His wife slept like a babe, wrapped in his arms the entire night. After they made love, he kissed her for nearly an hour. Slow reverent kisses that left no part of her face untouched. She returned each one in kind, her fingers stroking his hair while her feet caressed his legs. He finally wrapped her body from behind, lulling her to sleep as he nuzzled her shoulders and neck.

She stirred now and turned in his arms, sighing as she rubbed her face against his chest.

“Good morn, wife,” he offered with a squeeze.

She smiled. “Good morn, husband,” she mimicked.

Greylen pulled her up until her head lay next to his, her blush visible even in the soft light from the fire. “What’s this?” he asked, running his finger down her cheek.

“It’s called being self-conscious,” she said softly, closing her eyes.

Self-conscious? This from the woman who gave herself with wanton abandon. “Gwendolyn, you displayed not a shred of self-consciousness last night,” he reminded her in a voice rough with sleep.

“Shh, I’m going to kiss you now, just to shut you up.” She finished with an “mmmm,” then rubbed her face into his neck.

“Sore?” Greylen asked.

“Do I have to walk today?”

“Nay, I’ll carry you.”

“Greylen,” she whispered. “I can still feel you inside me.”

He groaned and rolled on top of her. “I’ll carry you for a fortnight,” he promised while kissing her laugh away. But he stopped a moment later when she tensed. “Don’t move,” he told her, stepping from the bed.

When he returned he was wearing his robe, hers in his hand. He soaked a small towel in the basin by the fire, then sat next to her again. She moaned in relief as he pressed the cloth between her thighs. “There’s something I wish to show you. Are you rested enough?” he asked, as if it were an everyday occurrence to carry on a conversation as he tended to his wife so intimately.

“I thought you were going to make love to me,” Gwen said with a pout.

“I am. But you’ve an hour reprieve.”

He helped her from the bed and held her robe. Then he tied the belt himself. “I’ll dress and find you something to wear,” he told her as he began walking away. Then he turned as she stretched, a move which spanned her entire body, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her fingers. “You do that every morn?” he asked.

“It’s a stretch, Greylen. I do it every time I wake up.”

“You’ll nap then—often.”

Gwen laughed as she walked to the bathing chamber, and he left her to her privacy. He dressed in comfortable breeches, a linen shirt, and sandals. Then he stood before his wife’s wardrobe, searching through the hanging dresses, and even the drawers below. But he found only gowns. Gowns, frivolities, and night-robes.