His Bonnie Bride Hannah Howell (e reader comics TXT) 📖

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Tavis lay on the bed holding Storm as she fought desperately to control her sobs, dry now for she had used up all of her tears. Comfort was not something he was accustomed to doling out, but the emotions he still tried to ignore made him an unknowing expert. He truly felt for her in her grief and understood her great loss, because he had but recently come so near to losing his own father. This honest sympathy was conveyed silently to the grief-stricken woman he held and tried to soothe.

He also wondered what would happen now. There was no fear of her being sent back to Hagaleah, ransom or no, for he knew his father would not do that, not when he knew what would happen to her when Sir Hugh got his hands on her. Tavis was ashamed at the small part of him that felt relief, even joy, over the fact that she could now stay with him. That benefit had been gained at too great a cost. He concentrated on stopping her rending sobs.

Slowly Tavis's efforts seeped through Storm's grief. She continued to fight to still the weeping that had totally possessed her. Recalling the struggling life her body harbored helped her. She knew such strong emotion could have an ill effect upon her baby. Clinging to Tavis, she sought to absorb his tender comfort as well as his strength and, slowly, she regained some sense of composure.

Like some broken doll, she lay limp as he cleaned her face and forced some whiskey down her throat. Her slim body still shook with silent tremors even though her tears were spent. Her eyes stayed fixed upon him throughout his gentle ministrations, and the flat desolation he read there unnerved him. He feared her loss had proven too great a burden for her. Such a tragedy had been known to break the spirit or the mind. When he moved from the bed she grasped his wrist with surprising strength and prevented him from rising.

"Stay with me, please," she croaked in a thin voice. "I feel so alone and it frightens me."

Lying on his side, Tavis put an arm around her tiny waist and tucked her securely against himself. "Ye arenae alone, lass. There's Phelan who loves ye and needs ye. Aye, and though ye be an Eldon, 'tis many a friend ye have at Caraidland." He wondered briefly at the look of pain that flickered over her face. "Ye arenae the sort that will e'er be alone."

She closed her eyes so that he could not see how his words hurt even as they helped. Storm had no hopes that he would now declare an undying love, but it hurt to hear him talk of friendships. The one thing that could ease the loss of so many of her kin, as well as her godfather and his son, her friend, was Tavis's love, but that was to be denied her. Straining to draw upon some of her former strength and practicality, she tried to be content with his sincere tenderness and attempts to ease her pain.

"At least I was able to send them off that day with words of love," she whispered.

"Ye speak of love to your family?" he asked softly as his fingers began to idly take down her hair.

"Aye. 'Tis only the truth. I have the comfort of knowing that my family and my dear friends, the Fosters, knew of my love for them ere they died, as I now hold the knowledge that they loved me. 'Tis a feeling to be shared, not held close and secretive. Mayhaps knowing that they were loved and would be remembered eased their minds. The thought that they knew naught of my love for them is not now added to my sorrow. I do not hold a grief for lost chances or unsaid words." She ignored a slight feeling of hypocrisy as she continued to hide the truth of her love for Tavis, for such a declaration would only discomfort him and bring her more pain when her sentiments went unreturned. "We also spoke of our love for each other whene'er we had to part, for each parting could have been the last. I care for ye, Tavis," she said softly, not wanting to leave her heart fully locked and the knowledge forever hidden.

"I ken ye do, lass," he replied as he held her tighter. "Ye tell me that each time we make love. Ye ken that I have a soft spot or twa for ye, that I think ye the best I have e'er kenned. I like ye, Storm, and 'tis something I've nay said to a woman. Aye, I like ye and I trust ye."

"Thank ye, Tavis," she murmured, knowing with an inner delight that eked through her desolation that she had gained more from Tavis than any other woman had. "What will happen to Phelan and me now?"

"Ye willnae be given to Sir Hugh, but other than that I cannae say just now." He caressed the thick, silken cloud of her hair that now hung free. "Dinnae think on it now, lass."

"Tavis? Will ye make love to me now?" she asked softly as she looked into his face.

"Now, lass?" he asked as he fought the sudden rush of desire that flooded him. "Are ye sure?"

"Aye." She began to unlace his tunic. "I feel so lost, so alone. There is an emptiness in me, a black desolation that is frightening me." She met his concerned look. "I fear twill ne'er leave me. I need to know that I can still feel, that I have not been left but an empty husk by my loss. Give me the pleasure and reality of your lovemaking to break its chilling hold. I crave warmth to ease my chill. Is that wrong, Travis?" she asked in a small voice.

"Nay, lass," he replied softly as he shed his clothes and began to unlace