Abigail. My angel. My true mate.
This time she didnt blink at the voice. She did not try to hear it, or anything else, again. She just enjoyed it. She did not care if it was her imagination or not. That voice spoke in a tone of awe, affection, maybe even love. She let the emotions wash over her. It did not matter in that moment that they were fantasy; they fed her hope and the kernel of happiness that she always felt in his presence.
He lifted her from her place between his legs with gentle hands, his expression almost reverent. Sweet wife. My angel.
Tears pricked her eyes and she did nothing to force them back. The feelings were too big to hold inside.
He pulled her up to lie on the furs with him, his hands caressing her as she settled against the ultrasoft pelts. Now, I make love to you.
You already did.
His eyes closed and then opened, the blue surrounded by a golden glow that sent shivers through her. You are perfect for me.
Even flawed?
We are all flawed in one way or another.
Her mother did not ascribe to that theory, but Abigail could thank God that her husband did. You are perfect for me.
As it should be.
Then he went about proving to her just how perfect for her that he was. Big calloused hands skimmed over her body with touches both gentle and demanding, drawing forth an uninhibited response. He caressed her neck, her belly, her thighs and finally her breasts, nipples and that spot of ultimate pleasure between her legs. She cried out in sheer delight when he entered her, responding eagerly to the long, drawn-out pace he set.
Her climax took her by surprise, sending her body rigid as she felt his seed, hot and wonderful, inside her.
They curled together in the furs that she loved better than any wood-and-rope bed because she and Talorc shared them.
Chapter 17
She no longer had to constantly maneuver herself so she could see peoples faces. Knowing she needed to read their lips, the clan members made sure they faced her when they spoke to her. No one got impatient when they had
to repeat themselves, and that made her more willing to ask them to do so. People made sure she heard important news personally, not relying on her overhearing it.
She was aware of what went on around her on a level she had never achieved before. And it was magnificent. She felt like she truly belonged.
Each day in this new, open environment, she relaxed more. She tried new things, ventured farther afield in the holding, meeting clan members that did not often visit the fortress. Guaire was often her companion, but she missed Nialls friendship. That was not to say she did not see him. Along with the intensely curious Earc, he frequently accompanied her and Guaire on their forays to visit herds-men and other far lying clan members.
But Niall acted as the silent escort, rarely speaking to Guaire or Abigail, and turning a fierce frown on them any time they touched in friendship.
Una had gone back to treating her lairds wife less than warmly as well. Abigail tried to talk to other women about her chilly demeanor, but the housekeeper denied any negative feelings. Nevertheless, in ways both subtle and overt, Una made it clear she would prefer Abigail leave the domestic duties to her.
However, Abigail refused to give up her place of domestic leadership in the tower. She was Talorcs wife and would not allow another woman to make her feel inadequate in the role. Whatever grudge Una held against her, Abigail was still lady of the keep. Full stop. Period.
While she had no desire to lord her position over others as her mother did, she was not about to be walked over either. Thus, she moved delicately into a more solidly supervisory capacity each day. She made it a point to give personal direction to the women who helped Una do the cooking and cleaning for Talorc and his elite warriors.
And continuing in her campaign to make the great hall and the rest of the tower more of a home than a fortress, Abigail instructed Una in further additions and changes she wanted made.
Chairs now flanked the great fireplace and fresh flowers graced the banquet tables. A long plaid, about four feet wide, hung down the wall behind the table at which Talorc, Abigail and her husbands highest-ranking soldiers sat. She was embroidering the Sinclair coat of arms in black thread on a piece of blue silk she had brought with her from England, which she planned to sew onto the banners center.
Una resisted the changes, complaining to others about the fresh flowers and additional furniture to dust in the great hall. When she thought she could get away with it, she also countermanded Abigails orders to the other women.
Abigail was contemplating what to do about that while she worked in the now-thriving herb garden. Despite the widows negative attitude, Abigail did not want to remove Una from her position. She kept hoping Una would settle to Abigail as her lady and start acting accordingly.
In that way, she was very different from her mother, she knew. Sybil would have had the woman thrown out of the keep and off her husbands lands for such behavior. No question.