Sansa was trembling all over and couldn't breathe but she smiled, not wanting to give the impression that she was unhappy with the match, however it had come about.
"You're more of a plotter than I'd given you credit for, Clegane," said the Greatjon. "The honor of Lady Sansa's hand should go to a northman."
Murmurs of agreement rolled through the hall.
"Did my pledge mean less than yours? You heard our lord."
"Enough," called Ned before the Greatjon could respond. "Jon, I recognize the honor of your request but, after careful consideration, I have given Clegane my word."
Umber was frowning but eventually nodded. "I would not respect you near so much if you didn't keep to it." He turned to Sansa. "Let me be the first to wish you joy, Lady Sansa. And you, Clegane, however you managed it."
The Greatjon returned to his seat; the crowd watching.
Ned raised a hand and commanded the attention of the room. He offered no further explanation for his decision but merely said, "We all owe our thanks to the old gods for returning us home. We owe our fallen a place in our memories. And we owe our cooks the compliments of empty platters. The feast will begin in half an hour."
A cheer went up and benches scraped the floor as the crowd rose. Some lingered though most headed toward the doors to take their riches home. An elbow drove into Sansa's ribs.
"You didn't tell me you were betrothed to Clegane!" Arya accused in an undertone.
Sansa said, "I didn't know!" feeling foolish beyond compare.
Just then Sandor was in front of her. Before he could say anything, Sansa's mother joined them.
"Sansa. Clegane. Come with us," said Catelyn.
Sansa followed her mother and father off the dais. She took Sandor's arm at the bottom of the steps and left the great hall on the arm of her betrothed, grinning wildly while Sandor looked down on her, his eyes crinkling.
As soon as they entered the Starks' solar, Catelyn turned on them. "Clegane, you were not to say anything!"
"Nothing was to be gained by allowing the Umbers to think themselves fortunate -"
"I was making the point," Ned put in.
"Aye, just not quickly enough."
"We had an agreement, which you broke," Catelyn fumed.
"I kept my word. For months I've kept my word!"
"I would have preferred to have spared Jon the embarrassment -" Ned began.
"I would have preferred he kept his bloody mouth shut. 'Lady Sansa's hand should go to a northman.' Bah! Any embarrassment is his own doing. He's had his smallclothes in a twist ever since he was too slow getting out of the way of that pike."
"He was wounded in my service. Adding an injury to his pride -"
"Again, his own doing -"
"Be that as it may -"
Catelyn interrupted, "Ned, surely now you can see -"
"Cat -"
"Ned."
"Fine. Sansa?"
"Yes, Father?"
"Sandor Clegane has asked for your hand in marriage. I am content to allow you to wed -"
"Ned!"
"Cat, we've discussed this. Sansa, I am content to allow you to wed. Your mother, as well, has acknowledged that Clegane has some qualities neither of us recognized upon early acquaintance -"
"That was before you approved a marriage between Robb and Lyanna Mormont," Catelyn huffed.
"That has nothing to do with Clegane. Sansa, I promised your hand once before, despite some reservations I had. Though the whole of Westeros might think me addled, I am more at peace with this arrangement than the former. However, I would not wrong you twice. If you do not wish to wed Clegane, you have only to say so. I can still make you a match within a noble house if you wish it." He paused. "Do you want to marry Sandor Clegane?"
Sansa's heart was bursting. "Yes!" she cried. "I wish for nothing more!" Tears poured over her cheeks and she leapt into her father's arms and hugged him as hard as she could, saying, "Thank you, Father. I could not be happier!"
Her father sighed and hugged her back. "I am glad for it," he said quietly.
She disentangled herself from Ned and went to her mother. "I know you hesitate out of concern but you will see. No one else could make me happy."
Catelyn looked unconvinced but hugged her daughter, smoothing her hand over Sansa's hair as she'd done when Sansa was a little girl. "You must know I wanted better for you," she said quietly. "I wanted what you yourself wanted." Her brow contracted in confusion and, it troubled Sansa to realize it, pain.
"What I wanted has changed, Mother," Sansa said in an undertone. "I would sooner become a silent sister than navigate the falseness of the court again."
"Well, no doubt your father would sanction that choice as well."
Sansa was disappointed. Much as she loved her mother, she would not allow her happiness to be cast in shade on the day of her betrothal or, at least, on the first day of which she was aware of her betrothal.
Sansa stepped over to Sandor. He put his arm around her. "Thank you, Lord Stark, Lady Stark. She will be safe with me."
"There is the matter of his employment," Catelyn interjected. "If Sansa is truly to be wast - married to the second son of a minor house sworn to our enemies, he cannot continue to work here as a mere senior guard."
Ned nodded. "I've given Clegane's place here a great deal of thought and believe I have a solution that will support some other changes I'm considering. That's a matter for another day, though. For now, we must go to the feast."
Sansa floated into the great hall feeling taller even than Sandor. People turned and stared but their incredulity was no match for the pure, radiant joy emanating from Sansa's face, and even from Clegane's. A place had been hastily made for him on the dais. Sansa tugged him up the stairs after her. The added chair threw off the symmetry of the table arrangements but Sansa didn't care. She held Sandor's hand in full view of whoever cared to look. Sandor seemed uneasy and looked out at the crowd from under his brow.
"Bloody gawkers," he murmured.
"Let them gawk. It changes nothing." Sansa flashed a smile to the crowd in general. "Besides, it seemed to me you'd made some friends while you were away."
Sandor rolled one shoulder in a half shrug.
"You look like you've been saddled with me against your will."
He turned toward her. "You know better than that."
"They don't."
"Bugger them."
Just then Jeyne and Willard approached and offered congratulations on Sansa and Sandor's betrothal. Sansa couldn't concentrate on Sandor's exchange but thought he relaxed a little.
"When will you wed?" Jeyne asked.
"After Robb returns," Sansa said, catching on to the first period of time that seemed likely.
"It will surely be a grand event."
"I'm looking forward to it very much." Sansa hadn't given any thought at all to the particulars and had no idea if her wedding would be grand. It had never seemed possible. Not until less than an hour ago. For a moment she felt overwhelmed.
After Jeyne and Willard stepped away, more folks took their place and continued to do so until Ned signaled the food service to start. Sansa felt the eyes upon them but chose to concentrate on making Sandor comfortable. She asked after Stranger and Harry and kept up light conversation for the duration of the meal.
After the last of the joints of meat was picked clean and the fat began to harden on the platters, musicians tuned their instruments and the well-lubricated crowd took to the floor to dance away the nervous energy that had kept them so tightly wound during the war.
Sandor would not dance but Sansa had never had a better time at a feast. It seemed as though nearly everyone in the room came to talk to them and, for the first time ever, Sansa knew what it was to be recognized as a couple with a man she was proud to call her own. She'd received her share of deference after her betrothal to Joffrey, in large part because of hoped-for favors, but now it was simply well-wishing for its own sake. There was some disbelief and some curiosity but, as a reflection of the jovial mood of the room, there was no ill will.
Women Sansa knew to be ladies shocked her with ribald talk and insinuations about her impending wedding night. "He's a tall man," one woman said slyly, drawing her aside. "Rather big all over." "Don't scare her, Maudie!" another admonished. Said a third, "That face used to frighten me when you first brought him home, m'lady, if you'll pardon me for saying so, but do go forward with the bedding. It's been a while since I've seen a man muscled like that." Sansa blushed clear to her forehead and stammered out demure replies while her heart hammered at already knowing the truth of it. It was odd, to be treated as a wife even though she was not yet married. The women's frankness made her feel she'd been admitted to a secret society that had been visible but unrecognized all her life.
When they had a moment of privacy, she murmured to Sandor, "Our betrothal has certainly made everyone free with their thoughts."
"Who's upset you?" Sandor rasped, glaring at the room.
"No one. It's just . . . no one's been commenting to you on our wedding night?"
"That's what those hens have been clucking to you about all this time?"
"The men have been more circumspect?" Sansa asked, incredulous.
Sandor gave her a rather withering look. "You're the lord's daughter and I'd tear them limb from limb if they so much as -"
"Well, I've already gotten one request to have a bedding so they can get a look at you," Sansa said teasingly.
Sandor's face screwed up in disbelief but, before he could say anything, Cley Cerwyn asked Sansa for a dance. She whirled from one partner to the next, thrilled to accept their congratulations, and seeing over their shoulders that Sandor was talking with several people. She was relieved for Sandor's sake when she saw her father join them.
"This has been the most wonderful day!" she gushed to Sandor later as they left the hall.
"It has," he agreed.
He walked her right to her door and kissed her good night.
The feast seemed to signal the true end of the war. The Starks' bannermen poured out of the gates the next day. Sansa missed most of it, caught up as she was in helping Jeyne, who was all breathless anticipation, get ready for her wedding. Jeyne wore her best dress, a shawl that had been her mother's, and some jewelry loaned to her by Sansa. She clutched a bouquet of herbs in her sweaty palms and constantly asked, "What is the time?" Sansa laughed and assured her the ceremony couldn't start without her. Finally, by mid-afternoon, all was ready. A small group gathered in the godswood. Sansa sat behind her mother and Beth Cassel. Sandor arrived with Willard, who was whispering frantically to the taller man. Sandor made a brief comment back and took his place beside Sansa. She reached for his hand and he smiled. Just then Jeyne appeared on Ned's arm. Joy made her radiant. She floated past the assembly wearing a wobbly smile, her eyes solidly on Willard, whose apparent nerves seemed to evaporate when he saw his bride.
Sansa had intended to pay strict attention to the ceremony but Sandor was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against her palm and it was heating her blood.
Once Jeyne and Willard were propelled back down the aisle by their happiness and the assembly rose and made to return to the castle, Sandor murmured to Sansa, "Is that how our ceremony will be? Never seen a northern one before."
"Oh. Yes. I suppose."
His brow creased as he looked down at her. "You'd rather marry in a sept?"
"No, I don't think so, though that would be lovely."
"You surprise me, girl. I would have thought you'd had it all planned out."
"I used to plan my wedding regularly when I was younger."
"And now that you're actually betrothed you've abandoned the impulse? Don't leave it to me, girl. I'd have us marry right now. There's plenty of space in front of that tree for us."
Sansa giggled. "We'll be married properly on a day of our own. I will make your cloak myself."
"Well, make it quickly then before your mother changes your father's mind."
"In a rush, are you?"
He gave her a smoky look. "Yes."
"You look warm."
"Easier to observe than to remedy."
"I know a way. Besides, I believe I owe you a swim."
He turned and favored her with a rare grin. He squeezed her hand. "Just say when," he rumbled in an undertone.
She returned his squeeze. "Soon."
Sansa cast flirtatious looks at Sandor from across the room whenever she thought no one was looking at Jeyne and Willard's celebration. He absorbed them with a glint in his eye and his typical scowl. The scowl didn't faze her in the least. The locations of various hot springs were tumbling through her mind.
". . . so generous of you to host this. We really can't thank you enough, Lady Stark," Willard was saying to Catelyn on Sansa's right. "And my Jeyne tells me you even provided her with a host of lessons upon her return. I already thought Jeyne was the most beautiful woman in the world but now I'm certain no man has a wife with as many talents or charms as mine. Oh! Except for Lord Stark, of course."
Sansa smiled as her mother tried to respond to Willard's effusive stream of thanks and compliments.
Jeyne was barely to be seen in the ensuing days but it was just as well because Sansa was often called upon to assist Lyanna or her mother with arrangements for Robb's wedding. Catelyn sniffed at how the wedding wouldn't befit the heir of Winterfell but Robb and Lyanna were satisfied with simple arrangements. Before she knew it, Sansa was once again in the godswood, this time watching her brother and his own bride say their vows in front of the heart tree. They celebrated with a lavish meal and raucous dancing and, a few days after that, they, too, departed, Robb with a wink for Sansa and a promise to return home soon so she could marry.
Winterfell was emptier than it had been in years. Sansa hardly noticed. She was still cocooned in the spun-sugar sweetness of her betrothal. To everyone left, Sandor was just another member of the household. To Sansa, of course, he was the physical embodiment of the gods' goodness and she was continually beaming. Now that they were to be married and could spend time together without raising eyebrows, Sansa often met Sandor as he came off-duty and walked with him to the evening meal. This day he seemed on edge.
"Are you all right?" Sansa asked.
"Are you very hungry?"
"Well -"
"Come with me for a minute."
Sansa zigzagged through the castle with him until they were outside and in a small garden. Sandor gestured to a bench and she sat down. He paced back and forth, his helm under his arm, his left hand gripping and releasing and gripping again the handle of the knife in his belt.
Sansa waited and watched.
He eventually stopped pacing and started yanking on the straps of his light armor. He laid his hauberk on the ground. He placed his dog's-head helm carefully on top of it. He undid his sword belt and balanced the blade on the pile. He unstrapped his vambraces and laid them down with his knife. He straightened up and leaned back a bit as he dug deep in his pocket. Stepping over his armor, he knelt down in front of Sansa and took her hand in his. He opened his mouth but then shut it again. He looked away then looked back at her.
Sansa sensed he was struggling with something but, without knowing the cause, was unsure of what to say.
"Sansa . . ."
"Yes . . . ?"
"We're betrothed . . ."
"Yes . . ."
He pressed his lips together, stealing a glance up at her before looking at her hands again. "Your father agreed but I wanted to ask you myself . . ." He held up a ring between his index finger and thumb. Looking into her eyes, he said, "Sansa . . . As a boy, when I played at being a knight, I'd run over the fields and pretend I was defending a great lady, one who'd give me her favor at tourneys, who'd sing and play and sigh over my heroic deeds, who'd tell me I was brave and handsome and strong. She would be the fairest maiden in the seven kingdoms. I saw nothing but a golden future filled with valor and acclaim. It was horse shit." He scowled and looked away. "Instead, I grew to be a fiend. Angry. Always angry. I'd never stopped burning after I was pulled off that brazier." He looked away again and ground his teeth. He seemed to force himself to go on. "And then we came here, to Winterfell, and you were so beautiful and blind and I despised you."
Sansa leaned away but he seemed not to notice.
"You were falling into a snake pit and you were going to smile all the way down to the bottom. And then you put your hand on my shoulder. In the field. You remember." He glanced up at her and she gave a small nod.
"I wanted to break you. To make you open your eyes. To make you realize the pretty knights you adored were no better than the lying, stealing, raping scum they send to the Wall. I wanted you to see the world as I saw it, for what it really was. But you wouldn't let me cloak you in my darkness. You, this little chirping bird, looked me in the eye and stood your ground and I couldn't hate you for it because you put your hand on my shoulder and said, 'He was no true knight,' and I knew you meant it. You meant it but you still believed, still insisted there could be goodness where I saw only filth. You were afraid of me, I knew you were, but you were braver than them all." He shook his head. "Damn it, girl, you pulled me out of one fire only to start another. Being with Joffrey was only bearable after that because I knew I'd be seeing you. You were more beautiful than ever and you were finally coming to see him for the shit he is. I thought that would have to be enough. That I would have to be satisfied with your disappointment, knowing it was for your own good. When you told me you were going to ask your father to break your betrothal to Joff, I thought I'd never see you again, that I'd just overhear the court gossips saying you'd been wed to some other unworthy lord."
He looked up at her. Sansa reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. He took her hand, kissed the palm, folded her fingers around the ring, and held her hand in his.
"And then Sevenmas came and I pulled your pin out of the bowl. I pulled it and held it and studied it and wore it. Still do." He patted the section of cloak covering his heart. "I think you pitied me then but, pathetic dog that I was, I lapped it up and looked for more. The saddle blanket you sewed for me was . . ." The corner of his mouth twitched. "I was defenseless against you. Watching you sleep later that night, I realized I'd traded my loyalty for coin, wine, and a chance to kill. I was left with nothing but my contempt and it was a paltry bargain in the face of your regard. You had become the sweetest thing."
Sansa stared at him, mesmerized.
"I'm no knight but, Sansa, you're my lady love . . . . my lady wife, if you'll have me."
He opened her hand and Sansa looked at the ring. Set in silver, the band was encircled by small baguettes of various stones. Black onyx gave way to a deep blue sapphire which was followed by lapis lazuli, blue topaz, aquamarine, opal, diamond, and gray moonstone. The colors of the gems grew lighter and then darker as she turned the ring. "It's beautiful," she said in a broken voice.
"Not compared to you."
Sansa smiled and blinked away the gathering tears.
"I will love you and protect you until my last breath. I will make you happy, little bird." He took a breath. "Will you be my wife and take me as your husband?"
Sansa leaned forward and whispered, "Yes," before she kissed him.
Sandor crushed her in his massive arms and laid his head in her lap. She stroked his hair. "I love you," she murmured.
He looked up at her with an expression she'd never seen before. "I love you." He leaned in and kissed her softly.
Sansa found it hard to catch her breath as Sandor slid the ring on her finger. They grinned at each other and then Sansa's stomach growled.
Sandor scooped her into his arms and kissed her again before setting her back on her feet. "I've kept you too long."
"Keep me forever."
Sandor smiled and picked up his armor. As they walked back into the castle, Sansa said, "You never did tell me, how did you ask my lord father for my hand?"
He looked down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I said, 'I want Lady Sansa's hand.'"
Sansa stopped and gaped up at him. "You did not. You must have said something more loving."
"To your father? No."
"Well, you must have expressed some interest in me."
He laughed. "There are few men who would not be interested in you."
"You are being coy. What did you say?" she pressed.
"I told him I wanted your hand and he said no."
"He did not!"
"He as good as did. He said he'd think about it. Didn't hurry, either. Kept me waiting for days."
"So what did you do?"
"I never had a better edge on my sword. I groomed Stranger until he took a swipe at my shin to let me know he was sick of me. I wandered around the camp taking up sparring requests from anyone stupid enough to make them. Eventually your father got around to remembering I was waiting for an answer and we took a walk one evening."
"And then what?"
"He told me he'd given my request a lot of thought, that he'd thought about little else since I'd made it." Before Sansa could interrupt, he held up a hand. "I didn't say anything. I just let him talk until he was finished. He said he knew I wanted to kill my brother and that my 'obvious desire to be a kinslayer' troubled him. He said when he saw me choose to take Willard hostage rather than open Gregor's throat, he felt the gods had worked a fundamental change in me."
"Did they?"
Sandor cut his eyes down to hers. "I didn't choose to take Willard hostage. He all but threw himself into my saddle. I was trying to knock him away at first. 'Clegane! Clegane!' he kept yelling, like I couldn't hear him. He was waving his arms around like a damn fool. I recognized him well enough but I was still making for Gregor. I'd been looking for him since the war began and had missed him once. He saw me, too, and was advancing and then Willard cut between us."
"What happened?"
"Willard begged me to take him hostage, to take him back to Jeyne."
A lump formed in Sansa's throat. "And you changed your mind?"
"Gregor was bearing down on us. He was going to kill Willard and then take his chances with me."
"What did you do? How -"
"I slapped Willard's horse on the rump and told him to move. He barely got away in time. I parried the blow Gregor meant for him, grabbed Willard's reins, and dragged him back behind our line. I left him with the Greatjon and went back to find Gregor but he was gone. I later saw him from a distance but the battle was ebbing and then it was over."
Sansa clutched his forearm with her hand. "That was a generous and right thing you did, saving Willard. I'm sure he appreciates your kindness -"
"I didn't do it for him."
Sansa's brows contracted. "You did it for Jeyne?"
He chuckled. "The girl must love him to risk her honor and her safety in the baggage train just for him."
"You heard about that?"
"Everyone heard about that. Besides, do you remember when we were coming here, the six of us, and she blamed me for her father's death? She said it was my fault she'd left the city at all?"
"She didn't mean it. She was beside herself with grief."
"She meant it, little bird, and she was right."
"She wouldn't have been safe there."
"No, but she would have been with Willard. It was what she wanted and he would have done his best to protect her. I ordered her to come with us in my haste to get you out of the city."
The lump expanded in Sansa's throat. "So you saved Willard to make amends with her?"
He took a deep breath. "I took Willard hostage because . . ." He looked away and rolled his shoulders in a loose shrug. "Jeyne started burning when we left King's Landing. I thought she'd eventually forget him. I told her to, and that he'd forget her. Then she turned up in the baggage train and he was right in front of me . . ." Sandor shook his head. "I'm no Gregor."
"So you did it for Jeyne?"
"Jeyne? No. I did it for you."
"Me? Because I didn't want you to fight your brother?"
"Little bird, I was going to fight my brother and I was going to kill him and I was going to savor the warmth of his blood on my face. But I couldn't have come back here and told you I'd let Gregor kill Willard, not when I could have spared him. And Jeyne."
Sansa dabbed at her eyes. "And that's what you told my father?"
"More or less."
"Oh Sandor."
He gave her an unreadable look, tucked her arm back in his, and resumed walking. "Your father said he was pleased with my choice and asked if I thought I could be a good husband to you. I said I would die trying. He said he'd made a mistake in betrothing you to Joffrey and that he would not promise your hand again until he was certain of the man's character. I didn't say anything so he went on and said that he'd mistaken me, too. He didn't like to admit that you'd made your preference clear," he smirked down at her, "but he said he would give me your hand provided your mother agreed, you agreed, and I didn't tell anyone until a final decision had been made."
"But how did you ask in the first place?"
"We were talking by the fire one night. Lord Stark said I'd done well with Umber's men, that he knew many of them were displeased with his decision to have me lead them. He'd expected trouble, if not rebellion, but it never came and he gave me the credit. He said he had a mind to reward me and asked what I wanted. So I told him."
Sansa gaped at him. "Had you been planning to ask him?"
"No, and I wasn't drunk, either, thanks to his rationing the wine."
"You weren't ever going to ask?" Sansa was a little hurt.
"I was. It's just not easy to catch the commander of an army in a good mood in the middle of a war."
"What did my mother say?"
"I wasn't there to find out. Your father wrote to her while you were at the Eyrie."
Sansa gasped. Lots of things suddenly made sense.
"When I did see her, after we returned, she made certain to mention the unsuitability of the match and added that I was not to touch you until we were wed." He grinned wickedly.
Sansa laughed. "She told me the same a few weeks ago, except that I'm to be on my best behavior and not succumb to any of your wanton advances."
"She means to kill me before we marry."
"I won't allow it. And, anyway, she didn't say I'm not to make any wanton advances toward you . . ."
"I'm ready for the onslaught, girl."
"I think I've found a place."
Sansa described where the hot spring was. "There's a small hunting outpost nearby. It's a bit of a ride from the castle but not so far we couldn't get there and back in a couple hours with, um, enough time in between."
"We'll find it," Sandor promised.
As soon as they could arrange it, Sansa and Sandor slipped away together in the dead of night. Stranger didn't seem pleased to be roused but picked his way through the forest without resistance. Sandor nuzzled the back of Sansa's neck and nipped at her earlobes, making her giggle. She was limited to gripping his thighs and pressing back against him. The going was slow but, despite the late hour, Sansa felt awake and alert. They eventually reached the hunting outpost, which wasn't much more than a shack. Unless a hunt was going on, it remained empty. There was a small clearing and a circle of stones for a fire near the front. The hot spring was just within sight of the back of the hut, surrounded by a thick stand of trees. They got Stranger settled and then, hand in hand, walked to the bank of the spring. Curls of fog drifted amongst the plants and across the water that gleamed with reflected moonlight.
Sandor turned to her, hunger in his eyes. They kissed and the dam between them broke. Sandor ripped Sansa's dress over her head as she tore at the laces of his breeches. Shifting, pulling, tossing and then there was just skin. The air was cool even a few feet from the hot spring, turning Sansa's nipples into firm buds. She walked through the mist and lowered herself into the deep water. "Come on," she said. The pool was several feet across and she took a few strokes to the other side, smiling at Sandor over her shoulder.
He followed, lowering himself into the water slowly at first but then more quickly. "It's so warm."
"It's always like this. It's lovely come winter."
Sandor swam next to her. He rested his forearms on the bank. His gaze washed over Sansa's breasts.
"Come here," he said as he brought her around in front of him. His stiff manhood brushed against her belly. She wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her arms around his neck and her tongue into his mouth, rolling it around his own. Sandor kneaded her arse mercilessly, aligning himself with her woman's place and making tentative thrusts.
"Been too long," he murmured.
"Mm," Sansa agreed, running her hands over his water-slicked muscles.
The water had robbed Sansa of her moisture. Sandor entered her and she grunted as he held her and thrust up sharply until she had taken all of him in.
"I don't think this is going to work," Sansa said, disappointed.
"We'll make it work," Sandor assured her. "Squeeze me."
Sansa clenched around him. His deft fingers tickled her apex, making her clench again. With his other hand, he reached behind her and pressed her flesh around his shaft. She clenched again. "You keep doing that and it won't take much," Sandor all but groaned.
Sansa had grown used to his visual inspection of her, believed, in fact, that his knowledge of her must surpass the combined anatomical knowledge of all the maesters in the Citadel, but she was unused to being felt so precisely. His fingers had been in her many times before, had awoken the fleshy nub of her apex and set it quivering, but he had not prodded her opening when he was there, had not manipulated her flesh to increase the sensation of her body around his manhood. But he did it all now while murmuring words of love into her ear. He focused on her apex, though, knowing full well that was the surest way to satisfy her. The fluttering of his fingers there and the unexpected exploration of the rest of her provided her with just a little wetness but she mainly stayed still, clenching and unclenching as he elicited various responses from her body. It was not the most intense climax she'd ever experienced but the waves built up into something tight and pleasing and she pulled Sandor along with her, squeezing his seed from him and holding it within herself. She wilted against him, sucking on his wet neck as he rubbed her back.
After a sleepy interval, Sandor took Sansa's hand and guided it to his manhood. She teased it to fullness but said, "I think I'm still -"
Sandor took her by the waist and plopped her on the bank, the cool air covering her in goosebumps. "Lay back."
He plunged his face between her legs and sucked on her, trying to draw forth moisture and impart whatever he could. His legs floated out behind him, the moon glinting off his muscled buttocks, the water lapping against him in time to his tongue lapping at her. Between the sensation and the sight, Sansa's parched body responded. Steam rose from her skin. Her feet and calves were in the pool but cool night air filled her nose and mouth and relieved her of any lingering sleepiness. She moaned and let her head lull back.
"Ready?" he asked, pushing himself out of the spring, his arms like sculpted granite in the moonlight.
Sansa hadn't believed she could be wet so soon but she was and accepted him easily. He groaned in relief and pumped hard into her. Her knees fell to the side. She sunk her nails into his upper arms. Her wetness was increasing rapidly and the extra lubrication set Sandor to grunting in earnest. "Yes," he said over and over. Sansa was sinking into the soft ground, the stars and moon blurred from his thrusting. He was glancing against her apex but not directly enough to bring her to completion. She tried to adjust under him but he pinned her shoulder down, lifted her arse with his other hand, and ground his hips against her, penetrating her deeply and maintaining constant contact with her most sensitive spot. He gyrated more slowly than he thrust but the direct sensation quickly overwhelmed her, causing her to cry out shamelessly, wantonly as he gave a deep, guttural grunt and spasmed to completion inside her swollen, aching woman's place.
Sansa lay gasping on the bank, her eyes unfocused, her body limp and sated.
"I love you," he murmured as he slid off to her side, pulling her against him.
"I love you," she said.
For long, wonderful moments they lay in silence, listening to the night sounds of the forest around them. Sandor slipped back into the water and swam around. Sansa sat up and watched him, amused by his seeming fascination with the hot spring.
"It's deeper than I thought," he said after surfacing from a dip. "And warmer."
Sansa joined him. He rested his head and shoulders on the bank and Sansa straddled his floating body and held on to his upper arms to keep from drifting away.
"Did you not ever wonder if I was child when you left for the war?
"I did."
"You never mentioned it."
"I knew you'd tell me if you were."
His practically was not the balm he seemed to think it was. "I was very upset when my moonblood came."
"Because you were not with child?" He seemed puzzled.
"Yes. A child might have been all I had left of you."
"That and a ruined reputation."
"I wouldn't have cared."
He scoffed. "And what if I were to get you with child now?"
"We'd just marry all the sooner."
He pulled her hips down on his. "If that's all it will take . . ."
Sansa laughed. "In truth, I hope to have you to myself for at least a little while."
"I don't see how we can avoid it for long. I plan to take up a lot of your time once you're Lady Clegane."
Sansa laughed again and leaned in to kiss him when a part of the forest seemed to move behind him. A whole section of darkness seemed to detach and shift. For a second she thought Stranger was walking through the trees but that made no sense. She sat up and squinted into the blackness, causing Sandor to move her aside and reach for his sword.
"What is it?" he asked in a low voice.
"I thought I saw something. Something big." An idea came to her. "Nymeria?" she called quietly. Nothing happened. "Shaggydog? Summer?"
There was no response but Sansa felt as though they were being watched.
"We'll go," Sandor said, "though I don't think that's a man."
Looking all around, they made haste as they dried, dressed, and returned to the shack. Sansa didn't hear anything. She stared into the woods as they made their way back. Just once she thought she saw a glint of green eyes but she heard nothing. At some point, the other presence left them and they returned to the castle and gained the stables without incident. Torches were burning low and dawn had not yet started to nudge the night away.
They were skirting the edge of the courtyard when they came across Nymeria laying near the doorway.
"Is it too warm inside, Nymeria?" Sansa asked quietly. The wolf usually slept in Arya's room, when she wasn't out hunting with her siblings.
Sandor bent down to ruffle her fur and the direwolf silently bared her teeth. Sandor stepped back, wary. "What's the matter, girl?" he crooned softly.
"Maybe she's sick . . . ?"
Nymeria didn't appear to be in any discomfort so, after watching over her for a little while, they bade her good night and entered the castle.
Sandor thought it would be best to split up. Anyone seeing them together at this hour would have a ripe story to tell. Sansa knew he was right and had to settle for some over-the-clothes groping and kissing in the dark of the kitchen before making her way to the family's quarters and silently slipping into her room.
Sansa's body ached for Sandor after their foray into the woods. Privacy was not to be had and the lack of relief was distracting her. She'd bungled her stitches while sewing with the other women earlier in the day and had to pull out half her work. During her music lesson with Joanne, her concentration was poor to the point that she'd hit the wrong notes repeatedly and, once, started playing the wrong song entirely. Her mind was so far afield, she'd commented more than once on topics long after the conversation had moved on. Had she not been busy ruminating over their night at the hot spring, Sansa might have been more embarrassed.
As though she sensed the tension, Catelyn offered to brush out Sansa's hair one night.
"Sansa, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you. On your wedding night –"
Sansa fought the urge to gag. "Mother, I'm already aware of what –"
"How?" her mother asked harshly.
"The ladies in King's Landing were . . . they often teased me when I was betrothed to Joffrey. They were not as restrained in their conversation as my usual companions." It was possible that that could have happened, Sansa supposed.
"Septa Mordane –"
"Was not with me every single moment. I believe I know what to expect and Sandor –" Sansa stopped talking. The topic was making her break out in a nervous sweat.
"Yes. Well. Be that as it may. It does not surprise me to hear Cersei Lannister's court was unfit for a young lady of good breeding." Catelyn cleared her throat. "Have you decided on your gown?"
"No, but I have an idea." Sansa gave a brief description of what she had in mind, nearly sagging with relief at the change of subject.
Catelyn nodded. "And the feast? Is there anything special you'd like?"
"Lemoncakes."
"And . . . Sandor?"
Sansa knew what it must have cost her mother to use his name but she loved her for the effort. "I don't know. I'll have to ask him."
"Joanne told me you and she have been considering musical selections."
"We have."
"And the guests?"
Sansa thought this might be her mother's primary concern. "I'll invite our Tully family, of course, and Randa and Mya but that's it from outside Winterfell."
"You really should send an invitation to Lysa and Robert."
"No."
"They're family."
"She accused me of trying to steal Lord Baelish from her."
"You can't invite your aunt's retainers and not your aunt."
"Robb didn't invite them."
"A raven was sent explaining the wedding would take place within days. There was no time for them to travel."
"So send a similar message this time."
"News of your marriage will travel. They'll know they were slighted. It's better to invite them and hope they don't come than to snub them and prolong a feud."
"I'll invite Robert but not Aunt Lysa," said Sansa, knowing the compromise wouldn't work.
"You know very well -"
To Sansa's relief, a knock came at her door. It was her father, looking for her mother. They bade her good night and stepped into the hall. Hearing the murmur of their voices, Sansa curled up in her bed, her mind whirling with wedding details.
She and Sandor had both been measured for their cloaks. Sansa had selected the fabric for her gown but not any trim. Sansa intended to make the cloaks and her gown herself. She'd chosen her sister to attend her, despite their mother's correct assessment that it was a hopeless chore for Arya. I'll have to make Arya's gown as well, if she's to look at all presentable. And what about her hair? What about my hair? She wondered if it would be scandalous to wear it down, though she knew Sandor would like it. She made a mental note to find a style that could be easily let down, lest Sandor have to waste time on their wedding night picking pins out of her hair. Hmm . . . the wedding night . . . where to spend it? Sansa cringed at the thought of spending it in her current room. She couldn't bear the thought of her family hearing them consummate their marriage. She supposed Sandor's current room would do but she preferred to have a suite of rooms for their permanent residence. Sansa kicked herself for not consulting with Rikard earlier. Even if a suitable suite could be found, it might not be outfitted to her taste. I'd need bedding and drapes . . . between my gown, Arya's gown, and our cloaks, that's a lot of sewing . . . Of course blankets and such could always be found but Sansa really wanted to begin her married life with everything new and fresh. She knew the women of the sewing circle would help but she also knew it was likely many of them would sew gifts for her and the additional tasks of bedding and drapes would be an imposition. Someone else would have to make Arya's gown. Arya herself certainly couldn't. If only I knew when Robb would return, then it would be easier to plan! Robb had been gone for a few weeks and would likely be gone for at least a few more. Still, an approximation would help.
Her parents' voices drifted to her from the hall. I'll see if Father knows. Maybe then I can get some sleep.
Sansa padded across the room. Her hand was nearly on the door's latch when she heard her father say in a low voice, "She's not been herself lately. I wonder at the cause."
"Oh Ned," her mother said in exasperation. "Women know these things. She's pregnant, I'm sure of it!"