the last time I tried to share one of these the configuration was all wacky soooo.... trying again.
Anyway, this is actually from Vol 3 of my Bright Morn series which won't go up for a few more weeks until it's done, but I rather like this little "quite" love scene.
(Morn's adopted son is sick with a cold and his bride to be is sick also)
Sorrifa was sitting up in bed looking like a small mountain of quilts. "How is he?" She asked when Morn sat next to her.
He took a comb from the nightstand and pulled her head down to lean on his chest while he combed through the tangle several days in bed can create. "He's in good hands. Probably the best around, even better than you or me."
"I must have given him this. I feel guilty." She snirfed.
"As you should." He answered.
She pushed away from him, her face the picture of hurt. "That was cruel."
He smiled. "That's my bride. Feisty as the demon. You must be feeling better."
"I stink," she groused.
He sniffed. "Hmm. Maybe a little. Would you like a nice long bath?"
////
First he gently helped her to wash, massaging her shoulders, hands, and feet, and shampooing her hair by himself. Maids hovered nearby, ready to help if needed. Then he settled into the other tub, its steaming water infused with eucalyptus. The maids helped Sorrifa into it to rest on top of him, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. The tub cover was pulled in place, close to their necks; trapping the steam and heat around them. Before they left, Lily indicated they would be outside the door.
"Are they gone?" Sorrifa asked when the door closed.
"Just us two." Morn answered. "How do you feel?"
"Miserable. And wonderful." She answered, pulling his arm around her.
He kissed the top of her head. "That's perfect."
"Did you treat all your wives this well?" She asked.
"I think I did. I hope so. You can tell your father I am well-trained in the art of husbandship."
She chuckled. "The look on your face when he said that to Marinella." She sighed held her hand up, then let it drop back into the water. "I'm going to be all pruney." She tried to laugh but coughed instead.
Morn felt her back muscles tense and contract as she coughed. He massaged them, kneading deep for release.
"Prettiest prune I've ever married." He replied.
She stopped coughing and rested against him with a half whine, half groan. "How many wives have you had, Bright Morn of Issareth, warrior and possible king? Now bath attendant."
He chuckled. "This is the conversation you want to have now?" He sighed. "You will be the fourteenth human, I believe. If Terrin Folk are human."
She nodded sleepily. "Mostly." She jerked upright a little and tried to twist around, pushing her elbow into his solar plexus, making him grunt. "You married someone who wasn't human?"
He settled her back against him. "In a manner of speaking. Maybe. She had skin so pale you could see the blood run through her veins. You couldn't tell if the irises of her eyes were pale blue or white. I believe she may have been the last of her kind."
"What was her name? How did you meet her?"
"Rest. You're supposed to be resting." He made his voice soothing.
"Not now. Tell me!"
"I couldn't pronounce her name." He said. "It was letters and sounds in combinations I'd never heard. We were travelers off the coast of some demon forsaken place; everyone else on the boat was dead. I don't know why. Alone like that…" He shrugged. "When we got ashore I called her "wife" and she called me "husband." It was in my memories. Fleeting and very old. I haven't written it down yet. I think it was many, many lives ago. We weren't together long."
He swirled the water to make the eucalyptus vapors permeate the air. "Deep breath, let it out slow." He instructed.
"What happened?" She asked, taking as deep a breath as she could and letting it out, again with a cough.
He rubbed her back some more. "She murdered me."
"What!" She tried to turn again but he prevented it.
"She wanted a child. We were stranded. She knew what I was and what would happen if I died. So, one night she slit my throat."
She settled back against him. "I would never…" She paused. "I don't believe you. You're teasing me, in my cold ravaged, pitiful state." She pouted. "You're going to be an abominable husband."
"That's possible. But, I would never tease about my own death. I think, quite possibly, this is why I'm so pale myself. Something of her has remained through all my lives." He ran his hand down her arm and lifted it out of the water to look at her fingers. "You are, indeed, becoming very pruney."
