“Then it is true?” Betsy’s eyes grew wide and a beaming smile lit her face. “Oh, m’lady! How wonderful. I had begun to wonder, what with your courses being so late.” Betsy turned to Anselm. “How far along is she?”
“Four months.” Anselm puffed out his chest with all the pride of a strutting peacock. “The most dangerous time has now passed, or so I believe,” he said knowledgeably.
Miriam sighed and flopped back down on the bed. The whole world seemed to be overly interested in her womanly cycle these days, from the king right down to the youngest scullery maid.
Betsy, meanwhile, was nodding sagely at Anselm. “Yes, indeed, m’lord. That is true enough. Even so, one cannot be too careful. You are most wise to ensure our lady does not overtax herself. Had I known the glad tidings sooner I would have taken extra precautions to insure my mistress’s comfort on the long journey north. All that bumping along in a carriage cannot have been good for her or the babe.”
“Quite so. Then you understand why I insist that she takes some proper rest before tonight’s festivities?”
Betsy grinned and reached out to squeeze Anselm’s hand. “You’re a good husband, m’lord. Indeed you are. I shall return in a few hours with a fortifying cordial. Now rest, the pair of you. I will make sure you are not disturbed.” With one last delighted smile, Betsy was gone.
Anselm chuckled as he slid the top bolt. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our dear Betsy sets up a sentry point outside the door. She may be small but she can be rather fierce when the mood takes her.”
Miriam glared at her husband, trying her best to look stern. “Who else have you told?”
“Barely anyone at all.”
“Who?”
“Seth… Vadim… Percy… Oh, and Hugh.” Anselm wandered to the bed shedding his outer clothes as he went. “No one else, really.”
“How about the stable boy? Surely you told him as you handed over your precious horse?”
Anselm shrugged and suddenly would not meet her eyes. “I may have let something slip.”
Miriam laughed. Really, he was like a naughty little boy at times. “Is there anyone in Edgeway who doesn’t know?” she demanded.
“Rodmar and Hortensia. I thought you might like to do the honors there.”
“Oh, thank you very much.” As Anselm clambered up onto the bed beside her, Miriam gave an annoyed little huff and turned away, but it was all for show and he knew it. As much as she wanted to hold on to her annoyance with Anselm, she couldn’t. Not when every day of their married life so far had been filled with such happiness.
Anselm could be infuriating at times—utterly exasperating, in fact—but he was her whole world. He loved her with everything he was and was never afraid to show it.
“Dearest?” The mattress dipped as he crawled up behind her.
Miriam grunted in reply.
“Are you cross with me?” His warm breath caressed her ear, sending delightful tingles racing up and down her spine.
“Whatever gave you that idea, you great, loose-lipped tattle-monger?”
“Oh, dear. You really are miffed with me, aren’t you? How can I make it up to you, I wonder.” Slowly and deliberately, he traced the slope of her exposed shoulder with his fingers. Moments later, his lips followed the same path, kissing and tasting her flesh, right up to her neck until Miriam was quaking with awareness.
Anselm’s touch was always magical. It never failed to transform her core into one of raw molten hunger. “Would you like me to sing to you? Would that help?”
Miriam snorted. “Please don’t.” Whatever other talents her handsome husband possessed, singing definitely wasn’t amongst them. The man was tone-deaf.
“Well, if you don’t kiss me, I shall. Consider that your final warning.”
When Miriam didn’t immediately turn around to face him, Anselm began crooning a popular, supposedly romantic, ballad of a young lady who cruelly spurned the tender advances of a poor man’s son. He barely made it to the chorus before Miriam was giggling uncontrollably, all pretense of anger set aside.
“Oh, please… stop,” she begged turning to him, teary mirth pouring from her eyes. “No more… or I shall need the ch-chamber p-pot again.” Pregnancy seemed to have shrunk her bladder to the size of a thimble.
“Wicked wench.” Laughing, Anselm seized Miriam and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him until she was laid fully stretched out on top of him. “So now you don’t like my singing?”
“I never did.”
“What a terrible thing to admit to your devoted husband. I thought you loved me.”
“Oh, I do, Northman. With all my heart, but you must admit you have no talent for music…”
“Charming.”
“Nor for keeping secrets.”
“You think so, do you?”
“Um-hmm.” Smiling, Miriam cupped his face and, lowering her head, she took his lower lip between her teeth and gently sucked upon it.
“Witch.” Anselm shivered. “What am I to do with you, eh?”
“Oh, I can think of several things,” she replied seductively, blatantly moving her hips against him. Now that the horrid sickness stage was over, her body craved the deeper intimacy that had marked the earlier months of their marriage.
“Behave yourself, princess. No nonsense now, or I will be forced to restrain you.”
“Really? How delightful,” she purred. “Had I known the consequences, I would have insulted you sooner.”
“No. It’s not good for the baby.”
“But it’s extremely good for his mother.” Miriam wriggled a little more for good measure and had the satisfaction of feeling Anselm’s body hardening against her. “Please, Anselm? It’s been so long.”
Anselm snorted. “If a few weeks could be described thus then—yes—it’s been an absolute eternity.”
“Don’t you want me anymore?” She pouted, determined to have her way with him. “Is that it?”
“No! That’s not it at all,” he declared heatedly.
“I warn you now, m’lord, if you take a mistress I will hunt you down and kill the pair of you—”
Suddenly he was kissing her. Deeply. Hungrily. As though the past weeks of abstinence had never happened. Miriam moaned within his mouth and Anselm growled in response, his hands brazenly roaming beneath the voluminous folds of her shift, exploring until Miriam was gasping with need.
Once they were both naked, Anselm slowly worshiped her body with his mouth until she was weak and trembling. Only then did he finally surrender, giving himself to her fully in the way she so desperately needed. But he was gentle. So slow and tender, as if he feared she would break beneath him at any moment.
Finally spent, they collapsed onto the bed, breathing fast. Replete and content. But even then Anselm did not release her. Instead, he kept her secure within the loving circle of his arms until sleep beckoned.
Miriam yawned and stretched, her body limp and languid. She pressed her nose into her husband’s neck, inhaling his warm, familiar scent. “I love you, Northman.”
“I love you… too, my… Mirry. I always have.”
No matter what surprises life threw at them, somehow Miriam knew that he always would.
Her and their new family. Just as she would always love them.
With a smile, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Also by NJ Layouni
Hemlock: Tales of a Traveler (Book One)
Wolfsbane: Tales of a Traveler (Book Two)
Ironheart: Anselm’s Tale: Tales of a Traveler (Book Three)
A Scruple of Saffron: Tales of A Traveler (Book Four) A novella.
King’s Errand: Tales of a Traveler (Book Five)
Author’s Note:
Hello again.
I hope you enjoyed the final book of the Tales of a Traveler series. There’
s nothing I like better than a nice happily ever after. Hopefully, I’ve managed to tie up all the loose ends—I’m sure you’ll let me know if I missed any!
Thank you once again for the constant support and encouragement I’ve received over the years. The kindness of my wonderful readers is one of the things that my job so much fun.
As always, I have a list of people to thank, for a book doesn’t write itself.
To all my newsletter friends. Thank you for your friendship and your fantastic feedback. (Don’t forget to leave me a review!)
To Glendon and all the lovely folks over at Streetlight Graphics, thank you for all the amazing covers you’ve given me over the course of this series.
A huge thank you to Nicole Lee-Zakaib and Andrea – my extraordinary typo-spotters. If there’s anything left to be squished in this manuscript, ladies, the fault is entirely my own!
To my long-suffering family and friends. Thank you for putting up with me while I’m in creative mode. Hopefully, I can take a little break from my writer’s cave and rejoin the real world for a time!
To my cats, Ginger and Tyra. Thanks for all the distraction therapy… not!
Last of all, to you, dear reader. Thank you for taking a chance on an unknown author. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride.
Before I go, please would you consider leaving a review somewhere? It doesn’t have to be longer than a few words, just enough to share your thoughts and experiences with other readers. You have no idea how much reviews matter to an independent author. (Okay, I’ll stop going on now! :) )
Until the next grand adventure, T.T.F.N, I hope to see you then.
N x
About the Author
N.J. Layouni has been weaving stories all of her life—even before she could actually write. For many years, she was a dedicated ‘closet writer’. As a result, the attic space of her home is stuffed to the rafters with piles of aging manuscripts depicting fantastical romantic adventures. Tales of daring sword-wielding heroes and strong, feisty damsels who aren’t too tough to accept a helping hand sometimes.
As well as being a mouthpiece for the various characters living inside her head, N.J. is a wife, and mother of two children. She lives in Lancashire, UK.
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njlayouni.com
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