It was impossible not to touch him now.
She supposed she was grinning like an idiot, but so was he. No matter how they tried to keep their relationship to themselves and not be obvious in front of Henry, the boy picked up on the changed atmosphere immediately. Thankfully, he credited Robin's prosthesis for their new friendliness towards each other, and she prayed that explanation would satisfy him for the time being. It certainly wouldn't do for him to know that his mother was sleeping with a man who was not her husband.
Her mother would have labeled her a whore for far less.
Robin was a gentle and generous lover, although to say that his disability never frustrated him when they were intimate would be a lie. It seemed to bother him far more than it did her, actually, but it didn't stop him from kissing her, from penetrating her, from teasing her with his fingers and mouth until a thousand stars exploded behind her eyelids and her body pulsed around him until neither of them could think.
"I've never had a lover before," she whispered one night, her limbs heavy and sated as his fingers traced the contours of her spine. "Besides my husband, of course."
She snuggled into his side, rubbing her cheek against the soft down of his chest, careful with the shoulder she knew still hurt him at times.
"And how do you like it?" he questioned, tipping her chin up in his direction. She tossed him a sly grin before kissing him, slow, wet and open-mouthed.
"I feel evil and decadent," she whispered, reaching down over his torso to stroke him from root to tip. He moaned as she continued to caress his penis, swearing as she found the spot just below his tip that made him buck into her hand.
"Come here, you decadently evil woman," he chuckled just before pulling her on top of his chest and taking her breast into his mouth. He sucked her hard and possessively, leaning back to blow cool air on her nipple, grinning as she shivered in his arms. "And let me love you properly." His hand moved between them to stroke and tease her clitoris before sliding one finger inside of her, causing her to hiss through her teeth.
God help her-she hadn't felt this alive in years.
Robin had composed a letter to his mother, asking after Roland and letting Mrs. Locksley know that her only child was alive and well and recovering from wounds received in battle. He refused to tell her of his amputation, reasoning it would only upset her and could frighten Roland if she decided to tell the boy about it.
"She'll find out soon enough, you know," Regina admonished before heading towards town to post it. "Mothers always do."
"I know," he returned. "But in this case, the later, the better." He paused then, laying his ink pen aside with a heavy sigh. "Besides-I've been dead to her since I chose to marry a woman of color. She may not even open my letter, Regina. She might choose to burn it on sight."
Her arms had wrapped around him then, stroking hair whose texture was now as familiar to her as her own.
"I doubt that," she stated. "War has a way of rearranging priorities."
He held her as close as he could as she kissed the top of his head. She prayed silently that any news they received from Virginia would be good.
Robin began accompanying Henry out to the barn, doing his best to be useful in whatever manner he could. His balance and agility improved daily, but he was still slow and somewhat clumsy when he walked. There were still difficult moments, such as the time he fell face-first into a puddle of mud and pig shit and had stormed back into the house, cursing like a proverbial sailor and pouting like a five year old. But he'd been mortified by his own behavior and had apologized when she'd brought him his prosthesis, now cleaner than it had been prior to his fall, thanks to her.
"Why do you put up with me?" he asked her later that night as he stroked her hair until her eyelids drifted shut. She opened her eyes then and looked at him, pressing herself up on his chest so she could see him clearly.
"Because you're great in bed," she stated with a quirk of her brow, making him laugh so robustly she feared Henry would come bursting into the bedroom at any moment.
Making herself go back to her own room after their lovemaking was now the hardest part of her day. The mattress seemed to engulf her, her sheets cool and crisp rather than warm and soft, accentuating the fact that the man with whom she shared her body was not allowed to share her bed. But he made her happy, made her feel things she'd feared lost to her forever, made her gasp in ways she'd never known, made her feel cherished in a manner she feared she didn't deserve.
God help her, she was falling in love with the man, a man with a son and a life in Virginia, a Rebel who could all too easily walk away from her and leave her heart in tatters once again.
Days grew colder and shorter as the roll-call of the dead continued to expand. The magistrate's son, the Fairview twins, Mrs. Carter's oldest nephew, all were lost, and at moments it hit her-really hit her just how close they'd come to losing Robin. If he hadn't stumbled into their barn, if Henry hadn't found him when he did, if she hadn't discovered the infection in his leg, he wouldn't be here in her kitchen, peeling potatoes while Henry explained in great detail his ideas for expanding the barn and digging a new well.
"Ambitious thoughts, young man," Robin stated with a quick look in her direction. "What does your mother think of all of your plans?"
Henry sheepishly bowed his head, casting glances between Robin and her.
"I don't know," the boy admitted. "I haven't said anything until now."
Dear God, he looked like Daniel, the way he tucked his hands into his pockets, the way one lock of hair fell into his eyes no matter how short she cut it. He was her little man now, she realized, no longer the small boy clinging to her skirts and following her around the chicken coop, but a young man with ideas of his own who saw himself in some ways as her protector.
"I'd like to know your thoughts on expanding the pig pen," she stated, surprising her son with a quirk of her brow. "This growing batch of piglets are testing the limits of our current one."
Henry looked to Robin before turning back to his mother.
"Challenge accepted," he said, before grabbing his coat and practically running out the door.
"He's a good boy, Regina."
"I know." She watched as his head fell forward to study his hands, a gesture she recognized for what it was. "You miss Roland."
His eyes shot in her direction, piercing her with the intensity of a parent separated from his child.
"Far more than I miss my leg."
She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
"I'm certain he misses you, too."
He shook his head then, rubbing a hand over his scalp.
"He won't remember me, Regina. He was far too young when I left, and for me to come back to him like…" He paused, motioning to the fake leg that was now a part of his body. "Like this. He may well consider me a monster."
His swallow was audible from across the room, and she moved into him then and there, regardless of the fact that Henry could burst in on them at any moment. He cradled her head to his chest, breathing in the scent of her freshly washed hair that still bore strands of dampness.
"He'll come to know you again," she assured him, pausing to kiss him with a softness that made him tremble. "At least he'll have you in his life."
She didn't voice what they both knew to be true-that to be reunited with Roland, he would have to leave her. She felt his grip around her tighten.
They made love fiercely that night, accentuated by gasps and swallowed cries that left them trembling and sticky with sweat and spent desire. She felt like a goddess atop him, the way he watched her move, how he clasped her hips and panted her name, the way her hair fell around her body as his touch unleashed raw fire in her belly, the way she fit around him snugly as if they'd been molded from of the same lump of clay simply for each other's pleasure.
"I can't lose you," she whispered when she was certain he slept, sliding away from the warmth that was him back into the cold reality of how life would be once he left. Tears spilled over the moment she reached her bedroom, sobs that tore through her until her body shook.
"I don't want to lose you, either."
She turned to stare at him in wonder.
That he'd managed to make it into her bedroom without her hearing him attested to just how intensely she'd been weeping. He limped to the bedside, falling clumsily into her mattress to pull her to his chest, to stroke her hair, to kiss her forehead, to whisper endearments over her until her weeping abated.
"I miss my son, Regina. But I don't want that life anymore."
Her cheek pressed into his shoulder as her hands fisted his shirt.
"What life do you want?"
"This one," he whispered without hesitation, cupping her face with both hands. "With you."
She kissed him hard, breathing him in, tasting his passion, needing all of him all at once. They drew back long enough to breathe, and he touched his forehead to hers as she dotted a kiss to the tip of his nose.
"Bring Roland here."
The words slid out of her with ease, infusing her with a warmth that intensified with the look of wonder staring back at her.
"Are you certain?" He paused, studying her with renewed intensity. "Taking on both of us may be more than you realize." Her hand drifted to where flesh met leather and wood.
"I'm certain."
His smile made her so giddy her toes tingled. He chuckled softly, shaking his head in wonder.
"So am I," he uttered, brushing her nose with his own. Her fingers wrapped around his arms as his began to stroke her back, enticing her to close her eyes until his next words made her sit up and take notice. "Marry me."
She couldn't breathe, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything except stare dumbfoundedly at eyes now watching her with an anticipation she could feel. Her ribs ached when she breathed in, and she exhaled with force, still gaping at him in disbelief.
"Yes," she managed, needing to touch him to make certain this was real. "Yes."
It was a wonder Henry didn't hear them that night.
The ceremony was held a few weeks later. It was small and private, held in her home, officiated by the Presbyterian Minister and witnessed by Henry and Doctor and Mrs. Hamilton. She'd indulged in purchasing a new dress for the occasion, a powder blue gown with silver buttons and lace cuffs, one elegant enough to make her feel like a bride but not so extravagant as to make her uncomfortable. It fit tighter across her breasts than it had just two weeks ago, a fact which only exacerbated the headache she'd fought since she forced herself out of bed that morning. She teared up while repeating her vows, barely making it through the ceremony before dashing outside to vomit repeatedly into the bushes as soon as they'd been pronounced man and wife.
Robin found and held her until the retching stopped.
"If you didn't want to marry me, you could have just said no," he whispered, making her laugh and cry simultaneously as he attempted to scoop her up into his chest, his leg nearly giving out in the process.
"I can walk," she admonished, allowing herself to lean into him once he'd set her down gently. He led her back into the house, his frustration in not being able to lift her wafting off him palpably.
It was a frustration that didn't last long.
"Congratulations," Doc Hamilton stated after shooing everyone away and examining her in her bedroom. Her hands rested on her stomach as she forced herself to look him in the eye.
"You don't think any less of us?" she asked quietly, his answer more important to her than it should be. He'd become a friend over the past few months, a friend and colleague she'd come to value. The older man took her hand within hers, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiled.
"War changes the rules, Mrs. Locksley. And how can bringing a new life into this world overridden by death be a bad thing?" He paused, wiping his cheek, and she knew he was remembering his son. "Besides, I can't think of two people who deserve a second chance at happiness more than the two of you."
She burst into tears all over again.
Robin fussed over her, trying to convince her not to work so hard, to sleep more and stay on her feet less. He wrapped her in extra blankets and made her plenty of hot tea, insisting she eat even when the very thought of food made her stomach revolt. He took to reading to her at night, kissing her belly sweetly before finding her lips with far more passion, even though most nights she had energy to do little more than fall asleep in his arms. She was exhausted, truth be told, so bone-weary by mid-day that she feared if she were to lie down for a nap, she wouldn't wake up until the next morning.
One day, she actually proved herself right.
December arrived, and the air smelled of snow, the bite of it unmistakable as moisture mixed with bitter cold. She'd already tended to the chickens after Robin had left for town, leaving the milking to Henry as she kneaded a rounded loaf of bread on her wooden counter.
The knock on her door came as a surprise.
She brushed her hands on her apron, certain there must be flour on her face as she wiped it blindly with the back of her hand. She straightened her dress as best she could, opening the door to two people she'd never met but knew instantly.
"Mrs. Mills?"
Robin's mother stood just before her on her doorstep.
"I'm Penelope Locksley," the older woman continued, the soft lilt of her Virginia accent so very similar to her son's it took Regina by surprise. Mrs. Locksley held the hand of a child, a small boy with dark curls and even darker eyes that watched Regina with both fear and suspicion.
Roland.
"Please," Regina stated, taking a step back. "Come inside where it's warm."
The quality of their clothing made her uneasy, and she stared at her worn shoes, biting her lower lip without realizing she did so. The lace peeking out from under Mrs. Locksley's coat could pay for a new fence on its own, she reasoned, making her pause before she offered them something to eat.
"I'm not here to socialize. I'm simply here to deliver Roland to his father. That is all."
Their features were similar, but there was no warmth to the woman who'd given birth to Robin, no kinship between their personalities, no dimples in her cheeks.
"Won't you sit down?"
Blue eyes studied her dispassionately.
"I'd rather not, Mrs. Mills."
"Mrs. Locksley," Regina corrected, taking a step towards her new mother-in-law. "Robin and I were married two weeks ago."
Only silence greeted her declaration.
"Well, Roland," Penelope stated, choosing to look at her grandson rather than her daughter-in-law. "It would seem you have a new mother."
The boy looked at her without saying a word, uncertainty prompting him to bite his lower lip in a manner that made him look like his father. Penelope then squared her shoulders, finally looking at Regina, her chin high and regal. "There's actually a resemblance between the two of you. That's very fortunate. It should stave off any uncomfortable questions about his lineage."
Frightened eyes stared up at Regina, and she knelt until she was eye-level with the boy, slowly reaching out to touch his shoulder, cautious of frightening him further yet needing him to know that he was welcome and wanted.
"Hello, Roland," she began. "I'm Regina." The boy tried to hide in his grandmother's skirt, clinging to what he knew in the face of a change he didn't understand. He was nudged towards Regina unceremoniously, prompting his chin to quiver and his eyes to fill.
"I'll have his belongings brought in," the older woman stated as she turned to make her exit. Roland ran after her, grabbing her skirt, thrusting his arms up in her direction, begging the woman to pick him up and hug him close.
"You're not even going to wait for your son?"
Henry slipped inside quietly, observing the scene playing out in front of him as he deposited the firewood just beside the hearth.
"He's been through hell and back," Regina continued. "Managed to survive Gettysburg, fought off infection…He lost his lower leg."
She couldn't tell if the gasp she'd heard had been real or imagined. But the face of the woman before her remained impassive.
"My son was lost to me years ago," Penelope stated, prying Roland's hands from her skirt, looking down at the boy with an expression Regina couldn't decipher. "And I've done my Christian duty by my grandson."
Roland was crying in earnest now, his wails increasing in volume until Regina couldn't stand it anymore. She moved forward and scooped the boy up, holding him close even as he strained to break away from her.
"You're really just going to walk away from your family? Without saying hello to Robin? Without hugging Roland goodbye?" She had to yell to be heard over Roland's sobs, her chest heaving with emotional strain and effort. "We're expecting a child, Robin and I, in the summer. You're going to have another grandchild. Aren't you interested in being a part of his or her life? Of remaining a part of Roland's?"
Eyes that matched Robin's bore into her with a look that hovered between pity and disdain.
"Now I see why you married so quickly." Her tone was as unwavering as her lack of compassion. Regina's body shivered as the older woman turned once again to leave, fighting back the urge to vomit as she clung to a child made victim by circumstances he couldn't control. "Goodbye, Mrs. Locksley."
With that, she was gone.
When Robin returned an hour later, he found Regina sitting on the sofa, cradling a boy on her lap who clung to her with one arm while he sucked his thumb and pressed his face into her chest. It took him a moment to register what had happened and just who the child was, but when realization dawned, he practically collapsed into the seat beside her. He reached out to touch his son with hands that shook, trying not to wince as the boy pulled away from him and burrowed further into Regina.
"He's frightened," she breathed, kissing curls matted with tears and sweat. "He doesn't understand what just happened."
Robin could only nod and swallow.
"I'd be frightened, too."
His face creased as he tried to rein in emotions Roland wasn't ready to face. He looked so vulnerable, so open and utterly raw that she longed to gather him into her chest and comfort him just as she had Roland. She then turned the boy in her lap until he faced his father, never ceasing to stroke Roland's arm as she murmured to him softly.
"It's your Daddy, Roland. Your daddy who loves you."
The thumb remained in the child's mouth, a measure of security in a world he didn't understand. They sat like that for minutes, for an hour, just breathing and touching, adjusting to this new family dynamic that felt as sacred as it did terrifying.
"He's beautiful."
Robin's words were broken as he stared at his son who had fallen into an exhausted sleep in Regina's lap.
"He is," she agreed, continuing to stroke curls that somehow matched the color of her own hair. "Does he look like Marian?"
Robin smiled at this, nodding before gazing back at her in wonder.
"But he also looks like you. How is that possible?"
She smiled and shrugged, kissing the child's forehead, accepting her role as his mama with a full heart and nervous stomach.
"Your mother told me the same thing," she admitted. "She said we were fortunate, that people wouldn't wonder about…"
"About the fact that his grandmother was a slave."
His words were hard, and she traced the lines of his face, watching them relax one by one.
"I don't care," she breathed. "Henry doesn't care, and neither do you. He's your son-my son now, and Henry's brother. We're family. That's all that matters."
He kissed her lightly, careful not to wake Roland, lingering just long enough to take in the mixed scents of his son and wife.
"I love you," he whispered, kissing her temple for good measure. "So very, very much."
Roland followed Regina everywhere except for the privy once he woke up, staring unabashedly at his father's wooden leg, watching Henry and ducking behind Regina's skirts whenever the older boy would smile at him.
"He's used to women," Regina explained to Henry after dinner as Roland crawled into her lap as soon as she sat down on the sofa. "His grandmother raised him."
Robin's scoff nearly echoed off the walls.
"My mother didn't raise him," he argued, careful not to raise his voice too loud. "That I can guarantee. My guess is that Sarah took care of him, just as she took care of me when I was a boy." He paused, taking in Regina and Henry's confusion. "Sarah is a house slave, one of the most compassionate and intelligent people I've ever known. It was she who raised me in every way that mattered. My mother couldn't be bothered by such trivialities." The bite in his tone bore the distinct edge of hurt, something Regina understood all too well.
Roland sat up straighter, looking at his father with hesitant curiosity, still clinging fast to Regina's arm.
"You know Sarah?"
The child's voice was small but hopeful, and it drew Robin to sit beside him on the sofa, careful not to frighten him away.
"I do," Robin confirmed with a smile. "She used to take me on walks, tell me stories, and sing to me at night when I couldn't sleep."
Brown eyes widened at this, a small mouth forming a soft O.
"Did she tell you about the boy who cried wolf?" Roland asked, scooting forward on Regina's lap. "Or Pandora's box?"
Robin smiled, daring to ruffle the boy's already unruly hair.
"Many times. But my favorite had to be The Aunt and The Grasshopper."
"I love that one," Henry chimed in, coming to sit on the other side of his mother. "I haven't heard it in a long time."
"Well, perhaps it's time for a retelling."
Regina's eyes shone as Robin settled back into the sofa as best as he could manage, angling his body so he could better see his wife and sons before clearing his throat.
"In a field one hot summer's day, a grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. Then an ant passed by, straining to carry an ear of corn to his nest."
His voice rose and fell with a magical lilt, his tone changing to convey the two characters, making Roland giggle and lean in even closer. His accent bore traces of that of a Southern slave, and Regina knew both he and Roland were hearing Sarah's voice in their heads, making her wish she could meet this woman who obviously meant so much to both of them. Roland began to chime in as the story neared conclusion, sliding over into his father's lap by the time it was over, completely oblivious to the artificial leg beneath him.
"You're almost as good at telling stories as Sarah," Roland uttered, reaching up to touch his father's cheek with a shyness that was precious to behold. "But nobody's as good as she is."
She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until it burst from her lungs in the form of laughter. Robin chuckled in time with her, blinking back tears as he agreed with his son.
"You're right, Roland. No one can tell a story like Sarah."
"Can we do The Tortoise and The Hare next?"
Getting him to sleep in a new bed was tricky, but he eventually settled in with Henry after a retelling of The Ant and The Grasshopper and the promise of more stories the next day. His small arms wrapped around Robin, making Regina's heart swell until she thought it would burst out of her chest. She hugged Roland and kissed his forehead, telling him how glad she was to be his new Mama, melting at the dimples that reached out to her just before his thumb once again found his mouth and she tucked in the quilt in around his body.
"I've never had a mama," the boy whispered, nearly making her weep on the spot. "But I'll bet you're a good one."
"She's the best," Henry uttered, crumbling the last of her emotional resolve as those blasted pregnancy hormones had their way with her.
"We're complete now," she whispered once her weeping had subsided and she crawled into bed beside her husband. He smiled as she blew out the bedside candle and snuggled into his chest, practically collapsing into him after the day they had experienced. His hand drifted to her stomach, still flat but warm and soft with the promise of new life.
"Almost complete," he murmured, kissing her temple and pulling her closer until they both willingly surrendered to sleep.
Life progressed slowly and surely.
Roland took to farm life like the proverbial duck to water, eagerly accompanying Regina to the chicken coop, watching in fascination as Henry would milk Charlotte or slop the pigs. He quickly claimed one ornery piglet as his favorite and named him "Oscar", instructing everyone in the house that they were not allowed to even think about eating him.
"Oscar could be a prized ham," Robin muttered when Roland wasn't listening, prompting Regina to swat him soundly on his good shoulder before huffing out of the kitchen.
Influenza was winter's most unwelcome guest. It attacked Roland first, showing up in the middle of the night in the form of a high fever and sore throat. Robin worried both over him and Regina, practically forcing his wife to leave the boy's care to him so as not to endanger either her or the baby. The wear and tear took a toll on his body, making his leg and shoulder hurt in ways they hadn't for months. His limp became more pronounced, his arm motion more constricted, yet he worked tirelessly until Roland's fever had finally broken.
Then Henry caught the illness.
He had a tougher time of it than Roland, his fever rising to dangerously high temperatures that made his sleep restless and his skin deathly pale. Regina was afraid to sleep, but the baby inside of her insisted that she do so, making her fear for both her firstborn and the child she had yet to meet. Doc Hamilton checked on him regularly, insisting along with Robin that Regina leave Henry's care to him, holding her hand as memories of smallpox's devastation played repeatedly through her mind.
"I can't lose him," she insisted. Words spoken earlier to Doc Hamilton were now uttered in an impassioned plea to The Almighty.
Two days later, his fever was gone. And Regina collapsed in relief.
Doc Hamilton prescribed a week of bedrest much to Regina's chagrin, and he sent his niece over to help with chores, childcare, and cooking. Violet was fourteen, a tall and kind-hearted girl who was a decent cook, had a lovely singing voice and sent Henry running every time she spoke to him directly.
"He likes her," Robin murmured just after Henry had stepped out to take care of his chores, nodding discreetly in Violet's direction.
"Bite your tongue," Regina had shot back, unwilling to entertain the idea that her son was old enough to notice a girl. He wiggled his eyebrows in her direction, making her even more determined to be up and about as soon as possible.
Her belly ripened as spring finally arrived, ushering in a season of back aches and swollen feet, along with the wonder of feeling her child move within her. Roland was fascinated with her stomach, squealing in delight whenever he would feel a kick or a nudge against his hand.
"I'm never going to make it until July," she sighed, lying atop the quilts in her shift, fanning herself to chase off June's dogged humidity.
"You almost have," Robin reminded her as he slid off his prosthesis with an ease learned over time. His hand then rubbed the swell of her belly, pausing when a limb thumped against his palm. "You only have one month to go." He then kissed her with a sweetness tinged with reverence, rubbing her stomach as he often did her back until she finally managed to get comfortable.
It turned out that the baby had other ideas.
She arrived two weeks early on the fifth of July, exactly one year after her father stumbled into their barn and collapsed into their lives. She was a perfect compilation of black hair, pink skin and powerful lungs she knew exactly how to use from the moment she made her entrance into the world. Doc Hamilton delivered her in the wee hours of the morning after twelve hours of hard labor, handing her gently to her exhausted mother with a look of pride on his face before turning to her father and giving him a small nod.
"A daughter," Robin breathed, gasping in awe as small fingers curled reflexively around his own. "We have a daughter."
She leaned into his kiss just as the baby started to fidget, allowing herself a moment to breathe before bringing her child to her breast. Regina stared down at her, touching her cheeks, stroking her eyebrows, counting fingers and toes as her husband made his way to her bedside and sat in the chair pulled up beside it.
"We're complete now," she uttered as she adjusted her nipple so the baby could latch on. He cupped his daughter's head with utmost tenderness, gazing at her in awe before leaning in to kiss his wife.
"That we are."
Minutes later, the baby's mouth went slack on her breast, her body clearly sated as she slept the sound sleep of the innocent. Regina watched her child in fascination, memorizing every detail, amazed by tiny fingers and little toes that curled in her sleep even as her mouth continued to suckle. One year ago, her father had been unknown to Regina, had nearly died under her roof from the horrors of war, had lost a leg in order to preserve his life, a life he'd once scorned but now valued with a ferocity she shared.
Yet tonight, the war was the furthest thing from any of their minds. It was life they now celebrated, renewed life along with the promise of second chances, family and hope against all odds. For they'd beaten the odds, Regina mused silently as she watched blue eyes gaze in wonder at the bundle curled into her chest. They had stared death in the face and walked away from it, scarred and sewn together, but all the stronger from the experience. She kissed her daughter's head before allowing her own to relax into the pillows, sending up a silent prayer of gratitude as her husband kept watch over them.
"Welcome to the family, Mary Margaret Locksley," she breathed before sliding into a peaceful, well-earned sleep.