So, here is the final chapter! Sorry for the delay - it's rather long, as you'll see! Apologies for that! It's angsty, yet fluffy, and there are still a couple of false starts before the full reconciliation - well, I couldn't just have them jump straight into bed! I hope it's worth the wait. It does describe a scene of love-making, but there is no explicit, graphic language used - all suggestive, so I've left the rating, but be warned if that's not your thing. I've used some of Graham's text - again, I own nothing. Without further ado...enjoy!
Chapter 3 – The Sunburst
I love you. I want you. I claim you, at the end of all this. Our future, peace. And you...
In the candlelit parlour of Nampara, in the peace, like the calm after the storm, they stood, and Demelza was reeling, still. How differently the day had ended to how it had begun. How her resolve had turned on its head; but her feeling for Ross – her husband ... it was the impossible, the wonderful, the terrible. It was all of these, and more, and it had flayed open her chest.
"Yes, I 've always known; my heart has always been drawn to you, Ross, however much I might 'ave wished it otherwise at times. " Demelza's lips softly parted, murmured, whispered, an admission to herself as well as to him.
And, staring down at his wife, Ross could not help but notice how her quiet, lilting voice now seemed to cherish his name. Cherish it. Cherish it in a way that Elizabeth would not have known how to, would not have been capable of, and again the naivety of his youthful self mocked him.
"And I to you," he responded to her honesty, letting his fingertips brush her cheek as he spoke. Her face was shy and shining and she looked young and slightly tremulous still and it brought the child she had been back to Ross's mind. Years ago now, with a surge of pity and one impetuous decision to champion a street waif and her dog, Demelza, with all her improbable incongruities – her fierce tenderness, her fragile strength, her unschooled intellect – had inexorably become part of Ross's story, and always would be.
His life since the ninth of May, it had felt like a slow tearing. A page pulled in two, so that one half made no sense without the other. However tempestuous life sometimes was together, Ross knew with certainty now that alone, without each other, he and Demelza were like one half of that torn page – unreadable. Pointless.
As he pondered, thoughts of their past life together flitting through his mind, his fingers still on her face tracing the soft curve of her mouth, Demelza suddenly winced in discomfort. Her lips pulled in a grimace beneath his touch and her face paled, blanching the colour her husband's kisses had kindled in her minutes before.
"My love?" He enquired anxiously, his hand dropping to her shoulder and gripping her as she swayed slightly as she stood there.
"Oh, 'tis nothin'," Demelza said in a light tone and a flippant shake of her head, turning her face from him and trying to stifle the pain she was sure was plainly written there. But Ross's hands still steadied her, holding her firmly in a way she knew was not to be dismissed.
In truth, Demelza did not want to spoil this reconciliation by riling her husband's volatile wrath. She had been so ready to leave him earlier; so determined not to carry on in that terrible way that had become almost commonplace between them. But now...
Demelza's heart was almost childlike in its generosity and simplicity. Had always been so. She, who had endured Ross's neglect, his wantonness, his risk taking, his undisguised attachment to another woman, had stood tonight and listened to her husband's words – heartfelt at last – and had accepted them as truth. Her forgiveness, when given, was like her love and loyalty – it was unconditional. So she gave it now, and so she also found herself adverse to bringing George and the mishaps of the day into her new-found, unlooked for contentment.
She tried to gently free herself from Ross, squirming in his grip."I'll make us a brew of tea, and see what I can scrape from the pantry for supper, " Demelza said as lightly as she could, avoiding his brooding gaze that she felt scald her cheek nonetheless. "I'm afraid there's nothin' warmin' for supper. I 'ad no thought for bakin' earlier, what with...everythin'..." she faltered, falling abruptly limp beneath his insistent hands.
"Oh, Ross," she muttered feebly at last, hanging her head and letting her long hair fall in front of her face. "'Tis just my arm. 'Tis nothin' really. It's been throbbin' somethin' fierce since you took the binding off, that's all."
Despite his wife's efforts at evasion, Ross caught the fresh glitter of unshed tears on her lashes and realised that her discomfort must be great for it to manifest in such a way. In all the years he had known her, Ross could never recall Demelza even tying up a wound or cut before.
"Come, I am sorry," he said gently, "I undid all your work and then woefully neglected my patient. " He reached down into her face and kissed her. "I was somewhat distracted," he added, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards in a soft smile which she tried to return. Then, he slid an arm around her waist and guided her to the settle by the fire.
"Really, Ross; 'tis a fuss over nothin'," Demelza said, annoyed that her own discomfort was impinging on the mood. She tried to pull him down with her as he insistently seated her on the cushions of the hard bench. She frowned up at him. "I've never had no-one tend to a scratch o' mine before - let me see to it. Tint fittin' for you to..."
"Sit," he quietly ordered, interrupting her. "Let me tend to this one thing. Lord knows I've neglected you enough in the past, and you have not let me near you these past months. So please, humour me? I have more experience of such injuries than you anyway," he concluded and Demelza knew he would brook no argument. She sighed and nodded resignedly and her husband began to busy himself around the room, pouring two glasses of brandy, a dish of water from the kettle, stoking the fire and, finally, pulling some clean, folded strips of linen from a drawer which he knew Demelza kept there should he or Jeremy get into a scrape.
As he moved around the parlour, assuming responsibility for her needs, his dark eyes flitted to Demelza's as if seeking reassurance that she was still there; the packed cases by the wall a mute, inanimate reminder of how close he had come to losing her. Each time his gaze pulled reluctantly away from hers to attend to the brandy or water or cloths, it flickered infinitesimally to the rawness of her wrist, his jaw tightening convulsively as it did so.
And Demelza watched him warily as he worked, his calmness making her feel uneasy. She glanced down appraisingly at the injured arm that lay in her lap, and then back up at Ross as he pulled a side table in front of the settle, laying the gathered items on it.
Her eyes narrowed into blue-green slits of caution as the fingers of her other hand plucked nervously at the skirt of her dress. How easily she had picked back up the thread of concern for the easy turning of her husband's moods, though, in truth, she had never lost it. And oh, how she didn't want his mood to turn just yet – her skin prickled with the ghost of his lips –no, not yet.
Presently, Ross sat down close beside her and picked up her arm, turning it and examining it with a practised eye in the firelight. Demelza noticed the twitch that tightened his jaw, the frown that darkened his eyes and the grim line of his mouth and she swallowed hard.
Yes, considering what Prudie had reported after they had returned to Nampara earlier, Ross was far, far too calm.
Following their return from Trenwith, her husband had been tending to Darkie, Jud having slunk off somewhere with a pilfered flagon of ale, when Prudie had scurried into the bedroom as Demelza began to pack the last of her things. Not having dared to approach her master, and only having got a grunt of explanation from her husband, the flustered servant had sought details of the affray at Trenwith from the mistress of Nampara.
Initially, Demelza had given Prudie a lash of her tongue for telling Ross about the shooting, although there had not been much ire in the chastisement as Demelza was secretly thankful that Ross had come to her aid at Trenwith when he had. Lord knows, she was sure that George would have taken almost as much delight in killing her as he would have Jud Paynter. Vexed at the admonishment, but not at all contrite about disobeying her mistress's orders, Prudie had gone on to tell Demelza about just how Ross had come to ride off to Trenwith in a murderous rage for the second time in just over six months...
"Scared me half to death, he did, comin' in all unexpected while I was about me chores an all," Prudie whined. Demelza pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "'Tis true!" The servant retorted to the unspoken scepticism of her work ethic before continuing in a belligerent tone. "An' me at me wits end wi' worry for that good-for-nothin' worm o' mine! Ay, and fur thee 'an all, maid, after what they already done t' thee! Not that anyone cares fur ol' Prudie in return, mind," she sniffed.
Despite her own misery, Demelza could not help herself, and she soothed the older woman, easing away her feigned offense with a kind word and sympathetic smile. Sufficiently mollified, Prudie had continued her tale with relish.
"'Where was all o' Sawle?' said master, standin' there at the door like the grim reaper. ''Ridden through village an' not a sight o' no-one. And where was the mistress? 'Tis late for her to be out-a-doors.'
So I told 'im - they all gone to give that Warleggan what for, with 'is fences an' all, and shootin' willy-nilly at gentle ladies doin' nothin' but mindin' their own bus'ness."
"Oh, Prudie," Demelza said with a resignedly despairing sigh. "You do 'ave a way wi' words, I 'ave t' give ee that."
"There's no way to tell it but straight, 'specially when lives are in mortal danger! So, anyways, as I was sayin' –
'Shootin' at gentle folk?' master says. 'Not even George's lackeys would dare...'
Oh, they would, said I. There's some gentle folk that George don't hold as bein' as gentle as others – like them that were miner's daughters once-upon-a-time..."
"Oh, Prudie..." Demelza groaned again before plopping down on the bed and pitching forwards, her head in her hand and raking the curls of her hair, dishevelling them.
"Oh, mistress!" Prudie exclaimed, ignoring Demelza's despair. "In all the years I knowd 'im, I ain't never seen 'im so angry. Never. Lord, ee raged at me ee did, as if it were I that shot ee! Poor Prudie cowerin' in a corner while ee strode round the parlour like a cloud o' thunder! Thumpin' the table and scatterin' the chairs! Damn near broke the door off its hinges when ee went out, sayin' he'd kill George for what he'd done t' thee. Saddled Darkie an' went off like a bolt o' lightin'. All blackness 'n' fury, ee was! I didna hold much hope for young Warleggan, I must say. 'Tis a rare miracle that no-one 'as been killed tonight!"
Listening, Demelza did not doubt the tale Prudie told, and she could not say that she was not in some way flattered by the strength of care that she still clearly evoked in Ross.
"Yes, a rare miracle," Demelza muttered darkly, realising the great and uncharacteristic restraint and composure Ross had mastered in his confrontation with George. She looked then at the carpet bag next to her on the bed. Prudie followed her glance and realisation began to dawn at last at the activity she had interrupted her mistress in.
"Oh, maid," the old servant murmured, suddenly sitting down heavily on the bed next to Demelza. "Surely tas not come to that? Ee do still love thee fiercely y' know. More'n ee ever loved that sickly lookin', limp lily of a wench. She be no good for 'im. For such a sharp lad, it did take 'im a sweet long time to for penny t' drop though, I'll give thee that."
Prudie took Demelza's hand in her hers and squeezed her slender fingers." I'll lay me life on it that ee won't do such a thing again. Learnt 'is lesson the 'ard way, ee has. Like a lost puppy ee been these past months."Prudie tilted her head to see past Demelza's curtain of hair as she stared at the floor. "Y'know, I don't blame ee, maid. No one do."
Demelza turned her head and met Prudie's eyes which were soft with a rare sympathy. "For punishing him all these months?" the younger woman asked.
"No maid - that ee deserved, and more. No, I don't blame ee for lovin' 'im."
Demelza felt a jolt go through her at the unexpectedness of it and startled tears gathered on her lashes. "I don't...not any longer- "she began before the words choked off. No more self deceit - not today; not any more.
"D' you think I don't know ee at all? D'you think I don't know either o' thee?" Prudie asked quietly.
"Oh Prudie!" Demelza exclaimed as a dry sob caught in her throat. "I don't think I know myself anymore..."
"Here, drink this first," Ross ordered holding out one of the glasses of brandy and breaking the thread of Demelza's recollections as he began to bathe the wound. Yes, just a while earlier Demelza's world was still turned on its head. She was seriously considering leaving the man who had treated her with the most worth in her life - had bestowed on her the most happiness - to return to the one who had shown her the most cruelty and had brought the most misery. Despite the proud bravado of her words to Ross as she had snapped shut the carpet bag on the last of her hastily packed possessions, Demelza had been utterly bereft and miserable. How swiftly the tide had turned on this rain-drenched night. How greatly Demelza wanted to feel the embrace of her husband's arms again, yet he was now intent on other things.
Ross washed away the dried blood on his wife's arm, causing fresh to well fast in its wake and Demelza clenched her teeth against the sting.
"Truly, 'tis just a scratch, Ross," Demelza commented as nonchalantly as she could, but her wince at his ministrations betrayed her. "Give me the linen and I can see to it myself." She tried to take the strips of material from him, but he stayed her hand as she reached out.
"Just a scratch!" he exclaimed incredulously, staring at her wide-eyed.
There. The mood was slipping, she could feel it.
"Dear God, Demelza, d'you think me blind? I've served in battle and I know of no soldier that would call that 'just a scratch'! I think the bullet did nick you.."
"Nay, Ross," she interjected hastily. "Twas just a scorchin' from the shot, and maybe a grazin' from the splintered fence post," she conceded sullenly.
Her husband ignored her and worked on, cleaning the wound until he was satisfied, needling out some small splinters that Demelza had missed in her distress and haste earlier. She bit her lip and bore the discomfort silently, mindful not to fuel his anger further with her pain.
When he was done, Ross bound the cleaned wound tightly, then he picked up the other glass and took a gulp of brandy, grimacing as he swallowed. Ross had felt the bite of George's blows when their contempt and enmity had over spilled into physical aggression, but Demelza suffering harm on Warleggan orders had pulled hard on the moorings of Ross's self control. It had only been his greater need to diffuse the riotous situation earlier, that and his desperation to reconcile with his wife, that had stopped him from putting a bullet into George and Harry for what they had done.
Ross sat back, the fire behind him, and he considered his wife intently and he was quiet and still for a few minutes. She watched him carefully in return as she sipped her brandy, and she was unable to read the glittering blackness of his eyes in the half-light.
He reached forward suddenly and smoothed away a frown on her brow that she was unaware of.
"And you stood between a gun and the folk of Sawle just hours after feeling the bite of a bullet; the very man who fired at you standing there and ready to finish what he'd begun." His voice was low, soft and edged with a rawness of emotion that made the words sound like something being dragged across the ground. "I don't know what to say; so much loyalty, so much courage..." Ross murmured, a new wonder gripping him and his eyes were lit with admiration.
"Nay, Ross," she responded quietly to his incredulity, shaking her head and lowering her eyes, abashed. "No courage. I thought my heart would burst my chest I was that scared."
He realised suddenly in that moment that he cared for this slender woman from Illugan, his young wife, more than anyone in his whole life, past or present. There was nothing illusory about his love for the oddly courageous and loyal girl; his feelings were firmly grounded in in the bleak reality of dirt and sweat and blood. And so his hands, almost with a will of their own, reached out and caught hold of hers and he pulled her to him, holding her against him, her bright head under the curve of his chin.
Ross closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath. All that he didn't deserve, and all that he thought he would never have again, was in that moment and nothing more. The simplicity of Demelza in his arms, the perfect silken-smoothness of her hair against the coarseness of his unshaven throat, and everything else fell away.
They were like that for a while, content; two tired people, sitting in the flickering dark. He pulled her closer and she placed her head lower, against his chest, and it felt like home to have her melt against him and rest like this.
After a while he gently released her and pulled back and she tilted her head so that her pale face was upturned to his. And then her fingertips were on his lips, so soft by comparison to his unshaven jaw. Demelza felt them tremble and curl upwards under her skin and a shy light shone in her face as he held her gaze and saw the yearning that met his own in a deep place.
Her hair hung loose down her back, pinned only for convenience sake off her face. It wasn't neat. The soft hairs at her temples had all come unbound and tufted out like down. Longer loose strands of red silk were tucked behind her ears, all except one stray that lay curved against her cheek. He suddenly felt, again in his fingers, the desire to brush back the wayward curl. To brush it back and linger, and feel the warmth of her skin, rediscovered. The pain of longing felt like a hole then, unfurling in the centre of his chest, filling that small part of him that he had always withheld for the hope of Elizabeth...
...Now, now there was only Demelza.
Demelza. There was nothing in the world Ross wanted more than to start at the beginning and fall in love with her all over again, free from the regrets and shadow of the past. At this moment he felt as though the tilt of that world was trying to tip him forwards, to help him, at last: to be nearer to her - nearer and touching- as though that were the only state of rest, and every other action and movement were geared to achieving it. A pull.
"Are you scared now?" Ross asked, his deep voice resonating through his chest and reverberating against her soft palm that lay there.
"No," she answered, the softness of her voice, the motionless of her body giving lie to the rushing she felt within. "George and his henchmen don't scare me anymore, but...but..."
His face became suddenly sombre as his lips brushed the hair at her temple. "I do," he stated levelly.
Her heart quickened at the unexpected turn of conversation. "Yes. No... not you, it's more my...my.." Demelza's brow creased as she sought to explain emotions she did not fully understand. Her quiet voice was a whisper curling up to him, uncertain, unsure as the confusion of words spilt from her."It's my feeling for you that do scare me sometimes. Like a ...a tide that sweeps all my reason away. Like I'm drowning... It's like somethin' I can't control; a weapon you have, unseen, that can deal me such a deep wound if you command it." She took a ragged breath. "And you do. Not just with Elizabeth, but with your...your.. gruffness; your brooding. Your neglect."
The last two words hit Ross full force and he felt the blow in his stomach. He leaned away from her then, his brow furrowed and his eyes glistening obsidian, and he searched her face. He saw in the depths of her eyes that on some level he did frighten her, but that it was as much for the intensity of passion he instilled in her as it was for his darkness. He opened his mouth but, stunned, he said nothing.
Misinterpreting his silence, Demelza pulled away from him and she hung her head. Ross stared at her, pale and thin, and his heart lurched to see her lingering desolation at the pain he had inflicted.
"I feel like you raised me up," she rushed on, things she had never had the courage to say - her fears - spilling from her; this moment in their marriage seeming pivotal and one that demanded honesty. "But that you could cast me aside at any moment just as easily," she whispered so softly that Ross barely caught the words. "I...I have often wondered why you stayed with me. Maybe out of pity, or honour..."She linked her fingers nervously in her lap, glancing obliquely up at him from beneath long lashes. She had never felt this stripped bare; this vulnerable. Her arms came around to encircle herself in unconscious protection, readying herself for the reciprocal honesty she knew her disclosure would prompt from him.
Ross found his voice at last, his features a frowning mask of incredulity. "Cast you aside?! Pity?! Is that how I have made you feel?" He caught hold of her hands and, when she tried to resist, pulled her forcibly to him and held her tight; his careful handling of her temporarily shattered and he felt like he choked on his own heart.
"Do you still feel I might do such a thing?" He murmured, low and tense, into her hair as he felt her taut and trembling again beneath his hands yet unresponsive to his question. Again, he pulled back, and his burning gaze challenged her to look deep into his heart and see the truth of what lay beating at its core.
"I love you, Demelza," he whispered fiercely. "And not because of guilt, or honour, or pity, or any other transient reason." Ross's sonorous voice remained soft but became agitated as he continued, and he crushed Demelza's fingers in his, unknowingly hurting her. "I love you: the girl who lived with me for nearly three years and challenged me every day to question the beliefs I was surrounded by. The girl who never let fear crush her spirit or tarnish her soul. The child who blossomed before my eyes from an unsure servant into the formidable, loyal, strong and beautiful woman I see before me now." His black eyes bore into hers. "There is no one else I would wish to share my life with other than you. No one. Tell me you know that, Demelza. Tell me you believe me. Tell me!"
She was wide-eyed as she nodded, fearful of his barely controlled ferocity. "I know that, Ross," she breathed. His cheek clenched as he struggled to bridle his passion, his desperation, and, watching him, Demelza's last, lingering bonds of doubt released their hold on her. "I believe you, Ross," she said again, more levelly. She held his gaze now steadily, her own challenge held there; a faint spark of her old self kindling in the blue-green pools of her eyes.
Seeing it, Ross loosened, his body relaxing from a tension he was unaware of and he eased his grip on her fingers. He smiled abruptly then, softly, and his hands moved to hold her face, and his dark beauty- the within and the without - it took her breath away.
Oh. Oh.
Demelza's heart suddenly beat wildly against her chest, fuelled as it was by the complex energy of love and fear and desire that she felt for the man at her side. And Ross's heart sped within him, a force abruptly overtaking him; a tide of emotions.
Only on the precipice of loss can the preciousness of life - of living and loving- be unleashed with such desperate urgency, and Ross suddenly pulled his wife into his arms, crushing her body against his, and he kissed her with a frantic, yearning hunger.
For an instant Demelza froze, a gasp of breath catching in her throat and she was scared of his uncontrolled need. Not noticing , his mouth left hers and he traced urgent kisses down her neck, wanting to taste every inch of her skin, to breathe in every part of her.
Then, his lips found hers again and her fear was abruptly gone and she was engulfed in the rough-smooth feel of him against her; the raw incongruity of his tender strength. An ache began to pulse in her stomach; a physical ache, so long denied these past months, scraped out as she had been, but it was coming back to her quickly. Oh yes, it was coming back... Back to them both.
Demelza began to respond to him, his solidity, and her ivory skinned mottled pink with the suffusing colour of arousal. She let him touch her- his fingers sliding around the nape of her neck and sending frissions of longing through her body. And she touched him - her hands climbing him, travelling the firmness of his chest as the awakening within her continued, not new, but remembered.
Ross's hands then slid through the silk of her hair, plunged to the wrists in fire as he cradled her head, and all there became was the kiss.
The kiss.
Soft and hard and deepening. Relief. Urgency. And aching and wanting Wanting...movement that spoke to movement, skin to skin and heat to breath to gasp and...Dear God, how had he had forgotton this! How had he ever thought any woman could evoke anything like this in him! Her sweet eagerness to his salt and musk. The taste and feel of Demelza against his lips, and the realness - trueness - overwhelmed Ross, and the kiss... the kiss was threatening to become so much more than a kiss, but it couldn't. Not now.
Not yet.
Ross leaned away abruptly; a break, yet close enough that they still breathed each other's rapid breath, and he smiled at the shy blush in her face, bringing his thumb to caress her flushed cheek. Pulling away from Demelza in that instant was one of the hardest things Ross had ever done, but there was something he wanted to do.
"I have something...it's in the library, in my valise with my uniform and other things. It's for you. I'd like to give it to you now."
She smiled at him, not entirely happy that he had withdrawn his caresses, but content that all vexatious subjects had been dealt with for the moment. "You go. I'll be along shortly. I'll just see to the candles..."
The room was dark when she entered the library. A fire that Ross had lit in the hearth was the only light in the room, the soft amber glow creeping into the gloomy corners and causing the shadows to dance and leap to the tune of the flames. Demelza blinked slowly as her eyes adjusted to the ambient light and she felt a lingering thrill as Ross looked up and smiled in greeting as she approached him.
He sat, a small box in hand, on the cot bed in front of the fire, but rose as she came to stand at the foot of it. He had removed his waistcoat and boots, revealing the white, linen shirt, skilfully patched many times by his wife though he could now afford better, open at the neck.
He said: "My dear, I bought you something while I was away." A faint frown puckered the smoothness of her brow as he took up her hand and placed the box in her upturned palm. His fingers, she noticed, were not as sure of themselves as usual and the apprehension was mirrored in the flickering darkness of his eyes as they watched her closely.
Demelza opened the box and saw a gold filigree brooch like the one Ross had gifted her long ago, but which they had been forced to sell at the height of their desperation.
"I could not get one just like the last..."
A swell closed her throat so that her words came out like a wisp. "It's lovely..." She stared down at the jewel in her hand and her eyes prickled with tears and she drew in a quick, deep breath. She daren't look up, but she heard as he lent and fumbled for something on the coverings of the bed. After a moment, he put some tissue in her hand next to the box. With fingers trembling now too, she unwrapped a necklace of garnets.
"Oh, Ross..." she murmured softly, her voice giving way. "You'll break my heart."
"No, I shall not. Never again." He too inhaled deeply, his eyes glistening in the firelight. "Think of the brooch as payment of a debt long owed, and the necklace as a present. Nothing more."
Demelza was fingering the blood-red jewel as means of distraction from the battle raging in her throat; she wondered that there were any tears left threatening to spill; she had already cried a lifetimes worth this night. Ross then took the brooch and placed it to one side before picking up the necklace.
"See, the catch fastens this way," he said as his arms moved to put it around her neck. She moved the length of her hair over one shoulder as he artfully clasped the necklace, and all the time his eyes never left hers. "There," he murmured as the jewel nestled in the hollow at the base of her porcelain throat. "Perfect." And Ross was not looking at his gift.
Demelza stood there, blinking, barely breathing and her eyes glistened. Her features were soft and her beauty caught in his throat. His hand grazed her fire-warmed cheek, his cool fingers gratefully caressing as he gave them what they yearned for. Her alabaster skin - stone-smooth and perfect...perfect - was flushed and his gaze was vivid, wide, hopeful and piercing. She felt so delicate, so vulnerable beneath his touch ; looks, he had learnt, could be deceiving.
"Demelza...?"
She closed the small gap between them then, and very slowly and very deliberately she kissed him and he knew what it meant:
Forgiveness. Acceptance.
Love.
As her lips broke contact, Ross' fingers reached forward to the ties of his wife's bodice and slowly, excruciatingly, he teased them loose until he was able to remove the garment. The skirts of her dress followed, both lying in a crumpled heap at their feet. Demelza stood in just her muslin shift, the glow from the fire burnishing her hair, her clear eyes dancing with the flames reflected in them. They faced each other like that for a long, drawn out moment, silent, still, and they did not touch.
Then, with a shy half-hesitancy, Demelza stepped out of her under-dress, the amber light catching the milky-white curve of her shoulder and thigh. The blackness of Ross's eyes dilated as he watched her. There was light in her face, there was air and life in her limbs. Her flesh was young and unblemished, even by child bearing. She stood finally with only her skin and Ross's gift to clothe her and again he thought her beautiful.
What filled Ross most then was not desire, but tenderness, and a profound gratitude that he lived, and she did too. That he had found her all those years ago, and then found again as his wife. That he had saved her, as she had him. Finally.
Her flush deepened as she struggled to maintain her composure under his scrutiny and, seeing it, his solemn mouth pulled crookedly up into a half-smile. He caught hold of her hand, her fingers cool in his, and he wordlessly guided her to the little bed in front of the fire where he had spent so many lonely nights.
Ross drew back the coverings and, slipping down until his head lay on a pillow, he took Demelza's uninjured arm, pulling her gently to lie next to him, so close on the cramped mattress but their bodies not touching. They lay on their sides, facing one another snd Ross reached out and trailed his fingers across her cheek. Demelza briefly closed her eyes then, and when she opened them, there was a jolt of eye contact; the pupil-less black sheen of his, and the rich luminescence of hers; depthless; a flint and steel sparking worry and pain, but also strength, and a love now as intense as the bitterness their meeting gaze had once ignited. They stayed like that for a long time, he with his palm cupped to her face, and she grasping his other hand tightly within both of hers, held to her breast, and they devoured the sight of each other.
At last, gently, as if she might break, his fingers left her face and began to trail across her familiar flesh, her limbs. His hands, strong and measured, danced patterns of heat down her neck, her breasts, her stomach. And lower.
Then suddenly the space between them was abolished as he drew her to him, pressing her body against him, his fingers curling around her neck and the curve of her waist as he found her mouth and kissed her with a hunger he had never known before. Blindly, she fumbled with trembling, eager fingers at his clothing, needing there to be nothing, nothing, between them. Demelza sank under Ross's irresistible weight as he lay her down on her back and she grasped at his hair, holding him to her; she breathed his breath, harsh and rapid, and he drank hers in, soft and hitching in her throat.
He leaned away from her then, bracing his arm, his black hair hanging down and his eyes burning with a dark, proprietal intensity as he took in her pale, perfect skin, dappled with firelight.
"Demelza..." His fingers became fire, licking at her skin, kindling a flame in her stomach that lanced downwards. She arched convulsively towards him, her face, shining in the guttering light of the fire, was centred in the unfathomable black of his pupils as he looked at her, and he saw her longing , her vulnerability, her openness.
"You are... beautiful," Ross murmured , smiling softly again at the visible flush that rose in her face. She knew that in that moment there was no one else; no thoughts of another - lingering, encroaching. She filled him- only her- and it was enough. It was enough.
As Ross watched her, exposed, Demelza shivered involuntarily, a breeze touching the growing heat of her nakedness. He moved his fingers, tracing tenderly across her forehead. And then he covered her with his body like a living blanket, and she opened for him, and he filled her, and it did not feel vulnerable or wrong - it felt right. And it was enough...enough...
All lingering uncertainties were gone. The pull was there between them again, like a tide, hot and seeking. Unstoppable. There were lips, slow and sweet and hungry; and skin, hot and smooth and... together. Their minds surrendered to their physical need, thoughts becoming fractured until there was nothing but flesh and breath and thundering heartbeats and limbs; limbs wrapped around each other, holding and clutching, abolishing all space - pointless space-, and they were flushed and clammy and vital with life. With love.
Afterwards, breathless and trembling, Ross's heartbeat singing to hers across the softness of flesh, he rested his forehead against hers, the tips of their noses touching, and she ran her fingers through his hair and on down his neck, and further, touching the contours of his raised shoulder and the firmness of his back as he held his full weight off her slim frame. Their eyes drank each other in, and then..., Demelza smiled.
She smiled. A slow, languid unfurling of lips that spread until it dimpled her cheek and glistened in her eyes. It was all her pain, her wariness and uncertainty, melting into light. It was her heart, this smile, and finally, finally, it was for him once more - and the honesty of it, the generosity of it, the intensity, it took his breath away, more even than the joining of their bodies had.
"I love you," she whispered.
"And I you," Ross murmured, overcome, and he dipped down to breathe the words again against her lips.
And the words were bright and heavy, like something they could reach for and hold, so they did.
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