For my lovely MMEPAC friends, enjoy!
Patrick led an increasingly pale Shelagh out of the Church and all the way to the car where he would drive her to her new home - their home. Timothy was spending the evening with Jack, so it would just be him and the new Mrs Turner.
Their journey was quiet, as Shelagh sat in pale silence, staring in to the distance as he drove. It was something to leave the Order, wed a man in front of the women who had been her Sisters for so long, but it was another to know that in a short while, she would be abandoning her vow of chastity forever, to a man that had considerably more experience than she did.
It was even worse when she considered that her friends; the nuns and the nurses from Nonnatus House, knew what she would be doing this evening. She would not be able to look them in the eye when she next saw them, she had barely been able to look them in the eye when they left, when Patrick led her to his car, his hand splayed across the small of her back.
"Shelagh"
His voice was husky, smooth. The mere sound of it sent shivers up and down her spine and she started, looked at him. He was looking at her with a tender look on his face, worry poured from his eyes as his wife looked at him with somlething akin to terror in her own.
"We're here, Shelagh. Welcome home." His shoulders relaxed as a small, gentle smile warmed her lips, and he left the car to open her door and escort her to the front door. Once it was opened, he took her hand, her small, pale, cold, hand, and led her across the threshold.
It was evening when they had returned, left the party, and so there was no afternoon to put off the inevitable, no prospect of food to prepare or clothes to wash, no things that needed doing. And Shelagh knew if she put him off for tonight, the wait tomorrow would be even worse. And the days after would be ever more worse.
She turned to him, blushed. Patrick smiled again, and taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips, kissed the finger that held both her rings as he had done months before, when her delicate finger had only born the one ring that merely promised her soul to his.
He led her to his bedroom, to their bedroom, and welcomed her in. He felt slightly nervous, so he could not imagine how she felt. Their flat was familiar, as she had spent weeks here after the engagement, and had moved in at one point when she had been evacuated from her own lodgings. But she had never ventured beyond the wooden door that led to the bedrooms, had stayed firmly on the one side.
"Shelagh" he spoke gently, invited her to reply, and she did.
"Patrick" she spoke with a slight sigh, a tremor of nervousness, but determination infused her voice.
"Are you sure?" He asked, and at her tiny nod started stripping off his suit jacket, his tie, placed his cuff links in the small bowl that rested on the mantelpiece. He turned round once he had withdrawn to his undergarments, to see Shelagh standing delicately in her own, a white smock.
Her eyes refused to meet his, and her hands trembled slightly against her legs. When he spoke, tried to reassure her, she lifted her gaze but stared over his shoulder, still wouldn't look directly at him, her eyes danced expertly away from his.
In two strides he was before her. His large hands welcomed her small ones, his thighs pressed against hers, his lips caressed hers.
"I love you" he whispered against her mouth, and she sighed wistfully, her eyes fluttered shut. He brought his hands up to his mouth, kissed her right hand, her left hand, and then let them go, brought his hands up to her face and caressed her cheeks gently. He stroked her hair, and with a practiced hand released the pins that held it together. She gasped in slight outrage, and his lips met hers once more, before he led her to the bed and seated them both upon the end.
"I love you" he told her gently as his hands roamed her body,
"Shelagh, darling" he groaned as his lips pressed firmly against hers,
"Shelagh" he exhaled as finally, finally, her hands left her sides and came up to his hair and he shuddered in ecstasy as she finally responded, returned his kisses, pressed herself against his body as he finally pushed her on to the coverlet and covered his body with his own.
When their union was complete, Shelagh Turner was a completely different person to the Shelagh Mannion that morning, to the Mrs Turner that had entered the bedroom just an hour before, to the Sister Bernadette she had once been. She had entered the bedroom as a reluctant wife, dreading the actions that were to come. She had been a nurse, been a midwife. She knew as well as any other what a man and a woman did together. She had been a nun, now a wife but once a nun, and had never had want for that before. Never stood before another and bared her open soul to a man. Not any man, and definitely not one who told her he loved her. Showing her barely covered body, showing her naked body to her husband was something her body, her mind, was resistant to doing. But her heart, already brimming with love for Patrick, shouted her body down and she became a willing participant, matched him kiss for kiss, caress to caress, thrust for thrust. Skin touched skin, and Shelagh Turner welcomed Patrick Turner into her body, into her heart.