“This bed is very comfortable,” he observed but made his point by shifting his h*ps between her legs then he watched with satisfaction as her eyelids lowered and her lips parted.
Then she lifted her head to touch her lips to his throat and dropped it back.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “It is. But so is your bed on your ship.” She grinned again. “I like the velvet blankets.” Her four limbs gave him a squeeze as did her sex and a short, low rumble slid up his throat which caused her to smile a very appealing, very sated smile. “And it’s narrow so we have to cuddle,” she concluded.
“We cuddle even in this big bed,” Frey pointed out.
“Indeed,” she whispered, her eyes growing soft and moving over his face before she said quietly, “If you wish to stay, husband, I’m good with staying.”
“And if you wish to go, wife, I’m good with going,” he replied and she smiled again.
“Then we’ll go,” she decided, Frey smiled back and dropped his head to touch his lips to hers.
“Yes, my wee one,” he said softly after he lifted his head, “we’ll go.”
Her hand drifted up his spine and into his hair as her eyes drifted to his mouth.
She touched her lips to his and repeated quietly, “We’ll go.”
Then she kissed him, unhooked a leg from his hip, planted her foot in the bed and bucked to roll him to his back.
He allowed this because she went with him.
Then he allowed his wife to make best use of their big, soft bed.
Again.
* * * * *
Frey moved through the bedroom to get his gloves. After her archery lesson with Annar, he was taking her riding through his estate and the village one last time before they left early the next morning.
Absently, his eyes moved through the room which had been the setting for some very happy memories since they arrived nearly six weeks ago after docking the ship in Bellebryn, staying in that small city state for a week because Finnie was enthralled by its charm and then making their way into Hawkvale to his chateau.
Finnie had been even more Finnie as she discovered the appeal of Hawkvale (though she surprised him by telling him she favored Lunwyn, felt more at home there and preferred the clothing of Fyngaard). She’d delighted in every second they spent in Bellebryn, travelling to then being at his chateau and, as always with Finnie, she didn’t hide it.
And Frey delighted in giving it to her.
Even so, without Finnie in his arms and Frey in her, he had to admit he was ready to move on. He could not remember the last time he’d stayed in one place for so long and as enjoyable as it was with Finnie, he was keen to take her on her next adventure.
His step slowed and his brows drew together as he saw one of Finnie’s small trunks open on the dresser. Jewelry and hair bobs spilled out and poking out of the top was the edge of a small envelope used by herbalists to hold tinctures or powders to prepare draughts.
Frey moved to it automatically, feeling mild surprise. Except for the falsehood she told of being unwell when they argued about Viola, Finnie had not ever complained of feeling sick and he knew the adela tree bark used for tea was always ritually held in a purple pouch as a nod to the goddess, not to mention, she’d told him she only had enough for that one cup.
When he arrived at the dresser, he saw there was more than one of these small envelopes in her trunk. In fact, there were several. He lifted one out, folded open the top, put it to his nose and he smelled a hint of citrus, rosemary, ginger all of it nearly overwhelmed by the aroma of mint.
His body froze but even so heat burned from his gut upwards, setting fire to his chest.
He knew that smell.
Pennyrium.
Pennyrium.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, that whisper shaking with fury.
His wife was dosing with gods damned pennyrium to guard against conceiving his gods damned child.
Without his knowledge.