Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“When I am with you I don’t,” she said softly.
He felt a tender catch to his heart as if somehow, she had reached inside him and touched him gently. If her words could do that, how would he feel when she touched him intimately?
He lay silent waiting to see what more she would say and after a few moments he could tell by the way she lay comfortably limp against him that she was asleep.
Sleep did not return immediately to him. He lay there, holding her close, shielding her as best he could from any further nightmares. Until he too, finally succumbed to sleep.
Flora stood glancing around at the empty bedchamber which she would share for the rest of her days with her husband. His bed was being dismantled and the parts would be brought here to be put back together again. The new mattress was being finished and would be ready by the time the bed was in place. She had chosen various pieces of furnishings from around the keep to add here and some tapestries as well. It was all coming together nicely.
She noticed how Anwen had been staring at her as well as a few of the servants since they had begun work early this morning. She knew why, though none would make mention of it. She had not talked much except to issue orders and that was not like her. She was usually bombarding the servants with endless questions not only about the keep but about themselves. If this was to be her home until her dying day, then she wanted to know all she could about it and everyone here.
Last night, however, had kept her mind occupied since waking this morning. She relived the dream over and over again trying to make sense of it. Why would her parents need help? They had perished from an unknown illness, the physicians who treated them claiming they picked it up while in France. A reasonable explanation since two other scholars with her parents had died as well, while others were ill but survived. Why could her parents possibly need help and how could she help them when they were dead? The dream made her even more determined to discover what she could about the ghost. If she made sense of what was happening here in the keep, perhaps she could make sense of her dream.
She also had another conundrum that puzzled her. She thought she heard her husband call her my love but was not certain. After all, why would he refer to her that way? Or was it something he did often with women who he shared a bed with while she believed such a declaration was meant for someone special? Normally, when she was unsure, she would ask the person directly, yet she could not bring herself to do so in this situation. She had asked herself repeatedly why she was reluctant to do so until finally she admitted to herself that she was not sure if she would like his response. With her thoughts already troubled, she did not need to add more bothersome issues to it.
“Are you not feeling well, my lady?” Anwen asked, coming to stand beside her as the pieces of the bed were carried into the room.
“My thoughts are heavy today, Anwen,” she said and turning to look at the woman suddenly wondered if her husband had ever referred to her as my love. Her mum warned her to mind her questions that some were not proper for her to ask. She believed this was one of those not proper questions, so how did she find out?
“Anything I can help you with, my lady?” Anwen asked.
Now there was an invite if she ever heard one and yet she could hear her mum scold her for thinking so. Then it dawned on her, and she wasted not a moment in asking, “I had a dream about my parents last night. I could hear my da calling my mum, mo ghràdh, and it made me miss them.” She did not need to feign sadness or worry over a lie since her da often called her mum that and she supposed it was why it meant something special to her.
Anwen sighed. “I understand, my lady. I often think I hear my husband call me my love and turn expecting to see him there, but, of course, he’s not, and my heart breaks a bit more.”
“I am so sorry, Anwen,” Flora said, reaching out to comfort her with a thoughtful touch of her arm. “I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for that to happen.”
“In a way it is, and, in a way, it is not,” Anwen admitted. “I long to hear his loving voice call out like that to me even if it is only in my mind. It always brought my heart immense joy and never would I allow another man to say it to me. It would not seem right. It was something I shared with my husband and only my husband. Besides, I fear that if another man called me that I might not ever hear my husband’s voice again calling out to me like he would do and that I would miss terribly.”