THIS is a rewrite - you deserve to read the same quality of story you began reading- sorry
One... that was what they were: in the heat of battle, or bathed in the flames of passion, the two moved as if their souls were indeed united. She was both blessed and damned by it. She was able to 'feel' his passion, his pleasure, his rage, his pain, as if they were her own; they were added to hers, and amplified every sensation of all shared experiences between them to the point of near rapture - and he was, likewise, able to feel ALL of hers (wonderous). She hoped he did not dream her dreams... felt her encroaching heartbreak; all that misery was something to ignore; for this moment, this precious moment, they were together.
She stared at her ring and turned it around her finger. It was now base lead, and she smiled at it. She was alone in their bedchamber in the castle of Redcliffe. They would be one body here once more, as they were one soul through their rings. This union had saved this village, this lord, this lord's son, and would save this land... and would end her loneliness... she hoped. She looked over their room and shook her head. A bed... at last. Still, it lacked the animal quality of their bearskins; took from them the scent of the natural, the primal, the purity of making love on the source of all life, all love, the earth.
The ring glowed, she smiled, then forced herself to frown in apparent disappointment as he entered, still in his blood stained armor.
The moment his eyes fell upon her, her heart raced, and was filled with an overwhelming sense of giddiness... so much for feigning disappointment.
"You look absolutely domestic," he sighed as he kissed her lips.
"Oh," she giggled in spite of herself, "do you favor me a housewi..." her voice trailed off, unable to finish the word.
He looked to her wrist and kissed it as her fingers unfastened his steel with practiced skill.
"Hardly," he said, sensing her reservation, but not understanding it's true cause. It wasn't that she wouldn't want to be wed to him, it was that she DID, and it killed her to know (NO, not KNOW!... but to only 'believe' - I hope) that it was an impossibility. (So was my falling in love once. NOW LOOK! AN ABSOLUTE BLISSFULL MESS! Damn your lips, your hands, your eyes - my love) She would look through the pages of the tomes they confiscated from the Circle of Magi that they had rescued to find the answer... or at least the hope. That search was for later as he kissed her neck and massaged her abdomen... now was a call to another night of unbridled passion: for them to celebrate this victory, this life, this union... this love
He tore away his own shirt, feeling her want to touch him.
She pulled her undergarments from her hips and fell back on the bed before her dress was removed, knowing he wanted to feel her embracing him inside her willing body.
All thoughts and plans fell away in the rapturous moment of their mouths joining in their shared pleasure, shared emotion - shared love? She knew what she felt for him... but was not absolutely certain of his feelings for her. She hoped he was simply loyal to his bed-mate, as he was to his male friends... the pain of their parting would be doubling to them both as certainly was their shared pleasure. Still, that was for another time... for now, this dress was too confining and the candle much too bright.