Untitled - BoG-Archive

He laughs, showing fine straight teeth. “Indeed. But you have not, lady.
Rather, I am having trouble resting.” He leans down and kisses me gently, his
hand cupping my cheek. Few who have seen him in battle would believe he
could be so tender. His lips travel from mine down my throat. I press his face
against my breasts.
The tenderness lasts only a few moments, though, for he is at heart a
warrior, and soon he is mounting an assault upon my weak defenses. I must
confess they are not well-guarded. His love is rough, the frustration of battles lost
and men killed poured into his act of passion. I let him overwhelm me, my cry of
surrender mixes with his of victory. Afterward, he falls back asleep, his head
pillowed on my chest. My fingers caress his face and comb through his hair.
How long have we had together? This summer will be twelve years.
Twelve years since I first saw him at my soap stall in the marketplace. He had
come with a companion, a fellow soldier searching for a gift for his wife. But
when our eyes met across my baskets of herbed soaps and oils, I had somehow
recognized my soul mate.
I do not know how he found where I lived, only that the next evening he
had appeared at my door, and that he has continued to appear from that night
on, whenever he is in the city and can get away. I have never made a claim on
him, for I know I have no right. One day the Heir of the Steward will lead a lady
to the White Tower, but it will certainly not be a soap-maker from the second
level. All I can live for is whatever time he can give me.
Ours is not a complicated relationship. He speaks of battles and tells me of
the manly talk in the barracks, I tell him the gossip of the marketplace and the
city. He is in truth a plain man, and it pains me sometimes that his
responsibilities are so many and his burden so heavy, when I think he would be
so much happier living a common life.
He murmurs slightly in his sleep and I pull him close, molding my body to
his. “Sleep well, my love.”
97
The faint gray light that signals dawns coming creeps across the sky. I
move slightly to slip out of bed and his arms tighten around me.
“Don’t go,” he whispers.
“I’m going to make you some breakfast,” I say and his grip loosens. I smile
to myself. Pulling on a light robe, I put out whatever food I have that I know is to
his liking. Soon my table holds bread, the last of the cheese, the grapes purchased