Her hair was across my chest, she lifted her head and tucked the hair away, behind her and then rested her head against my chest. The skin of her face felt cool against me, possibly even damp.
She could have been crying.
‘My husband is dead,’ she said simply.
‘Yes,’ I agreed.
‘You killed him.’
It was not a question, but I answered it anyway. ‘Yes.’
Her hand stroked across my chest, a finger running along the scar that cut across it. I could se little more than the outline of her head in the low glow and flickering shadows cast by the fire, which was the only illumination in the room.
‘You are my husband now,’ she said, kissing my chest.
‘Yes.’ I agreed.
‘I am your wife.’
‘Hmmm….’ I said as she kissed more. ‘You are my lady, now. To me you are my wife; to everyone else you are Your Ladyship.’
‘You are my Lord,’ she muttered, her kisses moving down my stomach as her hand tightened its grip as her kisses moved lower. Her hand began to move slowly up and down as her mouth kissed down to meet it. ‘You are my Lord,’ she said, then she said no more as her tongue and lips became too busy to comment.
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