"Do you want me to?"

"Aye."

He'd drawled out the word, and God, he was such a sexy man. She felt as though she'd already pleased him. She reached up to stroke the side of his face. He leaned into her hand.

He liked her to touch him. He needed her to, she realized… almost as much as she needed him now to stroke her.

She let out a sigh and put her arms around her husband's neck. She tried to pull him down for a long kiss, but he resisted.

"Johanna, you don't have to…"

She smiled up at him. "I'll make you like it," she whispered.

His head dropped to the crook in her shoulder. He leaned up, bit her earlobe, and then said, "I know I'll like it, but I don't know if you'll…"

Now he was having trouble finishing his sentences. It was all his wife's fault. She reached down and gently stroked his arousal. He was too busy shuddering to think coherent thoughts.

He'd been worried she wouldn't like tasting him. She started out timid, but she got over being shy soon enough and became damned enthusiastic.

She made him crazy. His heart felt as though it had stopped when she took his arousal into her mouth. She was wild now, completely uninhibited as she stroked him with her mouth, her tongue, and dear God, she made him just as wild to please her.

He couldn't stand the ecstasy for very long. He came before she did, but once he'd recovered from the spasms that racked his body, and he could think again, he turned his full attention to pleasuring his wife.

Her whimpers soon turned to shouts. The intensity of her own orgasm made her forget to breathe. She demanded he stop his wonderful agony even as she clung to him and pressed herself against him in a contradictory plea for more.

The taste of her made him hard and throbbing in scant minutes. He was suddenly desperate to be inside her. He moved, pinned her to the bed, and knelt between her thighs. His hands cupped her backside and he lifted her up at the same instant he thrust deep inside.

He felt as though he'd died and gone to heaven. She was so damned tight, so incredibly sweet and giving, and he knew he would never be able to get enough of her.

The bed squeaked from their forceful movements. Their breathing was harsh and choppy, and when she found fulfillment again, her scream made his ears ring.

He was thoroughly satisfied. He collapsed on top of his wife and let out a loud groan.

He could hear her heart hammering inside her chest. He was arrogantly pleased and satisfied. He'd made her completely forget herself.

She'd done the same to him. He frowned over the acknowledgment. It had become impossible to distance himself from his wife, he realized. He couldn't simply make love to her and then go back to his duties and put her out of his thoughts. She had become more than simply a woman to mate with during the dark hours of the night. She was his wife, and damn it all, she was even more than that.

She was the love of his life.

"Hell."

He muttered the expletive, then lifted his head to look at her. She was sound asleep. He was relieved, for he wouldn't have to explain the appalled look he was certain he had on his face or the blasphemy he'd just uttered.

He couldn't seem to make himself leave her. He stared down at her for long minutes. She was so beautiful to him. Yet her appearance wasn't the reason he'd lost his mind and fallen in love with her, God help him. Nay, it was her character that wooed him into forgetting his shields. Looks faded with age, but the beauty in Johanna's heart and in her soul seemed to grow more wonderful with each new day.

She'd snared him all right, blindsided him she had, and now it was too late to do anything about protecting himself from her.

There was only one course of action left to him. Johanna was going to have to love him. By God, he wasn't about to let himself become this vulnerable without gaining equal measure.

Gabriel felt better. The plan made sound sense to him. He wasn't certain how he'd get her to fall in love with him, but he was an intelligent man. He'd think of something.

He leaned down, kissed her brow, and then got out of bed. Their lovemaking had worn her out, he supposed, as he reached for his plaid. That possibility made him smile until he yawned. He realized then she'd worn him out, too.

He stared down at her all the while he dressed; and when he was finished, he took time to cover her up. Then, damned if he didn't have to kiss her one last time before he left the chamber. He was becoming appalled again by his own shameful behavior. Loving was a tricky affair, he decided. Perhaps, in time, he'd get the hang of it. He started to forcefully pull the door closed, caught himself in time, and shut it as quietly as possible.

Hell, he was becoming considerate. He had to shake his head over that disgusting trait. He wondered what other surprises were going to come his way now that he'd acknowledged to himself the fact that he did indeed love his wife. The future worried him. If he turned into a doting husband, he swore he'd have to kill someone.

Aye, loving was a tricky affair.

Johanna slept through the night. Gabriel left the chamber before she awakened. She was thankful for her privacy. She felt so sick, she could barely breathe without gagging. She tried to get out of bed twice, but each time the room would begin to spin and her stomach would lurch in protest of the movement. She took deep, gulping breaths to try to calm her nausea. It didn't help. She made it over to the washstand and slapped a wet cloth against her forehead, but that didn't help either. Johanna finally quit fighting the inevitable and ended up kneeling over the chamber pot, wretching until she was certain she was going to faint again.

While she'd been throwing up, she thought she was surely going to die; yet after she was finished, she felt surprisingly fit again. Whatever sickness had claimed her had either ended abruptly or had strange symptoms. Until she knew what was ailing her, she couldn't treat herself.

Johanna wasn't one to pamper herself, yet she couldn't help but be worried. She'd believed her faint the night before was due to an empty stomach mixed with the unpleasant aroma of cooked meat. But she'd almost fainted again this morning and the only aroma in the chamber was the scent of the outdoors coming through the opened window.

She tried not to think about being sick. She'd missed Mass and knew she would have to take Father aside later and explain that she'd been indisposed. The color had come back to her face by the time she dressed. She braided her hair, straightened the chamber, and then went to look in on Clare MacKay.

Hilda opened the door for her. Johanna smiled when she saw Clare was sitting up in bed. Her face was still horribly swollen, of course, and the left side of her face was black and blue from bruises, but her eyes looked clear, not murky, and Johanna surmised the blow to the head hadn't done irreparable damage.

"How are you feeling this morning, Clare?" Johanna asked.

"Better, thank you," the MacKay woman answered in a weak, pitiful voice.

"She barely ate a morsel of the food I carried up," Hilda interjected. "Says her throat pains her too much. I'm going back to the kitchens to mix a tonic for her."

Johanna nodded. She kept her gaze on Clare. "You're going to have to eat in order to regain your strength."

Clare shrugged in answer. Johanna shut the door behind Hilda and went over to sit down on the side of the bed next to her patient.

"You do want to get better, don't you?"

Clare stared at Johanna a long minute before answering. "I suppose I'll have to," she whispered. She deliberately tried to turn the topic then. "It was good of you to take me in, Lady Johanna. I haven't properly thanked you yet. I'm most appreciative."

"You needn't thank me," Johanna protested. "Why did you sound so sad when you said you would probably have to get better?"