XIV. – Courage
It was much later that evening before she summoned the courage to tell him of her past. It was a difficult task, but it needed to be done.
They'd eaten dinner in comfortable, loving silence. She had flushed to see that his gaze often drifted to her face, her neck, the sloping swells of her breasts and where the fine silk of her gown met her skin. It was a mutual gaze, for her own eyes constantly flickered to his neck, his hair, his firm hands...desiring to feel his fingers molding to her body and tracing the dips and contours he had memorized so quickly over the course of day.
And so, it was almost with a certain amount of desperation that they finally made it to the bedchamber again, even to the point that they left their servants behind. Both wished to learn the intricacies of the opposite sex's clothing, and the only way to do so was to unclothe each other.
Yvonne had giggled girlishly and blushed at her boldness, in trying to learn of all the hidden buttons and flaps that held his breeches together, while Anthony had barely managed to conceal his silent laughter at trying to clumsily unfasten the many pearled buttons down the back of her luscious gown. It was a relief to be free of clothing at last, to be in each other's arms again.
And afterwards, lying against him and knowing nothing could ever harm her, she was finally able to whisper the truth to him.
He had listened in silence, though a myriad of emotions had shown plainly on his chiseled face. She saw anger and fury, barely controlled, but when a couple of tears slipped down her cheeks at the thought that perhaps he was upset with her, he quickly brushed them away in alarm and eased her fears. He could never be angry with her, he insisted emphatically. No – it was Adet he despised, hated...loathed...with all of his being. It was the plot against her, that odious plot to kill his beautiful wife, which infuriated his senses. He vowed repeatedly to protect her and love her, and by the time the conversation finally reached an end, Yvonne was so exhausted with the effort of explaining that she merely collapsed against him and fell asleep.
She awoke once, in the middle of the night, to discover he was still awake. He was stroking her hair, his fingers tangled loosely in the tumbling, silken curls. When she looked up at him with wide eyes, drinking in the beautiful sight of his naked form only half-covered by scented sheets and glowing in the light of a lone, guttering candle on the bedside table, he smiled gently and whispered for her to go back to sleep, for he would never leave her.