“I thought he would be only too happy to discard us here on the Isle, where he did not have to deal with us anymore. But then he married you.”
She gave Bronwyn a smile. It was the merest ghost of one, the slightest curve of lips. Yet it was a smile all the same.
“I am glad he married you,” she said softly.
Without another word Regina stood and walked off. Bronwyn, mutely watching her go, fought back tears, feeling as if, with the olive branch the girl had offered, she had been handed the most priceless treasure.
***
When Ash had first entered into this agreement with Bronwyn, conceding to her request that they live together as man and wife for two weeks, he had been certain that it would be an easy thing to confine their intimate moments to mere physicality. Even after they had begun to enjoy their time together outside of bed, and had seen their bed sport blend into some of their more private daytime activities, he had made certain that one specific line was never crossed: that they would never sleep in the same bed once their lovemaking was done. They would never remain with one another in the intensely vulnerable act of slumber, would never wake in one another’s arms.
Tonight, however, after the joy of their outing, feeling his armor crumble beneath her gentle hand…
He pulled her snug against his side, their ragged breaths mingling in the night air. He had thought his desire for her would surely have abated by now. Yet each time they came together was more powerful than the last. And each time he was about to leave her bed, it was harder to do so. Which should be alarming. He was to depart for London in less than a week, after all. But he comforted himself with the fact that he still had five more days with her—and five pleasure-filled nights to satisfy his hunger. Surely by the time he departed, he would be more than ready to do so.
But the thought of leaving, as comforting as it had been in the beginning, was not comforting any longer. In fact, it seemed each time he so much as thought about ending his time on Synne a vague panic began to build in him. Which was ridiculous. He and Bronwyn still held fast to their original agreement, and she talked of the end of their time together with unexpected frequency. Which was lowering, really, but he would not look into that too much.
She stirred against him, and he was dragged back to the present. Or, rather, he came willingly. There was nothing he wanted more just then than to be in her arms, but it was time to go back to his own bed.
Yet he was loath to leave her. Unconsciously he hugged her tighter to his side, reveling in her slight, lithe form, so warm and soft, and yet amazingly strong, reposing against him.
“Ash?”
Her voice, husky from sleep, curled around him like a caress in the darkness. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“I’m glad you did.”
The soft admission tugged at his heart. He should leave, he knew. They did not talk after their lovemaking. She fell asleep, and he left her alone in her bed, and he was happy with that arrangement. Talking brought on too much closeness for his liking.
Or, at least, that was what he used to think. He wasn’t so certain now. Especially when her arm tightened about his middle and her slender leg brushed against his own.
As a way to distract himself from the sensual feel of her thigh as it dipped between his, he cleared his throat and said, his voice only slightly hoarse, “That was kind of the Gadfelds to visit today after our return from the beach. Eliza and Nelly, I think, enjoyed the extra attention. And Regina and Miss Coralie have become fast friends.”
“Coralie is a sweet girl,” she replied. “She will be good for Regina, I think. She, too, had her life upended when she was a child, forced to come to Synne and live with her uncle and his family when her parents died. But she has adjusted well, and I think Regina will, too.”
His throat felt suddenly thick. Clearing his throat again, he said, “And Eliza and Nelly? Do you think they shall adjust?”
“I do,” she said with soft certainty. There was a moment of stillness as her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest. He thought she might fall asleep again.
But she spoke up, her voice hesitant. “Several days ago Eliza and Nelly told me that they ran away from London, and that is why you came to Synne, in order to find them.”
It seemed a lifetime ago, those days of panic and fear. “Yes.”
“They said they chose Synne because of stories your mother had written in her journal.”
Instinctively his body tensed at mention of his mother. Bronwyn’s fingers continued to trace gentle circles on his chest, as if she knew he needed soothing. Eventually he relaxed enough to find his voice. “Yes.”
“Your mother’s descriptions of Synne must have been beautiful indeed to entice two young girls to leave everything they knew behind and travel such a distance.”
“They were very beautiful,” he managed. “Shewas beautiful.”
There was a moment of silence. And then she asked, with utmost care and gentleness, “Won’t you tell me of her?”
Ash sucked in his breath at the request, memories bombarding him. But where a deep grief usually accompanied any thought of his mother, now there was only a sad longing. He should change the subject, then excuse himself and leave her to sleep.
Ash, however, found he didn’t want to ignore her request, nor did he want to leave. Then, without meaning to, he spoke.
“She was amazing,” he began, the words a whisper. “Always kind, always gentle, always giving. She thought of others before herself, even to her detriment—”