Idiot. He was a complete and unquestionable idiot.

The ceiling of the bedroom had become his sounding board as he mentally, and sometimes vocally, berated himself. What had he been thinking by saying such a thing to her? He'd had quite enough magic? She was a magical being! Slapping a hand over his eyes and dragging it down his face, he sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to rid himself of the tight feeling in his chest. The one that extended up through his body and was cutting off his breathing as he felt as though something were lodged in his throat.

It had been such a very long day. To think that only this morning, he'd awoken in Katrina's bed after experiencing a night blissfully wrapped around her warm body, soaking in the way she molded into him, absorbing the scent of her hair, stroking her body to reacquaint himself with the feel of her. That memory seemed so long ago now. After spending his morning with a distraught mother, researching various demons, then being captured by said demons, he felt as though he could sleep for another two centuries. To top it off, he had demanded to be brought back to the cabin rather than wait for Katrina to return to her home where he would surely have had the opportunity to take comfort in her soft embrace as she assured him that all was well and tomorrow would be a new day. At the time he'd made his decision to return to his temporary home, it had seemed like the right thing to do, especially considering the fact that he'd spent the day being so distracted by thoughts of Katrina and the things they had said and done the night before that he'd barely been of any use to Abbie at all, something he felt immensely guilty for. They were a team, two parts of a whole, who were meant to give equal parts of themselves over to their mission. However, throughout the day, his emotions had varied from regret to anger to sadness to raw lust, throwing him completely off from their endeavors. Strangely, he couldn't seem to get a handle on just what it was he was feeling in any given moment. He wanted her. There was no doubt of that. Her body, her touch, the way she felt when she pressed close to him; those were things he thought he might actually suffocate without. But there was also that other feeling. That love that never ceased to set his heart to pounding when she looked at him. That overwhelming urge to simply be in her presence. After their morning and how easily they'd fallen into bantering with each other, he had thought that perhaps everything would settle with them, that they really could have the future they'd dreamed of so long ago.

Then, he'd gotten distance between them and he'd realized just how much simply being in her presence had affected his choices. Up until the moment she'd walked in on him fiddling with her messy bathroom, he'd been having doubts. Then, she'd arrived and all rational thought had, of course, departed from him. He'd become so wrapped up in kissing her and laughing with her that his doubts had flown from his brain with little more than a slight residual feeling that they should discuss things lingering.

With another sigh, he tapped at the blanket thrown over him. In the past twenty four hours, he'd taken in a great deal of information and this was his first moment alone to really consider everything. Her bringing him all of his old things, material possessions she'd kept and preserved for him throughout the long centuries she'd waited, anticipating his arrival. That had been a genuinely thoughtful gift, one that had warmed his heart in ways he'd not felt in such a very long time. Her still adorning his mother's necklace, that symbol of their future, had been a very telling gesture. She'd held onto it as a physical reminder of their love, something she could actually cling to and remember him by every time she touched it. Then, of course, there was Nick Hawley and the explanation behind him. He wasn't quite sure what his feelings were on that matter, nor the matter concerning the other unnamed man she'd admitted to entering into an intimate relationship with. He supposed he was still jealous... No, he knew he was jealous. The idea of another man putting his hands on his love drove him absolutely mad. It had been bad enough when Abraham had done it, but at least he'd never gone so far, had never touched her in a way that she'd only ever allowed him. Though, her constant dismissals hadn't stopped Abraham from continuing his attempts, which was something that had never failed to drive him straight over the edge of what he could stand. Jealousy and fury were two emotions that had plagued him to the point of madness during those years where they'd hidden their love from their friend. Clenching the blanket beneath him, he considered just how miserable he'd been, then.

Katrina was his. Katrina belonged to him.

Fists balled so tightly his knuckles had gone white, he watched with narrowed eyes while Abraham danced with Katrina across the room. She was obviously attempting to keep him at a reasonable distance, but the blasted man wouldn't cease pulling her closer at every opportunity in the guise of speaking with her over the noise consuming the room. Picking up his mug of rum, he tore his eyes from them in an attempt to restrain himself from storming across the room and breaking Abraham's hands, which had been creeping far too close to her breasts for his liking. Instead, he distracted himself with the crowded von Brunt residence, which was brimming with loud and obnoxious, not to mention wealthy, people who were enjoying their night that was allowing them to overfill themselves with food and drink. What he wouldn't give to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

Earlier in the evening, he and Abraham had returned from a neighboring town where they had been visiting some of Abraham's constituents. It had been an enjoyable enough time spent with his friend, even reminiscent of the many journeys they'd ventured upon in their youth when avoiding their studies, but now that he was back in the town he considered home, all he wanted to do was find a quiet place to settle himself, preferably with Katrina's body pressed into his. However, upon arriving, they'd discovered Abraham's parents were hosting a party to celebrate the new year, something he should have expected. Another thing he should have expected was Katrina's presence in the home, as it wasn't only Abraham who wished a union between the two, but his parents as well. Why they couldn't leave her be was beyond his understanding. She was a woman of virtue and morals who spoke with authority, even in the midst of men, despite the delicacy of such a situation. The work at the infirmaries she so delighted in across the colonies often exhausted her to the point of collapsing. Her family was respected, but by no means wealthy. The only possible reason such a union could be so sought after had to be due to her overwhelming beauty and that reason was hardly an understandable one for the continued seeking out of her hand. There were many beautiful women in the colonies. Why could Abraham simply not seek out another? Was it the chase? The thrill of wondering when she would finally give in? Katrina was a mysterious woman for sure, her thoughts and dreams mostly something that remained unknown, but it was also obvious that her loyalty, once given, was eternal. This reason above all else was what stayed his hand in most of the situations like the one he now found himself in. Katrina had pledged herself, her life and heart, to him and him alone. However, that didn't stop the burning, sharp, needle-like pain that shot through him every time he saw her in Abraham's presence.

His friend, while dear to him, was a rather obnoxiously, wealthy man. When he would see something he wanted, he would claim it. If he could not buy it, he'd bribe his way to owning it. On many occasions, he'd witnessed his friend take part in underhanded deals to acquire something he deemed an item he simply could not live without. It was as though he became transfixed by the things he desired and could not put them from his mind until he possessed them. He'd never considered it a terrible habit of Abraham's until now. The idea that his friend was as flawed as he had always been a selfish comfort. It wasn't as though he hadn't grown up under a well off name himself, but to be friends with another who's name far surpassed his own, a bit of jealousy had been bound to happen.

During their school years, he'd often thought Abraham had taken him on as a friend because of his abilities. An eidetic memory was a rare thing, something he'd often been told made him invaluable. Such was it that he and Abraham had become friends, or so he assumed. Did he blame his friend for it? Not really. It was expected of someone so powerful. However, through the years, they had become very close and upon reaching manhood, had remained thus. With his vast knowledge and Abraham's wealth, the two had evolved into much sought after company among the upperclassmen of England, something that carried over to the colonies as well.

It wasn't that his friend was a bad man; far from it. It was simply that he was a very worldly man, one with an oversized ego and the wealth to match it. He admired Abraham's tenacity, his reach for the stars attitude. He was a generous man, even if his generosity was often cancelled out with his need to let everyone know he was such a way. However, the people Abraham's wealth helped was more than enough compensation for the way in which it was gained in his mind. Abraham had an energetic spirit, one that was contagious with a tendency of pulling his own more reserved spirit out of its comfort zone to partake in the wonders of the world he would have otherwise missed. For that, he would always be grateful to his friend.

Lately, though, he found his tolerance for Abraham's more irritating antics waning, where before he would have been more keen to ignore them. He'd always told himself that they were both flawed. He had been sure his own pride and arrogance had been an annoyance as well. However, those days were past and now his friend's presence, most especially when in the company of his love, was something that never failed to put him in a rather foul mood. He often wondered if it would be different if he wasn't so knowledgeable about Abraham's vast experience in the world of women. Where he had often sought out the comfort of a woman's company, he'd never lain with one, at least until he and Katrina had consummated their love. Abraham, on the other hand, rarely went without the intimate company of women, sometimes with more than one at once. Too many times, he'd had to wait out Abraham's various encounters and that knowledge only furthered the burning in his chest as he knew his friend was very adept at seducing women, at least those that didn't throw themselves at him in an attempt to gain something from him. He'd come to learn that women were little more than a means to an end to Abraham, the kind he enjoyed when they were stroking his ego or other various parts of him. The kind that he would brag to his friends over and who would bear his children, but serve no other true purpose. That idea, more than anything else, irked him as that was exactly what Abraham wanted Katrina to become; a source of pleasure and furthering of his family line.

At the end of his willpower to not seek her out with his eyes, he slowly slid his gaze back to them and what he found made his blood boil. Abraham had her pulled flush to him as he whispered in her ear. As Abraham's back was to him, Katrina was facing toward him, her fingers resting in the folds of Abraham's jacket. In his mind, he knew she was simply balancing herself in an attempt to not fall completely into Abraham, but the feeling in his chest wouldn't permit that rational explanation to remain for longer than a few seconds at a time. So, he sat there, his gaze blazing toward her as he practically willed her eyes to fall on him. When they finally did, he noticed the shift in her demeanor as she obviously read the rage burning in him clear across the room. She made an attempt to dismiss Abraham by pulling back, her eyes never leaving his, but the man only held her closer as he continued to speak with her intimately.

Finally at the end of his patience, he suddenly found himself on his feet, weaving through the crowded room and paying no mind to the random bodies he bumped into. However, her eyes practically pleading with him to cease his steps made him falter, despite his suffocating need to rip Abraham in half. Shoulders stiff, he turned on his heel and barreled toward the front door, seeking the darkness that would match his mood. However, the night air did little for him and the guests scattered on the porch and lawn only furthered his frustration, forcing him to step around the side of the house to the dimly lit grove of trees lining the building. Every part of him wanted to scream and kick out like a child in a tantrum, but he held it in, letting it burn his tightened chest, washing over his body in waves of pulsing fury. Unclenching his fists, he brought a hand up through his hair in an attempt to at the very least breathe. Unfortunately, he found he was having a very difficult time doing even that.

"Ichabod."

Eyes clenching shut, he shook his head and held a finger up to the side to silence her as he wasn't sure he could stop himself from reacting violently if he attempted to speak at the present moment. Heated words weren't what they needed right now and he had far too many on the tip of his tongue to even so much as look at her. Sucking in the deepest breath he could manage, he let it slip out of his nose as he took a moment to try to calm himself.

"My love... please. I know you're angry, but if you just listen to me-"

Spinning around to face her, his hands shot out to grasp her arms before he roughly pressed her into the wall. Her sharp gasp as her back hit the building was consumed by his mouth as he practically attacked her lips as though he were some starving beast in need of the sustenance only she could provide. When her obvious shock faded, he felt her attempt to speak, but he refused to allow it as his hands fell to her waist where he began sliding his hands demandingly along her dress, pausing here and there to dig his fingers as deeply into her body as he could manage. The anger was still coiling hotly in his chest, fighting to find a release, something he was expressing with his mouth and hands. It took a few moments for her to stop fighting him before her grip tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as she consented to follow him into the act he was desperate to implement.

Mouth sliding to drag along her jaw, he sought out the flesh of her neck, intent to make it his once more. Time seemed to be rushing past as his hands possessively met her breasts and squeezed. The subsequent moan that fell from her went straight into his ear, sending jolts of pulsing desire straight to his core. Needing more of her, he pressed harder into her and dropped a hand to her thigh where he began pulling the material of her dress and underskirts up her body, hearing them rip as they caught on the strap of his boot.

"This isn't safe," she breathed, her voice low and cracking as she clearly fought for air. "Someone's going to see us. We can't afford to be caught."

Not pausing in the slightest, he finally managed to get the hem in his grasp before he fumbled with the many folds of her dress and slipped his hand to the apex of her thighs, where he took to probing her moist depths with every intention of claiming what was his. Head falling back against the wall, her fingers tightened in his hair as her breathing intensified.

"Do you enjoy tormenting me?" he leaned up to whisper into her ear, his lips brushing the lobe as he continued to press as far into her as he could manage.

"Ichabod-"

"I feel as though you do," he cut in, his fingers trailing along the folds of her sex. "You enjoy making me burn with jealousy, with anger. You enjoy having control of me."

She attempted to turn her head to look at him, but he quickly lifted his free hand to her opposite cheek and held her face tightly to his as his thumb circled that sensitive bundle of nerves he usually took time to lather loving attention to. However, there was nothing tender or loving about what he was doing with them now. He wanted to claim her, force her to admit her errors, to admit that she was wrong to be doing this to him.

"Why must you do such things to me?" he asked, dragging a finger between her soft, warm folds until he came to her entrance and slipped a finger slightly within her, inciting a gasp from her as she dug her fingernails into the back of his neck so deeply he was sure she drew blood. Wincing at the pain of her actions, he probed further into her, soaking his digit which was now surrounded by the wet walls of her sex.

"It's not my intention," she shakily breathed, her words warming his flushed skin.

"Your intentions are nearly always a mystery to me," he whispered, emotions attempting to overwhelm him as years worth of confusion burst forth. "You keep them tightly locked up behind those damned green eyes, never letting an ounce of emotion show."

"Ichabod, you know-"

"I don't know anything," he growled, as he curled his finger inside her and pulled it down through her slickness before he began trailing it back through her folds. Repeating the process with varying touches, he nipped at her neck, sucking and licking to soothe her skin. When his fingers met those sensitive nerves again, her body went stiff in his embrace and he continued touching her, drawing out her pleasure for as long as possible, feeling possessive of the small whimpers and moans he pulled from her. As her body settled into a bout of light quivering, he leaned his head into the crook of her neck and did his best to slow his own breathing and need for fulfillment.

After a time of his relaxing against her, listening to the music seeping through the wall, he released a heavy breath against her flesh, his mind a swirl of emotions. "I'm sorry," he whispered, regret for his actions filling him. "I don't know how else to get your attention long enough to listen to me. You never listen to me. You always want to explain and I simply... I need to be heard, too, Katrina."

Her fingers untangled from his hair and slid around to his face where she pulled him back just enough so that their faces were only centimeters apart. It was difficult to read her face in the dark, which was only illuminated by the window a few feet away, but he could clearly see the regret wash over her. "My love, I despise this situation as much as you."

Releasing her in order to bring a hand to his eyes, he turned and took a few steps away as he attempted to calm himself.

"Ichabod, I love you," she said softly. "Only you."

Fists clenching, he spun back to her. "You're going to marry me."

She hesitated before nodding, her face a story of confusion. "Of course, I'm going to marry you. Just as soon-"

"No," he all but growled, jerking a finger up to point at her. "You're going to marry me, now."

Her face dissolved into despair. "We can't."

"It's been two years!" he shouted, feeling the pressure inside him come near to a bursting point. "I have waited two years for you to agree to marry me!"

"You said you would wait forever for me," she returned, her voice low.

"And it seems you're going to hold me to that promise, aren't you?" he carried on despondently. "Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg you? Is that what you want, Katrina?"

"Of course not," she answered as tears crept into her eyes. "I promised you that as soon as the war was over, we'd be free to wed. You simply have to be patient."

"Patient?" he echoed incredulously. "You-" He shook his head in frustration. "I have been nothing but patient. I defected for you!"

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. "You defected because you knew it was the right thing to do."

"I defected for you," he pressed. "You touched something inside me and I made a choice." He took a determined step toward her, needing to make his thoughts as plain as possible. "Then, for two years, I waited for acknowledgement while you dangled yourself in front of me."

"I didn't-"

"Then, finally," he went on, ignoring her interference. "We came to an understanding of how we feel and, yet, here we are, another two years passed no further than where we started."

"That's not true," she protested quite vehemently. "I gave myself to you. I have shared parts of myself with you I never dreamed I'd share with anyone."

"Parts. That's exactly the problem." Tiredly shaking his head, he said, "I have surrendered all of myself to you; my heart, my body, my future. I expect all of you in return, Katrina, not just parts."

"You think I haven't given you my whole heart?" she questioned, her face a cloud of hurt.

Shrugging his shoulders, he commented offhandedly, "I think you enjoy playing with my feelings while having Abraham there in the wings to make you his bride when you've finally finished with this game you've dragged me into."

"Our love isn't a game, Ichabod," she whispered, reaching for his hand and tenderly bringing it to the place her heart rested. "You are my heart. Without you, I'm just a shell with nowhere to place my hopes and dreams. All my ambition, all the things I want for my future, would be nothing without you."

So very tired, he returned to leaning against her, nuzzling his cheek to hers as he breathed against her warm skin. "I'm so tired of feeling this way, like I'm some chess piece you're moving about."

She gave a hard swallow before asking, "How could you think that? After all we've shared."

Eyes burning with building tears, he answered, "Because I'm afraid."

A frown creased her features as she lifted a hand to his cheek. "Of what?"

Shaking his head, he leaned his forehead to hers and admitted the thought that had been plaguing him for quite some time. "I feel as though I'm on a precipice and I'm waiting for you to decide where I fall, where my future lies. Katrina, I-I'm not a weak man."

"I know that," she assured softly. "You're the strongest man I know."

"I don't believe that's true," he continued, his fear overtaking him. "You must think I'm pathetic with the way I go on about this, allowing my insecurities to consume me. No other man would resort to begging you."

"Ichabod," she said with a small smile. "There's nothing wrong with showing me your heart's desire. I love that about you. You're sensitive and caring. If I wanted an unemotional husband who didn't care about my thoughts, I'd marry Abraham."

Sighing heavily, he shook his head. "I'm simply afraid you're going to come to your senses and realize I have nothing to offer you."

"Nothing to offer me?" she repeated, her voice low and sorrowful. "Ichabod Crane," she whispered, her fingers sliding beneath his chin to lift his gaze to hers. "You've offered me more than I could possibly deserve."

"Katrina-"

Her fingers laid over his lips, halting his words. "How can you not know how special you are? What must I do to prove to you that I'm yours? Do you truly need me to marry you for you to understand?"

Feeling a range of embarrassment, shame, and insecurity wash over him, he whispered, "I simply want to be with you."

To his surprise, she laughed and leaned her head back to the wall as she stared at him. "Do you have the slightest idea what I would have done to any other man who even entertained the thought of doing what I just allowed you to do to me?"

Regret burned in his chest as he closed his eyes. "You should do the same to me."

Her fingers slid down his chest, tugging at the dip in his shirt where it halted her journey along his skin. "I prefer to keep you intact."

Eyes on her teasing expression, he timidly asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she went on, dropping her hand to his belt and pressing it down into the material of his trousers, inciting a groan from him. "I'm rather fond of your cock and prefer it to remain attached to your body."

Sucking in a deep breath at the way his desire twitched and responded to her, he leaned against her, pressing her body back into the building. "That's not very lady like."

"And what you just did to me is a far cry from gentlemanly behavior," she returned with a light laugh.

Finding himself suddenly amused with her playfulness, he answered, "Oh, but it was. I let you have your pleasure first."

"Are you implying that allowing my climax to happen first is along the same lines as you holding a door open for me?"

Sharing in her laughter, he brushed his lips to hers and whispered, "I love you, Katrina. Forgive my impatience. I'm simply ready to begin our life together."

She smiled against his face as she spoke, "I promise I'm going to marry you, Ichabod."

Silently nodding, he contented himself with stroking her neck. "When?"

"As soon as it's safe," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "I'm so eager to be your wife, Ichabod. To wake every morning in your arms. To actually sit at a table for breakfast and converse over our day, one where we don't have to sneak glances and touches. To walk through town as two people proud of their love. To put our children to bed and listen to the wild stories you'll tell before we each place a kiss to their heads. To make love to you freely, as husband and wife, without fear of creating a child."

"Promise me it will happen, Katrina. Promise me, you're mine."

A gentle smile came to her face, one that made her green eyes glint with happiness. "I belong to you, Ichabod Crane. You are my love, my soul mate. Any and every future I imagine has you at its center."

"Do I?"

Jerking upright, he looked at the doorway to the room, completely startled to find her leaning against it in a way that suggested she'd been doing so for a while. "Katrina... What-what are you doing here?"

"My question first," she said with raised eyebrows.

At a loss for what she meant, he frowned. "What?"

With a roll of her eyes, she pushed herself away from the door and walked to the end of the bed, where she took to standing with her arms crossed. "You said I belonged to you."

Once again finding himself startled, he attempted to swallow it down. "I-"

"Which is perfectly fine as it's a completely accurate statement." She tilted her head as she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "However, I'm not entirely sure I'm happy about that fact anymore."

When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand, effectively silencing him. "I know, I'm flawed. I want to be in control of every situation and, at times, I have no problem manipulating people to get what I want. I'm impatient. As we discussed this morning, I have a tendency to overdo things when I'm nervous and that's to say nothing of how very much I'm opposed to waiting to touch you. The fact that I know it's too soon and will only complicate matters further doesn't even bother me. I don't care." Her eyes slid down his body, setting him on edge at the hunger seeping out of her. "You have no idea how very much I want you. How much it physically pains me to look at your bare torso and have to restrain myself from dragging my tongue along your skin from naval to throat." Her eyes came back to his as he felt his lower body twitch. "Is that selfish? Yes. I'm a selfish person. I want what I want when I want it." She shrugged as though that were of little importance. "I swear that I fully intend to work on that, but..." With a sigh, she paused and brought a hand through her hair. "You're welcome to your doubts, Ichabod. Everyone has them. But I refuse to be the target of your anger and frustration. We've been there before and you know it does no good to do such a thing. I'm finally willing to give you everything you ever asked of me and I refuse to be the one who suffers as I await the inevitable choice you'll make. You and I both know where we're headed, so please, do me a favor and treat me with the respect I deserve. If not as the woman you love, then at the very least as the person who saved you from the fate of having your eye sockets become the home of some very nasty worms."

Completely bewildered by this midnight rant, a moment passed of him simply staring at her in shock before she spoke again. "I understand that you're a little overwhelmed at the things I just said. All I ask is that you nod if you comprehended it."

Clearing his throat, he nodded in what he was sure was a very dumb fashion. That was all it took for her to shrug her jacket from her shoulders and toss it onto the end of the bed.

"I don't know about you," she said as her hands fell to the button of her jeans. "But I'm rather tired and want nothing more than your arms around me as I fall asleep." She glanced up at him as she pushed the material down her legs. "Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Quite mesmerized by each inch of smooth skin that met his eyes, he wordlessly nodded. Then, she was crawling up the bed toward him which sent his pulse to racing when he caught sight of the red lace between her thighs. Quickly glancing away, he took to staring at the wall across the room as she settled beside him.

"Are we going to get under the covers?"

Her voice sounded so alluring and intoxicating that it was causing him have a difficult time concentrating, especially considering the fact that a certain part of his body was growing at her proximity.

"Ichabod?"

Swallowing down the knot in his throat, he turned to her, nearly bumping noses with her as she was practically in his lap with how near she was. "I-uhm, yes-under the covers."

A small smile crept over her face as she tilted her head playfully. "Then, perhaps, we should get under them."

Eyes falling to her lips as she spoke, he nodded and lifted himself up to ease the covers out from under him. As he began pulling them over their legs, she held up a hand. "Wait."

"What's wrong?"

Without answering, she reached behind and under her shirt for a moment before moving on to the front where she twisted her arms around a bit. When she pulled a matching piece of red lace from under her shirt, leaving her nipples to push against the material left covering them, whatever remaining control he had began to waver as he breathed, "Have mercy, Katrina. What are you doing?"

Her eyes flickered up to him innocently. "Getting comfortable?"

Tossing the material to the end of the bed to rest with her other garments, she placed her hands to his chest and forced him to lean back, following him down. "Katrina," he said, his voice cracking. "Please, don't tempt me."

For a moment, her eyes danced over his face, clearly searching for something in that way she did. Taking into account her earlier statement that she was opposed to waiting for sex and he found himself more than a little nervous, something that worsened when she glanced to the rather obvious bulge in the blanket between his thighs. With a smile, she looked back to him and asked, "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and whispered, "No."

He truly wasn't. The only thought coursing through his mind was the one that had him flipping her onto her back, tearing that red lace from his favorite meal, and plunging himself as deeply inside her as he could manage. It was actually painful how desperately he wanted her.

She paused for a moment before he felt her lean over him to where her mouth was just over his, her warm breath washing over his face. "Sleep well, love."

And, then, just like that, she pressed her body flush to his side and settled her head in the crook of his neck. With her arm draped over his chest and her thigh pressed against his desire, he was having a very difficult time breathing. However, the gentle kiss she placed to his neck as she began tenderly scratching her fingers along his scalp sent a wave of emotion through him he hadn't been expecting. It was almost like they were in a memory; one that had them back in their own time, lying in each other's arms, content to let the unknown future come to them, daring it to try tearing them apart.

Wrapping his arm around her back, he brought his other hand up to stroke her arm. "Sleep well."

Rewrote this chapter so many times. I hope it turned out okay. Writing Katrina is so much easier than writing Ichabod.

Anyway, next up: Someone gets a cold, someone damages a car, and someone gets told how it is by a friend of someone else.