Chapter Sixteen
It was morning.
Gar awoke to Winchester sleeping on his legs now and an empty bed.
It had to be close to dawn at this point and he yawned, lifting his head slightly to see where Mattie was, only to discover her over by one of the narrow windows that looked out toward the east. There was a tiny bit of light in the chamber from the hearth, a small flame that had been stoked up from the embers, so he could see the hair lifting from her face in the slight breeze.
“Queenie?” he muttered sleepily. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Mattie looked over at him, smiling weakly. “Did I wake you?”
“Nay,” he said. “I usually awaken before dawn. But why are you awake?”
She shrugged, turning her face back to the window. “I had a dream,” she said. “Something about my mother and father, but when I tried to speak to them, they faded away.”
He sat up in bed. “You had a dream about Hensingham?”
“I think so,” she said. “It was a castle. I assume it was Hensingham, though it might have been Prudhoe.”
“Why Prudhoe?”
“Because that is where I fostered,” she said. “Sometimes I dream about it. I don’t know why, but I do.”
He threw his legs over the side of the bed.
“Because it was important to you, once,” he said.
“I dream of Castle Questing sometimes, of the holiday celebrations we have there. You’ve never known a Christmas or Martinmas as crowded as those at Castle Questing.
All of those de Wolfes jammed into one place and it looks like a parade for the king. ”
She grinned. “I am looking forward to it,” she said. “Our family celebrations were always small.”
“You have no close family, do you?”
She shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “The de Reyne family of Ashington is a distant cousin and there were times we visited them, but we were never close.”
“There are also de Reynes at Throston Castle.”
“I know,” she said. “But, again, distant cousins. I think I’ve met them once.”
He stood up wearily, completely nude. “You needn’t fear lonely gatherings any longer,” he said. “From now on, you will have more family than you can count.”
“I look forward to it.”
He stood there, glancing around the chamber. “Speaking of looking,” he said, “where are my breeches?”
Those horrible patchwork breeches. Mattie moved away from the window, going over to a small table that had been moved into the chamber so she could store her things, and picked up the infamous breeches.
“Here,” she said. “I noticed that they were tearing in places, so I wanted to sew them up before they fell apart and you were accused of indecency.”
He grinned, reaching out for them and feeling that they were also damp. “You washed them?” he said incredulously.
Mattie nodded. “A little,” she said. “I tried to remove some of the dirt and stains, but it is difficult without proper washing facilities.”
He was inspecting the stitching she’d done, reinforcing the seams, when he suddenly came to something on the waistband. Brow furrowed, he peered closely at it, realizing that it was writing.
Queenie.
He smiled broadly.
“What is this?” he said, lifting it to show her. “Are you signing your work now, like an artist?”
She grinned. “Nay,” she said. “It is so you will take me with you to every battle, or at least every battle where you wear those breeches. It is so I can watch over you, even when I am not by your side. It is so you will remember whom to return to.”
The conversation took an abrupt turn, from light and humorous to serious, all in an instant.
The smile faded from his face as he looked at the stitching once again, spelling out his nickname for her.
Emotions he’d never experienced before washed over him, those of delight and joy and even sadness.
Sadness that now he did have someone to return to and he was aware of a feeling of fear that there might be a day when he didn’t return to her.
Surely, she must have felt that fear too, or she wouldn’t have put her name on those dirty breeches.
“Oh… Queenie,” he said, lowering the breeches and going to her, wrapping her up in his powerful embrace. “I will always return to you, sweetheart, I swear it. You needn’t worry.”
Mattie was holding him tightly, feeling his big, warm body in her arms, the skin of his chest against her right cheek.
“You do not know that,” she said. “I saw the battle yesterday. I saw the wounded in the hall. I knew there was a chance you might be one of them, or worse. But I realized something else, too.”
“What?”
“That it was foolish of me to clean the great hall,” she said. “It is foolish of me to want to turn this place into something other than what it is.”
“What do you mean?”
In his arms, she sighed faintly. “I cannot turn it into what Hensingham is,” she said.
“My family home is not a warring castle. It is one of grace and teaching and our days are full of making it a lovely place that a woman would be proud of. But Gleann na Fola isn’t like that.
You tried to tell me, but I did not listen.
Now, I’ve seen for myself. It would be like trying to turn you into a priest. Some things are better left the way they are. ”
He snorted softly, a smile rippling across his face. “You were not foolish to clean the hall,” he assured her. “It needed it. It was not a place for decent people until you worked your magic on it. I am very proud of you.”
She looked up at him. “Are you?” she said. “I am trying very hard to be the kind of wife you should have.”
His smile was gentle as he cupped her face between his two enormous hands.
“You are the kind of wife I should have,” he murmured.
“Everything about you is the wife I need and should have. You are the bravest woman I know. I watched you with the wounded. I saw how wonderful you were with them. If there was any doubt in my mind that our marriage was the right thing to do, watching you gag while you tried to stitch a wound erased any uncertainty I have ever had. You cannot know how much I admire you, Queenie. Or how much I feel for you.”
She went from being flattered and reassured to being surprised by his last sentence. “What do you feel?” she asked.
“What do you feel?”
“I asked you first.”
He grinned, coyly. “I think I like you.”
“I think I like you, too.”
He started laughing, hugging her tightly and kissing her on the top of the head. “Good,” he said, releasing her. “Now that we have established our mutual like, I feel as if we at least have an understanding between us.”
He started to pull the breeches on and she pointed to her name in the waistband. “We do,” she said. “You are my property and do not forget it.”
He paused, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I would never forget such a thing, madam,” he said. “I am very proud to belong to you.”
A smile crept over her lips. “And I, you.”
The twinkle turned to something else, something smoldering.
The breeches suddenly hit the ground and Gar was on Mattie again, his mouth fusing to hers as his arms went around her.
She responded to him, readily, something that was becoming natural to her.
She’d quickly learned to love their physical relationship, the exploration, the satisfaction of it, and she was never reluctant when he wanted to bed her.
In fact, just the opposite.
Since Gar was already nude, he pulled off her sleeping shift, leaving her naked body exposed to his hungry eyes.
She had a delicious figure, soft and round in the right places, and already he was suckling her breasts and fondling her buttocks, pulling her up against him.
She had such soft skin and he lapped it up, hungry for her.
Nothing on earth fueled him like she did.
He’d learned that the first time he ever touched her.
There was much kissing and fondling going on, the touching of nude bodies.
Mattie had only just become comfortable touching his body, though she was still somewhat timid.
When she put her hands on his erect manhood, he whispered encouragement to her.
She caressed him gently, stroking his length and feeling him shudder in delight.
Unable to wait any longer, Gar went to lay her on the bed, but Winchester was sleeping right in the middle of it.
Rather than move the dog, he simply turned her around, braced her arms against the bedpost, and lifted her buttocks up against his pelvis.
His male organ, hard and demanding, thrust into her from behind.
Since Gar was so much taller than Mattie, he had to bend his knees significantly in order to thrust into her, but that quickly became an untenable position, so he gripped her pelvis and lifted her off the ground.
It was nothing for his considerable strength.
Mattie gripped the bedpost, bracing her feet against him as he drove into her soft and yielding body.
He had a firm grip on her hips, holding her against him as he moved, but his gaze was on her slender back and supple buttocks.
The way her waist narrowed and then flared out at her hips was a glorious sight.
It was driving him mad with desire.
At some point, he released her hips so she could stand on her own and he bent over, wrapping a big arm around her torso and holding her against him as his free hand roamed her breasts, delighting in the silken texture.
He was thrusting so hard that Mattie ended up bracing her arms against the mattress, which bent her nearly in half, her buttocks almost facing the ceiling.
It was a much better position for Gar and he moved his fingers to the curls between her legs, stroking her, listening to her gasp with pleasure.
He felt her release begin and he answered in kind, spilling his seed deep into her womb.
Still embedded in her, he held her close, kissing her back, stroking her breasts gently, absorbing everything about the woman that he was so obsessed with.
Every movement, every breath, every sigh was ingrained in his brain.
As he stood there and held her, his body still joined to hers, his mouth was against her shoulder.
“I think I love you,” he whispered against her flesh.
Eyes closed, trying to catch her breath, Mattie smiled at his confession. “I think I love you too,” she whispered, reaching between her legs to touch him as he was still joined to her. “Most assuredly, I think I do.”