by Jane Keeler
He remembered a day when Marianne had been like this, up and down, enraged and passionate at once. It had been right before her confession of love to him. But surely Angelica was not contemplating a similar thing? The thought stuck in his mind, however hard he tried to cast it out. Never in all their years of marriage had she said anything indicative of affection. The few times they made love, it had felt as though she were merely enduring it, trying to do her duty. He promised himself that if there was another time, he would make sure she enjoyed it as he did.
***
Tonight, Angelica would not call a servant to get Henry for her. It had been ineffective the previous night. She thought of his shoulders, supple and strong, holding her tight and safe. They had both said a lot of things today, but she forgave him for all of it. She had not meant what she said, hurtful as it had been. Now all that was needed was his forgiveness of her. She rose and walked down the hallway, purposeful and sure.
“Angelica,” his voice was low and husky and he stood to greet her - or to bar her entry, she thought. Blankets pooled where he had lain on his bed, but he did not seem to be half asleep. Perhaps sleep had evaded him, as it had her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping towards her. Her lips parted as she saw his burning eyes, intense and furious in the dim light. Shadows fell across his body, patches of light wrapped around his smooth skin. Stubble peppered his cheeks, his face tired though she could still feel those alert eyes on her. None of the day’s anger remained in her, though she sensed that something had awoken in him through their conversation.
“I wanted to apologise. To you. I haven’t been a good wife lately – well, mostly.” She swallowed nervously, looking at the floor. She hadn’t felt so tense in a long time. Her earlier confidence was fading away. Henry looked at her, his brow creased.
“What do you mean?” He shifted forwards again, close enough for her to reach out and touch him now. Angelica wasn’t sure she could respond to his question. His tousled hair and dark silhouette against the moonlight were no longer imposing, but inviting. She lifted her chin and stepped forward, her face tilted towards his.
She stood so close to him now, surely this was what she meant. Her breathing was hot against his neck as he looked down at her face, eyes wide and searching his own for answers. Henry had been uncertain of her intentions, but they were becoming clearer. They had not been in the same room at night since they were newlyweds, when it had seemed their duty. Angelica had not fallen with child, and had never come to him again. He had assumed it was because this was not something she wanted, but he was beginning to think he was wrong.
He reached to her face, tangling his hand in her hair as he pulled her towards him, closer. He now felt not only her breath, but the breathing movements in her stomach, pressing against him. His head bowed to hers and he brushed her lips with his briefly, letting the sensation run through him. She shivered, which he took as an affirmation that he was doing the right thing. Sliding his hands around the sweeping curve of her waist, he leaned down again to kiss her. To his surprise, she pulled away, ducking her head and wrapping her arms around her knees on his bed.
“Before we do… This. Before this goes further, Henry, who is Marianne?” He sighed, sitting down next to her on the bed. This was something he had never wanted to tell her, though she ought to know. It was selfish of him to keep to himself, but it was something he had wanted to remain within him. Angelica didn’t need to be hurt by the knowledge that she was not his first woman.
As he spoke, explaining what had happened, she watched him with those shining eyes. It felt as though they carried away his pain, absorbing and internalising everything he said. Talking was not easy. He felt that with every word, a deep-set memory was uprooted and carelessly discarded. Angelica made it easier, seeming to heal every wound and help restore new life. She listened intently, nodding occasionally, and he did not pause. When, at last, he finished telling her of this part of his life, she was filled with a great sympathy. For an immeasurable amount of time, they sat in silence, considering what had gone between them as the story was told. Each felt that they had been cleansed, relieved of a weight that had hung over their lives together.
It was impossible to say who moved first, but they were wrapped in each others arms quickly. Henry held Angelica close to him but stilled, needing a sign that this was what she wanted too. She tugged at the edge of his night shirt with urgent hands, and he smiled, lifting his arms so she could undress him. Soft hands stroked his chest with wonder, and he lifted her onto his lap. It had been a long time since they had been this close, and Henry wanted to show Angelica the care that had been trapped deep inside him before. He kissed her slowly, his tongue pressing deep into her mouth as their lips moved together. He pulled her head closer to him, twisting his hand in her hair again, wanting to feel more of her soft lips and tongue. Their kissing took on a new heat as he lay back, her body falling against his. Lifting his back, he pressed against her, eager to show her what she meant to him in this moment.
He began to kiss down the side of her neck, feeling the curve of her newly arched back as he did so. She felt so fragile as he kissed her, he wondered if he was being too rough. When her hands made their way to his trousers, beginning to rub him, he realised he was not. He continued to kiss her neck, finding a sense of urgency as he began to unlace her dress. Seeing the curve of her body in the moonlight was almost too much to bear, the sweet taste of her skin on his lips and her hands pressing his growing bulge. He tried to make his quickening kisses seem sensual, but he was becoming more desperate as her skin was exposed to him, bit by bit.
The curvaceous figure she had always possessed had become more voluptuous since the last time they had made love. The pale, round flesh of her breasts in his hands was nearly too much for him to bear as her dress opened up. As he squeezed them, she moaned quietly, a sigh which only added to his mounting desire. Rolling her firm nipples between his fingers, the sensual response she gave him only encouraged him further. He placed his mouth on her nipples, sucking gently on each. The taste of her was amplified here, and her moans became faster. Overcome with sensation, she leant forward to press them further into his mouth, the silky, malleable melons of her breasts spilling onto his face.
It was not only Henry’s desire that was building. His slow attempts to unlace her dress were frustrating Angelica. She sat up, straddling his hips, and pulled the half undone nightdress over her head, where she released it to crumple in a heap on the floor. Unable to resist any longer, Henry moved his hand between her legs, where she pressed against him. He rubbed her slowly at first, enjoying her moans of pleasure which only made him harder. As he quickened, her stroking of his hardness became faster too. He entered her with one of his fingers, her moans intensifying to the point of breathlessness. She had never before felt that she needed him more than he needed her, and sought to change that, pulling down his trousers.
If he was surprised at her sudden actions, he did not admit it. Reaching down to hold him, she began to gently rub up and down his length. His hands had stopped moving now, eyes fixed on what she was doing. Leaning down, she placed one of his hands on her breast, and rolled over so that he now straddled her. He moved with her, immersed in the feelings she was created. When he let out a few, deep groans from his throat, she was satisfied that they were at the same point in their desire. She guided him to the entrance of her opening, and felt the automatic thrust of his hips into her. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking into his eyes, the movements of her own hips allowing him deeper and further into her wetness.
He reached to her breasts and placed his mouth over them, his hot breath and circling tongue on her skin forcing her to let him in deeper. The movements they made were not gentle, but intense and desperate. Neither had felt so much in one moment as their breathing began to come faster, releasing them from this game into a panting collapse, relaxing into the sheets they had not bothered to get under. He kissed her neck, a silent
thank you, before they drifted off into oblivion. Their hearts pounded together, and they stayed in the same position until they awoke the next morning.
The next day was lazy, Angelica returning to her room late in the day after another round of lovemaking. The servants smirked as she walked back, but she found that she no longer cared about their eyes on her. She had a right to love her husband in the most natural way she could. Reaching into her dressing closet, she found a dress which she had not had the occasion to wear for a long time. It felt appropriate to wear it now, in the safety that Henry appreciated her no matter what. Her confidence in herself had been reassured by last night and his appreciation of her body. Any doubts she’d had about the changes in her figure since their marriage had faded away with the intensity of his movements.
The house no longer felt cold, rooms filled with their new sense of ownership in their marriage. Instead of the silence that usually permeated as they ate lunch, they found themselves engaged in conversation. Angelica laughed with Henry about her childhood, and he promised that he would teach her how to hunt. A gentle touch on his arm reminded him that she was his, and that their marriage was not as pointless as it had once seemed. Rather than learning to love each other over the course of their years together, they had done so all in a few days. Henry thanked Angelica for her reckless choice of swimming time; without it, they would not have arrived at this happy stage in their relationship so quickly.
How had they lived without this, without each other to fill their hearts? When Angelica thought of home now, it was not her parents house. It was her house with Henry, this estate which was theirs and would be their children’s too.
The guests they had for dinner were no longer painful reminders of what their relationship lacked. Instead, Angelica found herself sharing in their happiness. As she watched a couple laugh, dancing together, it made her want to talk to Henry and laugh with him. The sadness she had felt with the mundane routine which filled their lives dropped away. Her eyes filled with light again and she regained her vivid personality.
Going forward, Angelica and Henry were far more content than they had been in a long time. The river became a symbol of their undying affection, and in the summer they often revelled in its cooling waters, those same waters that had healed their relationship. As they felt the heat of the sun touching their faces, watching the drooping leaves of the willows which created a private archway for them, they realised that this happy marriage was now their reality.
*** THE END ***
Back to Contents
Book Eight
Back to Contents
THE HERO’S WIDOW
By Sarah Styler
Chapter 1
West Michaelson looked out of the window and sighed. With each passing moment, he was flying closer and closer to his home. The small town of Franklin had long been precious in his thoughts, somewhere he ached to return to – but now that his mission had changed into something else, he was no longer so eager.
It was at least a comfort that he did not have to deal with any civilians just yet. He was being shipped back home from a SEAL mission, and it was just him and a few other members of troops from team 9 on board the flight. They had dropped in at headquarters first for debriefing, then the troops had been split down and sent home to their various corners of the US, seeing family again for the first time in long months.
His heart should have been light: mission completed, duty done, he had a little while at least to rest and relax in the company of those who mattered. West was not married, but he had his parents and little sister to visit. They were always glad to have him home. Then maybe he’d meet someone new this time, get to thinking about settling down.
He shook his head, still staring out of the window and lost in thought. The mission was complete, but to call it a success would have been too far. He couldn’t imagine himself settling down any time soon, having people rely on him. Having people waiting for him, their lives arrested every time he went away. Like John.
He looked down at the dog tags he held in one hand, the metal catching the light and throwing silver squares across his face. John. John was the reason why that mission had not been a success – why it was only sufficient to call it complete. John Andrews was their primary driver and navigator, one of the most useful men in the troop when they had to get around. He and West had served together, gone through training together, even joined up together. Like West, John was from that little town of Franklin. They had grown up across the street from one another, both sets of parents proud as anything when the two boys had made it to a SEAL unit.
What were they going to say now, he wondered?
The last raid had gone south, something horribly wrong even from the start. West had tasted it on the air – they all had. Something was just not right about the whole situation from beginning to end. It ended with John dead, sprawled across the wheel and painting blood over the controls, and West desperately trying to steer while his right leg slipped and slid on the wet accelerator. It was a memory he was trying hard to forget.
John had been his best friend since they were at school together. West had even been his best man when he got married to Shelley a couple of years ago. John had wanted to give up then, found a new reason to want to stay home. He’d always followed West’s lead, but truth be told he’d have been just as happy with any kind of job that used his skills. He didn’t have to be a SEAL. He didn’t have to get himself shot in the gut thousands of miles from home with his best friend trying to save the rest of the troop so hard he couldn’t spare a hand to try and stop the bleeding.
West had been given a hero’s welcome at the briefing. They told him that his quick actions in taking control of the vehicle had saved the lives of the rest of his troop. There was even talk of a medal in his future. A hero’s welcome was what awaited him at home, too, he knew – even if this time it was going to be a little more muted. But he knew he wasn’t a hero, and he would never accept a medal. If it wasn’t for him, John Andrews would never have been anywhere but Franklin.
The journey was something of a blur. He couldn’t square what had happened in his mind with this image of happy home life, coming back to play Xbox games and enjoy meals in front of the TV. Besides anything else, life at home was always John. Drinks with John, dinner with John and Shelley, going fishing with John. What was he supposed to do now?
His family were full of smiles, greeting him with the warmth and excitement they always reserved for his return from a mission. His sister wanted to tell him about college and what it was like to live in dorms. His mother had baked his favorite cake as a welcome home surprise. All of them, somewhere behind the smiles and the hugs, were holding back from mentioning the elephant in the room.
Only once, while they were waiting to load his bags into the car, did his Mom lean her head into his shoulder and rub his arm. “Oh, love,” she said, and internally West translated: I’m sorry you lost your best friend and that we don’t know what it was like out there or how to begin to comfort you.
There wasn’t much time to relax. One half sleepless night, jumping at shadows on the walls when the headlights of cars passed by the house, settling back in to an environment that was familiar and yet not. He knew it would take him a few days to settle down, at any rate. That was always the way. One hurried shower and shave, while his Mom prepared his dress uniform and smoothed out all the travel creases. Then one short drive to the local funeral home, the only one in Franklin, to be ready for John’s funeral.
West stood stiffly, resisting the urge to fuss with his collar, congregating with the other pall bearers in a shuffle of formal shoes and black jackets. John’s father – who he had always known simply as Mr Andrews – gave him a silent pat on the back that turned into a tearful embrace, and West sighed to feel the frailty of the man that had turned old while they were away. He took the dog tags from his pocket and showed them to his friend’s father, but the man just shook his head and told West to keep them for Joh
n’s wife.
Then he looked up and saw Shelley staring at him, and knew there was going to be some kind of trouble.
Chapter 2
Shelley was looking at him like a woman possessed. She had dark smudges around her eyes already where her make-up had moved around, pushed from side to side by fingers wiping away tears. Shelley was a widow now. From the way she was looking at him, it was clear she had a strong idea about why that was.
Catching her eye was like taking a knife to the chest. If looks could kill, he’d be sharing the funeral with John. Someone tugged on her arm and pulled her inside, as the rest of the mourners gathered to take their seats and listen to what everyone had to say. West trailed in behind them, reluctant to face her again.
John’s father spoke, and his younger brother. Shelley got up to speak, but only managed to say a few short words about how much she loved John before she was overcome with tears again and had to be led back to her seat. Then, all too soon, it was his turn.
West had written down a few things to say, and the most he could do was to read them out, blinking back stinging tears. He spoke about how brave and reliable John was, and how he’d always had his buddy to rely on when things got tough. How it was a cruel turn of fate that had the bullet hit John, not skim off somewhere harmlessly. How he wished he could bring him back. Last of all, he told the friends and family who were gathered there in black about how he was going to miss his friend, and then he made a smart salute and sat down.