Chapter 37: Slaying Dragons

On Saturday morning, Remington's eyes blinked open, and he reached for the bedspread, tucking it around he and Laura a bit more snugly. June it might be, when temperatures trended towards cool but moderate, yet the stone walls of the castle had a way of holding a chill within the structure, most notably during the early morning hours. Easing her hair over her shoulder and plucking a strand from his mouth, he waited as she shifted in her sleep then settled again next to his side, before he tightened his arm about her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It would be much longer, he speculated, before she found it too uncomfortable to sleep thus, and he intended to soak every last second of enjoyment out of the feeling of his wife's body splayed across his that he could.

Where once a woman carrying his child was a thing to be guarded against at all costs, now it was a source of unending fascination, anticipation and pride, even. As of the next day, she would be twenty-two weeks along, and her tummy had rounded nicely, leaving no doubt that she was, indeed, with his child. He was held captivated by those times when she suddenly went completely still, excepting for her hand reaching to lie against her belly, her eyes widening slightly and shimmering with joy, telling him she'd just felt their child move within her. In truth, he'd feel a sharp pang of regret sear through his gut on each occasion that he was yet unable to feel the same beneath his sensitive fingers. The notion that their child grew, thrived within her petite frame was still a bit surreal for him, and gut told him, when he finally felt proof of that little being beneath her skin, it would all become a thrilling reality which would leave him smiling even more than he already did these days.

And smile he certainly did, when he looking at her burgeoning tummy, shoving his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot-to-foot, often earning a roll of his wife's eyes heavenward and a shake of her head. He knew she believed those smiles were of manly pride, living proof of his virility, his line's continuity now growing within her. In all fairness, three-quarters of the time she'd be correct. What she didn't know was a goodly deal of the time, his smile was spurned by nothing more than disbelief combined with unadulterated joy. His entire childhood he'd been deemed unworthy, undeserving of what nearly all children received just by virtue of being born: a home, a family. Over time he'd come to believe this could never, should never be his. Yet the most beguiling, intelligent… truly good, woman he'd ever known had deemed him worthy, believed he'd excel at it, and there beneath his hand now, the proof lay. It had been a remarkable and unprecedented leap of faith on her part... in him… in them… and he was still left wholly gobsmacked by it all.

As was he by her announcement they were departing two days early – and for Ireland of all places! Yet another surprise when they arrived: the hotel side of things had been shut down for a full twenty-four hours, the entire staff given a holiday so that he and Laura might have the castle entirely to themselves on Friday. Yesterday they'd spent a quiet day walking the property, speaking softly; riding horses from the new stables installed, be it for a leisurely stroll through the woods or a galloping race across meadows; lunch prepared by the staff before they departed, then dinner made by his own hand. But what's a man to do when presented with such an opportunity as this? When dinner was complete, he'd swept her up in his arms, carried her across the marbled floors of the lower level, up the staircase and to their bedroom, in a nod to a night a year ago. And – blissfully! - the phone had not rung a single time as they'd indulged in one another and the love between them until dawn had streaked across the sky. Oh, his arms ached, the muscles in his legs screamed, and that usually demanding piece of his anatomy when his wife was near, had already given him fair warning – oh, ho, there'll be no repeats of those shenanigans this morning, old sport, unless, of course, you wish a blistering reminder of why such an idea would be unwise. And, unless he missed his guess, his wife would of much the same mind. A mischievous smile lifted his lips when said wife stirred against him. Ah, but a man still had to test the waters, hadn't he? To that end, he stroked a hand down her arm, over her hip, along a thigh, before doubling back to caress an enticing little bottom.

"Not happening," Laura murmured against his chest. She adjusted against him slightly so she might tip her head back to look at him, groaning as she did so. "Oh God, I'm sore," she lamented. "I haven't been this sore since the last time we were here."

"Ah, but then, with daring, commitment, perseverance we overcame our bodies' limitations so we might revel in the unrivaled bliss of..."

"I'm older than I was then, and have more self-control," she interrupted, cutting his monologue short. He barked an incredulous laugh, his eyes twinkling down on her with merriment.

"More self-control?! This from the woman who managed to hold me at bay for four, long, torturous years, denying us both what we wished for, longed for, dreamt—" He words were again stifled, this time by a finger to his lips.

"Save it. It's not happening," she said again, firmly. "You're awfully loquacious this morning, even for you," she observed. "Any particular reason?" He slipped out from beneath her to turn on his side and face her, propping head in hand.

"I'm a contented man, Laura," he answered, turning surprisingly serious and intense eyes on her. He lifted her hair over her shoulder, then rested his hand on her expanding waist. "Only a year ago, here in this very place, I'd lost Daniel, was all but certain I'd lost you. I was once more a man without a home, a place where he belonged. Quite alone, a status which once I preferred, but no longer knew how to be… happily at least. And now? Rapturously wed to the most intelligent, most enchanting woman I've ever known, whom I love beyond all measure, and loves me in return. A home I treasure and a job I enjoy, both of which I happen to share with that same woman." His eyes dropped to her stomach and he circled a single finger there in ever smaller arcs. A smile lifted a corner of his mouth. "A child, on the way. A father." He turned and lay on his back, pillowing his head on folded hands. "And now, twice in little more than a month's span, I find you stealing me away, for no other reason that you wish us to have time alone together, to celebrate. There were many nights during all those years when I dreamed of just that…"

Laura stared, wide-eyed at Remington, for long seconds. She couldn't recall a time when he'd ever spoken so freely, had so easily related his feelings. No stumbling, no angst. It had the effect of initially leaving her a bit shell-shocked, then as she recovered, blinking moist eyes. She palmed a cheek in her hand and when he turned to look at her, lay her lips against his while holding her eyes with his.

"I do love you, you know," she told him quietly, emphatically when she parted their joined lips. He buried a hand in her hair to keep her near.

"I know. And it is for that I am most thankful of all, because it is from there all the rest was made possible." Two fingers pressed against the back of her head, and he mouthed, 'come here.' Well, when a man's made a speech such as he had, and he was looking at you as though you were all the world to him, what's a woman to do. She bent down and touched her lips to his. The words, the hands caressing her bare bottom and back, the lips moving skillfully over hers, had her body twitching with need in no time at all. And he knew it in no uncertain terms. His lips lifted in a smile beneath hers, as he rolled her to her back.

"Oh God," she murmured. He lifted his head to look down at her. She drug her fingers through his hair, then across his shoulders. "I think we're in trouble."

"A position we seem to find ourselves in each time we're here," he nodded, solemnly, then covered his mouth with hers again.

And they were.

Remington cast a sideways look towards Laura, the half dozenth of such looks in the last half hour, as she maneuvered her way through the streets of Galway, steadily approaching the site which was, for a short period, a home in which he stayed when just a boy of ten: St. Patrick's orphanage. He'd taken her there, the last time they were in Ireland, and neither of them had fared well in the aftermath. She'd been left shaken, feeling guilty and filled with fury for what he'd lived through there. For him, it had revived nightmares long suppressed, that he'd suffered through in silence. If that is where she was, indeed, heading, he'd no desire to make this particular jaunt a tradition.

"Laura…?" he tried again. No need to repeat the entirety of a question he'd asked several times to no avail. She reached over and grasped his hand, weaving their fingers together and giving it a squeeze.

"Relax. What happened to that contented man of this morning?" she teased, lightly.

"His wife decided to take him on a jaunt that is coming perilously close to somewhere he never wished to return," he groused. She cast him an exasperated look.

"Do you trust me?" That drew a double take from him.

"Implicitly." She raised her brows at him.

"Then relax." He resisted the impulse to cross his arms and give in to a good sulk. Nevertheless, he did exactly that when she turned their car down the road on which the orphanage was located.

Only it no longer stood where it once had. He looked to Laura, as she parked the car and stepped from it. With a rub at his face with his hand, he unfolded himself from the car, leaning against the door after he closed it.

"Not a single person who was harmed at that …. Priest's… hands," she fairly spat out the word 'priest', "Will ever return here again to see that building standing as a living testament to their suffering." To his utter mortification, he found himself blinking hard against the tingling in his eyes.

"How?" he asked, voice gravelly.

"Thomas convinced the Church they wouldn't want word of how the Earl of Claridge had been abused there as a child to get out… not to mention all the other children. The Diocese donated the building… and the funds to destroy it. We found a landscape architect who volunteered his time and talents. Your father and I shared the expense of the materials. Now it will be a place of joy for children, instead of a haunting reminder of children afraid, in pain." He nodded his head repeatedly, swiping at his face again before drawing her into his arms and holding her close, resting his chin on her head as he stared at the playground before him.

"A truly inspired idea, love," he praised.

"There's more." He drew back to look at her, questioningly. Slipping from his arms, she clasped his hand with hers and drew him to the plaque hanging on the wrought iron fence next to the gated opening. Reading it, he shoved a hand in his pocket and rocked back on his heels. She felt the tremor of the hand in hers.

"The Daniel Chalmers Memorial Playground," he read aloud.

"It seemed right, to honor the man that not only saved a child, but taught that child children should never be harmed," she explained.

"I…" he lost his voice and cleared his throat, "I think Daniel would've been honored." His gruff voice, coupled with him lifting a hand to worry a thumbnail, concerned her.

"Are you alright?" He shook his head slowly at her, but at least dropped his hand from his mouth.

"I'm overwhelmed, Laura. You, thinking to do this for me. My father aiding." He looked at the sign again. "Daniel."

"The day you brought me here, I promised myself I'd see the place gone one day. And if I could find that so-called Priest…" she shook her head.

"Slaying my dragons for me, then, are you?" She shrugged a single shoulder as she turned to face him.

"You've done the same for me in the past," she pointed out. "Remington?"

"Hmmmm?" he answered, his focus still on the playground.

"Your child and I are hungry." He blinked hard, then looked at her as the words registered. Cliche though the comment might have been, it had done the job intended, tearing him away from his dolesome thoughts.

"Well, we can't have that." He brushed his lips against her cheek then held out an arm. "Lunch, Mrs. Steele." Smiling she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

"Lunch, Mr. Steele."