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Neither of them had shifted their gaze from the other. Fleur rejoined him at the edge of the bed, as Tom caught her intention and winced to move slightly onto one of his narrow hips to make room. They were both keenly aware of the arousal that was filling the space between them like an entity, drawing them together. She daren’t look towards Tom’s shorts, knowing already what she’d encounter because his dilating pupils and the look in his expression told her there was suddenly something urgent and driven taking over his thoughts.

His voice was croaky, even if hers hadn’t betrayed her. ‘Fleur, I think—’

‘Shhh,’ she murmured and, without giving herself pause, she undressed, shocked by her need to feel his skin against her own and by her rising passion to heal Tom in the way women had been healing men since the beginning of humanity.

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘Not a single doubt,’ she replied, undoing her satin bra, letting it drop before her – rather wantonly, she had the mindfulness to note – before she slipped in beside him carefully. ‘Are you able to?’

He glanced down to where his arousal defied her query. ‘I’ll manage,’ he said, his bruised and battered face still managing a crooked smile. ‘Are we safe?’

‘This time of the month, yes. But honestly, do I care?’ She held up her hand to admire the ring again.

Tom pulled her to him.

They moved slowly, tenderly, Fleur trying not to hurt him and Tom sensing he mustn’t hurt her. He didn’t ask if he was her first and she didn’t offer the information. The unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies meant Fleur was almost ready to plead with Tom to take the next step. Finally, gradually and with such gentleness that surely hurt him to achieve, Fleur felt Tom fully. She’d expected pain but found only minor resistance, and she was also so desperate by then that her slightly ragged breathing matched his. And a new rhythm began between them. He never took his gaze from hers until the final heartbeat when he surrendered to her body. She adored the tremor that ran through both of them, and wished she could hang onto that sensation a few moments longer because it felt in that breathless space as though nothing else mattered.

And then relief seemed to sweep through him and Tom was sighing with the pain that followed the pleasure. She encouraged him to turn, so she could cup her body around his and feel her skin against Tom’s. She felt his body from shoulder to toes shudder once and then relax as though she’d administered a drug – perhaps she had; love and lust were a powerful union. He was clasping one of her hands, the one that wore his ring, against his firm, warm belly. Her other hand got lost in his thick, golden hair, which she stroked until Tom’s breathing turned deep and rhythmic.

It was only now that Fleur allowed herself private time for amazement. She was in a man’s bed. How reckless, but how delicious too! In the bed of the man she loved, though, and would always love until someone like her would need to care for her lifeless body. I want us to be cremated, and for our ashes to be shaken up together in a single urn and then scattered somewhere vast and spectacular, she thought, to echo how her love for Tom felt.

She snuggled closer, inhaling the scent of his skin. At first it was antiseptic and all the places the hospital team had attended to on his battered body and face. But the back of his shoulder that she kissed gently now tasted and smelled different; this was the true smell of Tom. It was like a softly spiced wood . . . dry, of the earth, and wonderfully reassuring.

21

Tom seemed to be sleeping the sleep of the dead, but his breathing was even and deep – healing. Her wonder had lasted for hours. Pleasurable thoughts of life with Tom swirled about her as the night drew itself out of its darkest hours and into the first lightening of morning, and still he slept until she heard people moving around, then the sound of crockery and cutlery as the kitchen downstairs began to busy. And still Tom slept. His body needed it and she smiled, remembering how that body had felt some hours before. As if he could hear her thoughts of their lovemaking, he finally stirred.

‘How are you feeling?’ she whispered, getting out of the bed to make room for him. She quickly dressed.

‘Are you leaving?’ he asked, sounding wounded. ‘I’m sorry that I ignored you since . . . well, you know.’

She laughed. ‘You didn’t, Tom. You did more for my emotions while silent and sleeping than anyone has since my mother passed away. I do have to leave, though. I shall pretend I simply sat and watched you all night. Tell me, how are you feeling?’

‘Better. I haven’t slept that well in years.’ He smiled. ‘Pain’s coming back now, though.’

‘Right. I’m going to organise for some soup, bread and cheese to be brought up and also some rich ale. My father drinks a little too much of it, but I happen to know that beer has healing qualities, plus it gets lots of liquid into you. I’ll organise a chamber pot if—’

‘No, don’t do that, Fleur. I’m no invalid. I’ll get to the bathroom all right.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes. In the bush we get moving as soon as we can after any injury.’

‘Well, I need to go home and check if there have been any deaths.’ At his surprised look, she explained. ‘I mean, any called in by grieving clients who need our services.’

‘Ah. Right.’

‘I’ll come back later.’

‘No, Fleur. You just go do what you have to. I’m going to be fine. I don’t need mothering, I promise. I’ll probably need a couple of days.’

She nodded. ‘All right. I’ll leave any messages with the publican and you can have him ring me if you need anything at all. Don’t be bashful about asking for help,’ she said, holding up her left hand. ‘We belong to each other now.’

He grinned. ‘Kiss me and go, or I’ll find a way to make you stay.’

She checked her clothes were all straight and buttoned correctly, using the small mirror on the chest of drawers, then bent down and kissed him gently. ‘Those wounds on your lips need to heal or they’ll never get well.’

‘Keep kissing them better,’ he suggested, winning a smile.