She tried to push away, roll up and off, but he wrapped his arms around her, held her in, held her tight. “Just calm yourself down, Meara Quinn. Be still a moment. Be quiet a moment.”
The effort of trying to pull away exhausted her, left her out of breath and ever closer to tears. “All right, I’m calm.”
“Not yet, but in a moment. Take a breath or two.” He rocked her gently, looked toward the fire, boosted the flames.
“Don’t tend to me, Connor. It makes me want to blubber.”
“Blubber away then. It’s all reaction, Meara, all natural from what was done to you, and what needed to be done to counter it.”
“When will it stop?”
“It’s less than it was, isn’t it now? And will be even less in the morning with more calm, more rest. Have a bit of patience.”
“I hate patience.”
He laughed, brushed his lips over her hair. “That I know, but you have it. I’ve seen it myself.”
But she had to dig and dig deep for it, Meara thought. Connor simply owned it, like the color of his eyes, the timbre of his voice.
“I don’t hate your patience,” she murmured.
“That’s good to know as it would be a hard thing to rid myself of it to please you. Tell me now, did something wake you, or did you wake natural?”
“I just waked, and you weren’t there.” She heard it, the petulance in her voice. She could only hope that was part of the reaction as well, or else she’d learn to hate herself before much longer.
“If you forgive me, why are you sleeping down here with your feet hanging over the end of the sofa?”
“You needed quiet and rest, that’s all.” Because he trusted her calm now, he managed to shift them both so they wedged together in the corner of the sofa, looking toward the fire. “You were asleep before we brought out the tea, and never stirred when I carried you up, and Branna got you in your nightclothes. It’s healing, darling, the sleep’s a healing thing, and your mind and body, even your spirit took what it needed.”
“I thought you didn’t want to be with me, and I hunted you down to fight about it.”
“Then I’m glad you tripped over my boots as this is nicer than a fight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to keep being sorry.” He traced a finger over the stones around her neck.
“Fin went to the stables and got it for me.”
“I know.”
“I won’t take it off again.”
“I know.”
Trust, patience, forgiveness. No, she didn’t deserve him, she thought, and pressed her face to his throat. “I hurt you.”
“You did, yes.”
“How do you love so easy, Connor? So free and easy. I don’t mean how it always was with us, or how it is for you with Branna.”
“Well, I’m new with it myself, so I don’t know for certain. I can say it was like holding something you’ve had so long and is just another part of you. Then tilting that something a little. You know how you hold a piece of glass, then change the angle just a bit, and it catches the sun, makes that beam? You can kindle a fire that way, just tilting the glass. Something like that, and what was already there tipped and caught all the light.”
“It could tip another way, and lose it again.”
“Why would it when the light’s so lovely? Do you see the fire there?”
“I do, of course.”