Page 14 of Love Me Forever
She had the need to prove her own strength, perhaps more to herself than him. She braced her meager weight on her elbows and attempted to pull herself up off the pillows. The pain surrounded her, captured her senses, and set her head to spinning. This time, however, she intended to fight it. She had to gain her strength back. She could not remain in bed day after day. She had to grow strong.
He watched the struggle on her face, the way her eyes squinted against the pain, the way her slender arms trembled from their effort to support her, and he wasted not a moment. He reached out to her.
“Nay!” she shouted at him, but had not the strength to avoid his reach.
His arm went quickly around her, and her body sagged in relief against the thick muscle of support. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder.
“You are a stubborn one,” he said, annoyed at himself for allowing her to behave so foolishly.
“Determined,” she corrected with a labored breath.
He needed to make certain she would not be foolish again, for he suffered along with her and he would not see her suffer needlessly. “You will do as I tell you.”
She laughed this time, softly but enough for him to hear.
“You think me humorous?”
“We make a strange pair, both of us needing healing and both ignoring what is necessary.”
“I do what is necessary for me to heal.”
“Hiding away is necessary to your healing?”
He took affront to her remark. “I do not hide. I chose solitude as a poultice for my pain.”
“You chose solitude so that you would not have to face your pain.”
“You speak foolishly.” He arranged several pillows so that he could brace her in a comfortable sitting position. He eased her up against the pillows, making certain the soft wool blanket remained covering her breasts. He then grabbed for the white wool shawl that hung on the square bedpost where he had placed it if needed. He draped it around her bare shoulders.
She placed a gentle hand on his bare arm, his shirtsleeve having been pushed up for him to work more safely with the fire. ‘Tell me of your scars.”
“You have no need to hear of them.”
He tucked the shawl around her, concentrating on his task, but she could tell that her question had disturbed him.
“You have need to speak of them.”
“And what of your scars?” he challenged in defense.
“You hide them within you. Why do you fear a man’s touch?”
She was too tired to react defensively, so she answered as honestly as she could. “I had a husband who treated me poorly, and I simply do not know how to react to a man’s touch be it gentle” —she paused, weighing her words, then spoke without hesitation— “or intimate.”
He was impressed with her courage to admit such an intimate truth, and he was angry with the fool husband of hers for having made her so fearful of a touch that was meant to give comfort and pleasure.
“An intimate touch is gentle.”
“I knew no such gentleness” —she paused again, giving thought to her words— “I knew obedience.”
“Intimacy has nothing to do with obedience. It is about caring and sharing, smiles and laughter, pleasure and satisfaction.”
“You sound as if you possess much experience. Are you married?” She laughed at her own remark. “I forget that a man has no need for marriage to gain experience.”
‘True enough.”
“A man has a freedom that a woman does not, and now that I have tasted that freedom I intend to keep it.”
“You do not wish to marry again?” he asked.
