The first thing Molly does when the door is closed is sink to the couch and weep. She weeps for how she feels she has disappointed and failed him again. She weeps because she has no clue how to be a wife, and no one to aid her in learning. She weeps because, when she is really honest with herself, she's bloody scared, and homesick,  and lonely. The isolation up here in the nursery suite knowing he could be risking life and limb every moment she isn't there to heal him weighs on her. If only she could saddle up and ride for a while. Once all this is done, she will go galloping off alone a little while.  It's all so damnably complicated. She wipes her eyes.

Something is simple though. As Always.  The two words that they've used time and time again, and touch her heart each time. He'll forgive her selfish, impulsive decision,  as always. And she will try to do better, as always. And they'll love each other still, as always. She smiles to herself. As soon as he is back, she's going to show him how sorry she is, and ask for his forgiveness. Maybe he'll be able to stay for dinner. With Varick asleep and Marta out, maybe they could light some candles and just take some time together, like back in the cottage. Just the two of them. Those memories bring her happiness, as always. 

With a deep breath she sets to writing a note to the cook, asking for certain foods to be made and ready to reheat upon his return, providing it puts no one to any trouble. The note dispatched via the guard who suggested they were too busy making love to come to the door, she smiles a little as she shuts the door. It has been three days since their exhausted, fast intimacy on Thursday night after arriving at his Grace's. And before that they had been on the road for three days with no privacy at their lodgings.

She missed their love-making. The craving for having him above and inside her had not abated over the seven weeks of their marriage, if anything it was worse because she knows all the wonderful ways it sounds, feels, and tastes to be intimate with him. She's blushing a little as she redoes her make up. Applying lipstick to her lips, she's thinking of the taste and feel of him when she's used her mouth on him. God how she loves that. When she'd first heard of it from the girls from the Scary Coral, Captain Tsaylur's ship, she'd been perplexed. 

The room they had sat in that evening had heavy velvet drapes covering the wood panels. There was only candlelight illuminating the soft furniture and cushion covered flooring. The sweet sparkling wine flowed fast, and Molly had already drunk a bit, reclined on the floor as the discussion progressed from love, and the ways these women had been spurned, to sex. In her heart, Molly held close the warmth of Morgan and how deeply she loved him, a secret she did not think she'd ever be able to share with him. Would she end up as heartbroken as these women one day? Who was to say? It did not make any difference. He wanted her to be his mistress,  and live with him, and go to Eisen with him when he became Graf. And wanting her as his mistress meant he wanted and intended to lie with her at some point in the future.  It was this incredible, exciting thought that had her blushing, not the snippet of the conversation containing the word "bite". It sounded more like beet.  It took her a moment to understand that they meant _that_. The part of a man that supposedly was similar but significantly smaller than that on horses and bulls. As a farm girl, she'd seen sex, and the parts used. But she'd never seen one on a man. She wondered then what Morgan's would be like, and how on Theah she would have any idea what to do with it.

By this time they were discussing positions. Molly was shocked that there was anything to try other than just him on top,  as her mother had said. The girls laughed when she voiced this, but not unkindly. One woman, whose name to this day escapes her, gave her a brief instruction on what they called Missionnaire, on hands and knees , and l'amazone, with the woman on top. Molly was fascinated, and oddly fidgety. She felt warm, flushed. Picturing being intimate with Morgan wasn't that new to her, but never in different positions. She was grateful. Deciding to be brave, she'd asked what she could do that would really please him. And so a brief explanation of how to use her mouth on him began, known in montaigne as Flute, including a special trick of taking his manhood back into her throat, how to use her hand (or branler, to jerk), how to touch her body sat in his lap, how some men liked to enter a woman's bottom (enculer, or in the ass) instead of le minou, or womanhood as he would a man's. This shocked her, even though the lieutenant and the laird had talked about that sort of intimacy between men the night Molly thought she'd finally lost Morgan to Siobahn. That night she'd covered her face and giggled, but was secretly glad of the distraction. Theus knows it was the only anchor that stopped her from running off to her parents house in floods of tears. Morgan had just sat  there nursing his beer, brooding. She thought he was brooding on how he was going to have to let her down gently,  not how he was so far in love with her that he needed to propose.

The night with the girls the discussion made her blush too. What on Theah would that even feel like? Would Morgan want to do that to her? How would she ever manage to raise that question?

She realises she's still sat with the lipstick in her hand. She frowns at her reflection. This is not the time for pondering seducing him. There is far too much at stake. She sighs frustratedly.  My body obviously isn't used to so few releases anymore. Maybe that is something I should remedy myself? But then we haven't discussed whether he would be alright with that  and I don't want to make any more errors. Maybe things will get calmer soon, and we can resume intimacies before my course starts. She counts in her head. Damn, only a week to go. 

Will we be here in Fischler still? Will Alarice have bled, or is she truly with child? If she is, will we get to leave? I don't want to miss Evie's wedding next month. They have been engaged for a long time. Surely they cannot have been waiting for marriage? That would be very frustrating! Three days is bad enough.  

She does her mascara again. No more crying now, you'll ruin it. You can apologise without tears. It's time to be guided by him. He is your husband. Make suggestions, give opinions, but let him decide. It is Theus will. She takes a moment to offer up a prayer.

Theus, father of all, please aid your daughter. Help me to be a good wife. Let me serve him and honour him every day. Keep me at his side as his help meet. I thank you for bringing him into my life, and I will love him every single day. As always. Amen.

She straightens her gown, runs a comb through her hair, and goes to prepare the table by lighting the candles. She send for blokners and brandy, and gets that plus confirmation from the cook. She smiles, sipping the brandy.

They'll be alright. They've faced more danger and found each other through more heartache than this. They will still love each other. As always.