and the clean scent of a man. She sniffed again. And the hint of a forest. They were all the scents that reminded her of Dunmore. Her Philip.
“Maggie,” his deep voice said, as though through a tunnel. “Maggie, come back to me.”
With a groan, Maggie forced her eyes open and saw Dunmore—her husband—staring at her, deep concern in his gaze. She frowned in confusion, as he appeared near tears. Raising a hand, she stroked his cheek. “Shh, love,” she breathed. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
He moved to pull her close and then stilled, frozen by indecision. “I want to hold you, but I don’t want to frighten you. Please, beloved, let me comfort you.”
Nodding, she pulled at him, so he lay beside her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. When his strong arms were around her, she slung a leg over him and pressed against him, needing to be as close to him as possible. Strong tremors racked her, as she battled her nightmare’s hold over her.
“Can you talk about it?” he asked in a whisper-soft voice, his hands tracing over her back and soothing her fear. He kissed her head, his quiet acceptance of her terror easing any shame she felt.
“I was back on the riverbank,” she said. She pushed up to look into her husband’s gaze, turning her head into his soft caress, as he brushed aside strands of her hair loosened from its braid. “I knew that this time I wouldn’t escape. All I heard was his laughter. His voice telling me that I deserve whatever pain befell me because I had the gall to bar him from my room and to run from him three years ago.”
“Lies,” Dunmore said, his gaze gleaming with impotent fury. “You know he speaks lies to make you ashamed of what you should take the most pride in.” He waited for her to argue, smiling with relief when she nodded.
“I know,” she admitted, resting her head on his chest. “I know I should feel proud that I fought and that I have the life I always dreamed of. But I can’t dispel these fears. They won’t go away until I know he’s …”
Tightening his hold on her, he murmured, “Dead.”
Maggie pressed
