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Her hand fell gently to rest between his legs and without thought gave his hard shaft a squeeze. “Even there?”

This time Torin could not stop the groan if he wanted to, it rushed so fast and powerful through him and spewed from his mouth. “Don’t do that.”

Her hand shot off him. “I need permission?”

“At the moment, aye,” he ordered, trying to maintain his sanity.

He hurried to his feet. He could not let their conversation continue. She would ask endless questions that would enflame him even more and that would be it. And he would not cause her pain as he had done before, though, at the moment, he was suffering mightily.

“Sleep. You are exhausted,” he ordered and walked to the door.

Flora looked to the crock she had left near the hearth. “You do not wish to help me apply the salve.”

Torin took a good breath before turning. “Do you want to seal our vows tonight while you suffer pain and cannot fully enjoy it? For if I apply that salve to your injury that is what will happen. That I can promise you.”

Flora hesitated, then shook her head. “Nay, I am tired, and my side does pain me. It would be foolish of me to do so.”

“Aye, wife, it would, for it is not a quick coupling we will share. It will be a good portion of the night that I make love to you.” He turned and walked out, the wood door rattling as he closed it with such force.

Flora sat staring at the closed door, her mind on one thing only.

That I make love to you.

He had not said they would couple, or that he would poke her or rut with her, some of the phrases her mum had made known to her and the difference of each. He had said he would make love to her. Could he possibly love her?

Her hand went to her stomach, feeling a flutter of excitement. Each day she had found her husband more and more to her liking. If he was beginning to feel the same about her then there was hope they could have a good marriage, a good life together. And maybe, just maybe, they might even come to love each other.

* * *

“What do you think of Walsh?”Torin asked Kinnell, watching the sizeable man carry a bundle of peat into Philip’s cottage.

“I have yet to decide. He is helpful to those in need of it and he joined the men in clearing snow along the paths through the village early this morning, but I wonder if he is too friendly, too accommodating,” Kinnell said, his eyes on the man as well. “What do you think of him?”

“I think his tale is just that, a tale, and it makes me wonder over the truth of what he is doing in this area. Continue to keep watch over him.”

“I have men watching him at all times,” Kinnell assured him. “I must say your wife has all in the clan talking about her bravery in the keep and that she is keen on investigating yesterday’s incident. They believe she has little fear.”

“Something that worries me,” Torin admitted.

“The people feel it is an attribute and that she will make you an excellent wife. Many have also expressed how she is truly interested in the clan since she stops and talks with everyone. Philip particularly favors her since she asks him endless questions about the clan, and he is only too glad to discuss his younger years. Many are extremely glad to stop and talk with her.”

“Because she shows true interest, and they see it.”

Kinnell jumped and turned with haste. “How is it I cannot ever hear you approach?”

“You never listen when here in the village. You believe yourself safe here, so you do not make the effort to do so,” Iona said. “Lady Flora not only is interested when speaking with people she also listens to what they have to say and asks questions of them. Unlike you who listens with a half-ear.”

Kinnell quickly defended himself. “I listen well enough.”

Iona rolled her eyes in response.

“I do not listen to you because you are always harping—”

“On how you don’t listen,” Iona said.

“I hear and see everything,” Kinnell argued.

“Not likely,” Iona said, shaking her head and curls of her flaming red hair bouncing about. “I waste my breath on you.” She turned to Torin. “I looked at your wife’s wound. The bruise is sizeable enough but already shows signs of fading, so it does not worry me.”


Tags: Donna Fletcher Historical