***
“Thank you, my lord,” she breathed. She caressed his beard with her hand as he lay next to her. Her eyes were still bright with tears, but she was no longer crying.
“Thank you, milady,” he smiled back. He took her hand in his and kissed it.
“Is that what it is supposed to be like?” she whispered. “All thunder and lightning and earthquake?”
“Yes,” he replied, and kissed her hand again. She laughed quietly. “Ah, I feel free! I feel as if I could fly!”
“Quiet, milady,” he put a finger to her lips. “Not so loudly.”
“Yes.” She whispered, snuggling closer to him. He held her gently. She felt small and young and fragile in his arms. For a time, they were silent, except when she murmured contentedly. She ran her fingertips through his beard, through the hairs on his chest, and then throu
