True to form, before Mara could open her mouth to reply, the door had opened, and Elise marched in, laying a tray on the table with a grin flashed in their direction. "Wait until you get where, may I ask?" Mara snickered, twisting to look over at her nurse and maid with a grin of her own. She didn't say a word, though, holding the gaze until Elise laughed. "All right, you, have your secret," she snorted, rolling her eyes. She looked over at Duncan. "Going to keep her out all night, are we?"

"With your leave, lady," he replied with a grin of his own. It seemed he was in good spirits this morning and he was determined not to let anything ruin his mood or the plans they had made for the day. He had a feeling Elise wouldn't begrudge Mara anything that made her happy, and Duncan definitely seemed to fit the bill.

The older woman rolled her eyes again, eying them both suspiciously. She had no idea where it was they went when they disappeared, but Mara was always returned in good spirits and fine health, so she had no objection. "Well, I'd best go and talk Cook into putting together something for you both, then," she conceded, turning toward the door. "Oh ....Duncan, Beryl sent over some less constraining clothing this morning, I've left it over the chair there. I'll send your dinner things back to her later. One horse or two?"

Duncan didn't need to glance at Mara for an answer - he enjoyed feeling her arms snug around his waist as much as she loved pressing her face against his back. "One. Thank you, Elise." He said it almost as if he was lord and master of the house, which he would be one day. He had never asserted himself or lorded his social status over either of them, treating them both as equals, though society did not deem them as such. He had never thought of the servants as any less important than himself, knowing that they were the ones who kept the manor running and without whom, he'd have been lost long ago.

"I might have guessed." Elise shook her head; she'd given up trying to make Mara conform in some areas. "Well, eat your breakfast and get dressed. Everything will be ready for you in an hour." She nodded to them both, drawing the doors closed as she left the room. Mara dissolved into giggles, tipping her head back to kiss the colorful bruise on Duncan's jaw. "You really will have to let go now."

"Only for now!" he said, brushing a kiss against her forehead, warm and affectionate, before he let go of her and rolled off the bed in nothing but his braes to take a peek at what Elise had brought for the breakfast. "I'm so hungry I could eat a cow!" he said as he went over to the table to peek at the tray. What he really wanted was a nice, strong, hot cup of tea to chase away what was left of his headache.

He was in luck. Though, like everything else Elise and Mara both had a hand in, the food was simple, it was well prepared. The tea was piping hot, steaming from the spout of the pot that stood in the center of the tray. "If there's a cow on that tray, I'll go without," Mara laughed in response, slithering from the bed in her own time, pausing to reach for her wrap. It was one thing to sleep in a chemise that just barely dropped past her knees; it was quite another to wander around in it in broad daylight.

He caught sight of her getting out of bed and he shooed her back into bed with a wave of his hand. "Stay there. I'll bring it to you." No longer inebriated, he had no problem picking up the tray and bringing it over to the bed so they could enjoy breakfast together, unseparated by a table and chairs.

He'd caught her by surprise again. Blinking wide eyes, mildly astonished that he was actually bringing the tray over to the bed in the first place, she dropped her wrap and dove under the sheets once again, golden hair wild about her face as she blushed. "I thought I was supposed to wait on you," she teased softly, patting the sheets beside her in invitation.

"Can't I spoil my future wife a little bit?" he asked as he settled himself on the bed and set the tray between them. "Besides, I owe you for last night. I was an *ss. I'm sorry." He frowned, looking apologetic, even a little embarrassed about his behavior the previous evening.

If there had been any upset or resentment about the disruption of the previous night, it was gone now, evidenced by the sweet grin Mara cast in his direction as she reached to pour the tea. "You don't need to apologize," she promised him through her smile. "You let me punch you." She flashed him a grin that was decidedly less than sweet, and handed him a teacup.

He chuckled, remembering at least a little of the previous evening. He rubbed his chin where she'd punched him, evidenced by the discolored bruising left by her fist. "Remind me never to give you lessons in self-defense when I've been drinking." He took the cup of tea from her and added a little sugar and cream, savoring the warm comfort of it as it went down, chasing away the leftover taste of wine from the previous night. "By the way," he started as he lowered the cup and turned to set it on the night table. "If you ever really do need to defend yourself, just go for the family jewels."

"Oh, I know about that," she laughed, tossing the comment to one side with innocent aplomb as she sipped her own tea, black and with lemon. "I just didn't want to damage you. I have plans for your family jewels, you know." Someone with as cherubic a face as hers should not have been able to snicker quite so wickedly, but somehow Mara managed it.

He smirked, going along with the game, as he picked the cover off the tray to see what Elise and the cook had concocted for their breakfast. "And what, pray tell, is that?" he asked, in reference to her plans for him, knowing full well what they were without really having to ask.

Beneath the cover were toasted bread and butter, smoked kippers, cold cuts of ham, and a small bowl of grapes. Just like every other meal Mara ate - simple, without fuss. She stuck her tongue out at Duncan, refusing to answer his question. "I never pray," was her cheeky response to that.

"How many children do you think we'll have?" The question was as unexpected for him as it was for her, but he found himself asking it, prompted by her remark about his family jewels. He took up a slice of toast and just about inhaled it, while he awaited her reply.

Her mouth dropped open, thankfully not full of kipper. "I ....I ....what?" A moment of stammering didn't produce much else that was coherent, but a mouthful of tea did, showing off that petulant side that was the last remaining vestige of Mara's childish humors. "I don't want to have children for years and years yet. I'm not sharing you with some squawky, loud bundle of stink until I have to."

He laughed at her reaction to his question. He wasn't planning on having children for some years yet either. They were, in fact, barely children themselves, though they more than likely didn't think so. "Not now, silly. I mean after we're married. Years and years from now." He put an emphasis on her own words, exaggerating them as he plucked up a slice of ham and laid it over another slice of toast before taking a bite.

Narrowing her eyes, she pouted playfully, sticking her nose in the air rather than meet his gaze and show off the smirk in her own eyes. "You're an *ss," she informed him, only just managing to keep the twitch of her lips from becoming a full blown grin by stuffing a mouthful of food past them.

He laughed again at her insult, having already called himself such. Neither of them could know it at the time, but he'd be called that very thing many times in the years to come. "Six," he declared, choosing what he thought was a nice round number. "Six sons and one daughter," he added with a smug grin. "One very spoiled daughter, just like her mother."

He shook his head, having already decided that he was never going to risk losing someone else he loved to drowning. He was going to make certain she knew how to swim before the summer was out. "No, I'm going to teach you." He'd already decided and there was no changing his mind. Besides, it would give them a good excuse to sneak away to the cottage more often. Thoughts of his sister's death faded, and the smile returned to his face. "I don't need to take you to the lake to leer at you."

She giggled, moving over to him to draw her fingers through his hair. "You're a scoundrel, Duncan Mallory," she informed him in her sweetest tone. Moments later, her grip had tightened, and she pulled him down into a hard kiss, promising him without words that he wasn't going to lose her in some watery accident. Or at all, if she had any choice in the matter.

Whatever uncertainty or fear he was feeling was dispelled by that kiss, which was returned with equal fervor, and as much as he wanted her, he didn't want her there. He wanted her all to himself, someplace where no one would find them or intrude at an inopportune time. His hands found her waist and remained there, fighting down the desire that swelled and crested, like the tide on the lake. After a moment, he broke away from her lips, face beaming with happiness. "You love me, Mara Devine."

"Oh, is that what this is?" she teased, glad to see him smiling once again, made happier still by the confidence of his hands on her as she struggled to keep the obvious flush from her skin. "I thought it might just be indigestion." She laughed, nipping a softer kiss to his lips, sliding her hand down his arm to twine her fingers with his. "Come on, they must be ready for us to go by now."

"If this is indigestion, I never want to be well again," he returned with a smile, linking his fingers to hers, even as her lips touched his briefly. He could never get enough of her kisses, it seemed, each one sweeter than the last. He brooked no argument, as anxious to be away from the city as she was and away from those who might interfere.

They were in luck - Elise had apparently instilled into the cook a need for urgency. As Mara pulled Duncan out into the courtyard that held the building back from the street, they were just finishing packing the saddlebags on Duncan's black stallion. The groom took one look at the pair just emerging and swallowed his grin, bringing the horse around as Elise shooed the cook away and curtseyed to the pair, only a little mockingly. "See you come back in one piece," was all she said, trusting Duncan to look after Mara no matter where it was they were going.

"I'll bring her home safely," he assured the older woman, turning to Mara to hoist her onto the stallion's back. The horse was large and strong and sleek - a horse fit for battle, fit for a warrior, or for a nobleman.

The two women shared a squeeze of hands and a wild grin as Mara was lifted up, edging herself backwards and off the saddle to leave room for Duncan to swing up in front of her. As usual, she showed little to no decorum in the arrangement of her skirts, which Elise tugged down to cover her legs with a tut of amused disapproval. "Go on, then, ride off into the distance," the older woman chuckled, dismissing the groom with a smile.

He climbed up onto the horse with graceful ease, as if it was something he could do in his sleep and settled himself in front of her, waiting for her to make herself comfortable behind and wrap her arms around him so she wouldn't fall off. He smiled at Elise's remark, glancing over his shoulder at Mara to make sure she was settled in. "Ready?" he asked, taking hold of the horse's reins.

She fitted snugly to his back, wrapping her arms around him a little more tightly than was, perhaps, necessary. One of those hands tucked her fingers into the open neck of his tunic, skin to skin, as she kissed his cheek. "Ready when you are."

Satisfied she was ready, he kicked the horse into a gallop and off they went, over the cobblestoned streets, through the stifling and crowded city, out into the open air and the surrounding farms and countryside. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, a perfect sunny summer day. The horse seemed happy to be free of the stables and run like the wind, a warm summer breeze whipping through their hair. Duncan nudged the horse's flanks and he ran faster. "Hold on!" he called over his shoulder, feeling wild and free and full of youthful exuberance.

There were very few things Mara loved more than riding with Duncan. It didn't matter where they went, or what was waiting for them. Just the sheer exhilaration of the ride, wrapped close to his back, completely secure in the knowledge that even if she did fall, he'd be there to pick her up again. As the horse picked up speed, she squealed delightedly, letting out a loud whoop of excited laughter, clinging on tighter still as her hair streamed out behind them in the warm breeze.

There was nothing that made one feel so alive as to embrace a little danger, to take a calculated risk, and though Duncan took Mara's safety seriously, he was confident enough in his own skill as a horseman and in the surefootedness of his horse that he couldn't help but take a chance. He turned the horse so that instead of following the road out of town, they broke into a gallop across fields, the horse easily vaulting over wooden fences, up hills and back down again, all the while heading in the direction of the shining silver patch of water a short distance away. Even Duncan whooped with the sheer glee of youthful frivolity and freedom, free of constraints and expectations. This was who he was, who he longed to be, not cooped up in a manorhouse playing the part of a spoiled son, but free to roam, to explore, to live.

Each vaulted fence and hedgeway brought a tightening of her arms around him, each successful landing a laughing whoop to join his, reveling in this suddenly free Duncan who was riding because he enjoyed it. Because he wanted to share that enjoyment with her. Mara couldn't think of anything she'd rather do in that moment, despite the telling slide she was making toward the horse's rear end. They were going to have to have some kind of tandem saddle made if he was going to do this regularly.

But he wouldn't be a good horseman if he didn't sense that, too. The stallion, it seemed, didn't mind. He'd have kept running and jumping all day, if that's what his master wanted, but it wasn't long before Duncan was easing him back into an easy trot as they closed the distance to the lake and the cottage beyond. The horse tossed his head, but obeyed his master and easily carried the pair to their destination. It wasn't just for fun that Duncan had chosen this route, but so that they could avoid the people they might otherwise meet upon the road or in the cottages that lined the lake. From this direction, they were less likely to be seen, and there were enough trees and land around the little house that mostly shielded them from view.

One result of their highly enjoyable ride was that Mara was suddenly in a very playful mood. As the stallion slowed, the sound of his hooves switching from the thump against a dirt track to the crunch of gravel, she let go of Duncan and let herself slide backwards, dropping onto the ground with a silly laugh as she staggered and, predictably enough, fell over, feet flailing.

Thankfully, there was no one there to see her, but Duncan and the horse and the horse didn't seem to care. He tossed his head and snorted lightly as Duncan jumped down from his back, startled and worried at first by her fall, until he realized she was laughing. "I'll have to get a bigger saddle," he said, chuckled at the slippered feet that were flailing in the air. He moved over to offer her a hand and would have flopped down with her that very second, but for the fact that they still had to unpack the saddle bags and stow their things in the cottage for later. "You did that on purpose!"

The grin that was uncovered as she pushed her skirt out of her face was wide and unrepentant, her hand grasping his easily to let him pull her up onto her feet. "I did not do it on purpose!" she protested with a new giggle, wriggling her hand out of his to scurry over and pet his horse, rubbing at the creature's forelock fondly. Yes, Mara was attempting to make Duncan jealous of his own horse. She flickered a cheeky smile his way. "Well, not the falling over part. I forgot how odd it is standing on your own feet when you've been riding something so big for so long."

He only laughed at her threat, which wasn't much of a threat at all, really. He had enjoyed the mouth thing, as she put it, more than she could guess, but there was something they both wanted more. "So long as you promise not to pinch my *ss!" he warned with a grin, blue-gray eyes warm and affectionate. He plucked a bit of grass from her hair and sweep her hair back over her shoulder. "I love you, Mara," he told her softly, unsure why he wanted to say it right at that moment, but he needed her to know it.

She never forgot it, every waking moment and dream that passed, the precious gift of his love for her. But it was always wonderful when he said it aloud, even more so when it happened in a moment that felt as perfect as this one. She positively beamed, leaning into him to nuzzle a soft kiss to his cheek. "I love you back," she promised him, tender and quiet and as fervent as ever she could be. Her hand gently patted his abused rear end. "Let's put the food away."

He smiled in agreement, taking her hand and leading her back to where he'd deposited the bags on the ground before he'd gone running after her. Let's put the food away....And whatever happens afterwards, he thought to himself with a smile. It didn't matter if it happened right away or if it didn't happen until later. Somehow he knew that today was a day neither of them was ever going to forget. What he didn't know was that it was a day they would both cherish and hold onto tightly in the years ahead when they were parted and all seemed lost. For Duncan, it was very nearly the happiest day of his life, and it had only just begun.

Hours later, that whatever happens still hadn't. Somehow, they had gone from teasing one another with kisses, to the domestic chore of settling the cottage to hold them for a day and a night, to playing some ridiculous game that Mara had gleefully made up the rules for as they went along. The main result of this was the reason she was standing up to her thighs in the cool water of the lake, in nothing but her chemise, bent over, arms plunged deep, and trying not to laugh too loudly at how ridiculous she felt. "I thought you said they'd come straight to me," she protested over her shoulder to Duncan, wriggling her fingers in the hope of attracting some harmless fish that wouldn't try and eat her.

As for Duncan, he was standing up to his knees in water, his boots discarded and lying forgotten on the shore, his trousers rolled up, but soaked nonetheless from splashing in the lake. "You move around too much!" he called over at her, shading his eyes with a hand against the summer sun as he watched her in her attempt to catch them some dinner.

She twisted, looking over her shoulder at him with a vaguely indignant flicker to her expression. "Well, you're supposed to be telling me what to do," she pointed out with a grin. At least his clothing wasn't turning transparent as it came into contact with the water ....and he hadn't lost his bloomers in the game they'd abandoned before it got too out of hand, unlike her. "Come over here and help, or I won't ever get dry again!"

"Has anyone ever told you that you whine like a girl?" he teased, sloshing through the water, carefully making his way toward her so he didn't slip on any moss or cut his foot on a stone. He wondered if he shouldn't have left his boots on, but the water felt deliciously cool against his feet and legs, despite the rocky bottom. "How are you going to explain to Elise that you lost your....whatever those silly things are called that you wear beneath your dress?"

"I'm counting on her being too embarrassed to ask me what happened to them," she grinned, her cheeks lighting up in a faintly embarrassed blush of her own as she flicked the water off her hands and in his direction. "What are you going to do with them, anyway' Mount them on your wall?"

"I just might. Like a trophy." He beamed a smile her way, ducking as she flicked water at him, more automatic reaction that any fear of water. He was already wet, after all, and didn't really care if he got wetter. "Do you want to learn how to catch fish or not?" He asked, hands against his hips and looking at her rather matter of factly, though from the gleam in his eyes, she'd be able to tell he was in good humor.

She countered his stance, laying her damp hands on her own hips in an echo, matching his expression gleam for challenging gleam. "Do you want to teach me how to catch fish or not?" she argued through her smile, truly glorying in the silliness that tended to prevail when they were both having fun.

"I thought you wanted to learn to swim. You realize you're going to smell like fish before you're through." Not that it mattered. It didn't bother him one bit if she smelled like seaweed or fish or sunshine and green grass. They were the scent of summer and of wild and exuberant freedom. It was the kind of smell that reminded him what it was to be alive, to have no worries or cares in the world. He thought they could be happy here forever in their little cottage, if only the rest of the world would leave them alone. He knew it was only a dream, but a sweet dream that he couldn't let go. "Watch," he told her as he sloshed around until he was hip deep in water, bent over and cupping his hands to try and catch one of the slippery fish that swam between their legs and around their ankles.

"I'm allowed to change my mind, apparently that's what women do," she answered him smartly, wrapping her arms around herself as he waded past, spending a little more time admiring his rear than actually paying attention. Truth be told, she was actually beginning to get chilly standing in the lake, but she was stubborn enough not to want to let on about this. When her feet went numb, that's when she'd admit to it. "I can't go that deep, you know that would be completely indecent," she laughed as he dropped hip deep into the lapping water. It was bad enough that her chemise was clinging in see-through folds to her thighs at the hem - any deeper, and it wouldn't matter whether she was wearing bloomers or not.

Fortunately for him, he was wearing trousers, but the if they got too wet, they'd cling like a second skin, and then he might as well not be wearing anything at all. Thankfully, he was still wearing his tunic, but even that was getting soaked. The cold didn't seem to bother him much yet, or maybe his feet had gone numb. He crouched down so that he was close to the water, immersing his hands very slowly so as not to disrupt the flow of water. He waited quietly, patiently, until a fish about the size of his foot slithered close, his hands closing about the unsuspecting fish until he had successfully captured it. "See?" he asked, straightening and turning back to her with the fish held triumphantly between his hands. "Like that."

Arms crossed at her waist, Mara watched, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he showed her his fish with such triumph. "But that only works because you have such enormous hands," she informed him impishly. She had a point, although not about his hands being enormous. Her hands just weren't big enough to do more than stroke a fish as it swam past, really. She shivered abruptly, dismissing the feeling as ridiculous under the hot summer sun. "Show me again?"

She couldn't hide the shudder from him. If anything, he was observant, even when he didn't seem to be. "You're shivering," he said with a frown, only realizing at that moment how very cold the water was, despite the heat of the day. "Go wait on the shore and warm up while I catch us a few more." He carefully picked his way toward shore before deeming he was close enough and tossing the poor fish onto land, where it wriggled helplessly.

She pouted, muttering something highly uncomplimentary under her breath about his powers of observation. "I'm all right," she argued once that was done. "It's not like I won't warm up quickly, is it?" He knew her too well not to know what was going on there; Mara didn't want to admit to, well, being a girl when it came to certain matters, no matter how unavoidable that was. He might love all the little touches of femininity about her, but she had days when she despised all of them.

He sighed. He hadn't missed her muttering, and though he hadn't quite caught the words, he knew her well enough to guess what she'd said. "You're not all right," he insisted vehemently. "If you're shivering, that means you're cold. Don't be so bloody stubborn, will you? They're just fish!" He turned his back on her, almost daring her not to obey him, and waddled back into the lake to catch another fish or two or three for dinner.

Passionate was definitely a word that could be used to describe their relationship. Even if they were on the cusp of another argument. Being told what to do in the style of a small child having a tantrum was not something Mara enjoyed, moreover, making her even more stubbornly determined to stay where she was and freeze rather than admit he was right. Besides, it was worth it just to find out what he would do to make his point that she was being ridiculous.

That broke his attention and he turned his head to her, completely losing a perfect chance to catch a fish that was bigger than the other three combined. He furrowed his brows, unsure what she was up to, but trusting she knew what she was doing. Turning back around, he noticed the biggest fish he'd seen all morning swimming merrily away. "Oh, blast!" he exclaimed, sighing in annoyance and slogging forward to try and catch the little bastard, but the fish was too fast for him.

Happy that he wasn't going to argue with her, Mara turned and skipped barefoot across the sandy grass, sweeping up her clothing to take it inside with her. She disappeared in through the gap in the overgrown wall, hurrying to the cottage itself to complete her rather cheeky little plan before he could come and find her.

He didn't have the foggiest what she was up to and was too distracted by the task he'd set out for himself to think on it much. He sighed in annoyance and reclaimed his patient crouch in the lake, remembering a time when his father had taught him to do this very thing - long ago when he was still interested in being a father. He felt a sharp pang in his chest at the memory, but it faded quickly as yet another fish found its way into his little trap. Deft hands quickly captured his prey and he was straightened and picked his way - carefully this time - back to shore to add it to the collection.

Just as she had promised, she wasn't long at all, and when she returned, it was with a wide, unrepentant grin decorating her expression. Her chemise was gone, hung to dry in one of the windows; what she wore instead was worthy of description. For a start, it was his clothing - a shirt ridiculously over-sized on her, the open throat wide enough to threaten the baring of one shoulder as she moved, belted at her waist with one of his belts, and a pair of his braes underneath, for modesty's sake. Her feet were still bare, and her flopping sleeves rolled up to the elbow, but she was, at least, no longer providing such a direct distraction as she had been before.

The distraction didn't really bother him, though it was difficult to get anything done with a half-naked girl around to gawk at. By the time she had returned, he had found his knife and was slicing the poor fish open, beheading and gutting them, one by one. It was not the most pleasant of tasks, but if they wanted to cook them at some point, it had to be done. His wet tunic had been discarded and hung over a tree branch, his arms and shoulders and back already tanned from the sun. His muscles had not yet filled out, but he'd grown taller and his shoulders had become broader, a hint of the man he'd one day become.

It was her turn to be distracted. She was more used to seeing him half naked - and for that matter, completely naked - but for some reason it was different out here in the sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat as she paused, taking in the play of light over skin turning golden, the play of muscles under that skin. Her fingers itched to touch and caress, and being a girl who didn't really repress her desires all that often, she moved to do just that, smoothing her hands over his back as she lowered to sit with him, brushing a kiss to one warm shoulder.

He didn't think too much of her caress, as she had a habit of touching him and kissing him whenever she felt the urge, it seemed, and he never begrudged her that. He did arch a curious brow at her choice of clothing, recognizing his own tunic and braes and chucking a little at the way his clothing fit her - or to be more precise, didn't fit her. "I see you've found dry clothing," he said with a decidedly amused gleam in his eyes.

She stuck her tongue out at him, her own eyes sparkling with amusement, pleased with his curious reaction to her choice of attire. "Which would you rather I do, o masterful one?" she asked playfully. "Run around naked, or in your clothes?" Her toes dug into the sand lightly, reveling in the gritty feeling.

"Hm, good question," he replied with a smile. "But if you run around naked all the time, we won't get much done." Except for one thing that they actually hadn't done yet. He wondered why. Maybe she'd changed her mind and didn't want to anymore, or maybe they were both more nervous than either cared to admit. It was more likely, however, that they'd just gotten distracted with other things and were waiting for the right time. Having fun was just as important, after all. "Have you warmed up?" he asked, still concerned, despite the day's heat.

"Well, I did consider it," she mused teasingly, resting her cheek against his shoulder fondly. "But I'm not quite as brazen as you are. I know, terrible drawback in a whore, but there you go." She didn't use the word as anything but an illustration to a point, and though she knew he didn't like it, she also knew he couldn't really argue with her using it, since that was what she was. Even if she was exclusively his whore for now. "I'll do," she said in answer to his question, drawing her fingertips up and down his back in an almost absent-minded caress, savoring the feel of his warm skin under her touch. "I'm sure you'll be able to think of something that'll warm me up all the way, if you have to."

"Brazen?" he echoed, furrowing his brows in puzzlement. "I'm not brazen....am I?" He wasn't really sure, but he didn't think so. And then she used that word - the word he hated, detested, abhorred, especially when it was used in connection to her. The expression on his face darkened, no matter what context she'd used it in or how she'd meant it in reference to herself. "You're not a whore. You haven't even been deflowered yet," he pointed out, looking back at the fish, tensing beneath her touch, his mood shifting at the very thought of her being labeled a whore.

"You've been naked around me more often than most gentlemen would be comfortable with," she pointed out with a gentle smile, feeling him tense at the use of a single word. Her lips turned against his shoulder, trailing open-mouthed kisses to his neck and up to his ear as she inched close, tucking herself half behind him. Her arms encircled him as she nuzzled tenderly to his flesh, breathing the scent of him in with slow breaths that warmed his skin even in the summer heat. "I love you," was whispered softly against his ear as her palms smoothed over his chest, tracing a familiar route downward, determined to take his mind off what she had called herself.

He slowly relaxed, those three words accompanied by her caress enough to make him forget the other word, or at least, enough to make up for its usage. Still, he had to comment on it, to tell her how he felt, even as his eyes remained fixed on the task at hand, which was nearly finished. "You're not a....a whore....and I wish you wouldn't say you are," he told her, not meeting her gaze, though her touch was having an effect on his body and doing a good job of distracting him from his work. The sun had warmed his skin against her hand, his breath catching in his throat as her hands traced downward toward his waist.

"It's just a word," she murmured against his throat, shifting herself about until she knelt behind him, pressed to his back, giving herself easy access to taste his skin to her heart's content while her hands continued their teasing trail down to the waist of his trousers. Her fingers skimmed along that sodden edge, and rose once again in tandem with the open-mouthed kisses lavished on his neck and shoulder. "I don't care what anyone calls me. I'm yours, that's all that matters."

"It's not just a word, Mara," he contradicted, turning to face her, unable to hide the pain from his eyes, more insulted for her by the word than she seemed to be. "You can be whatever you want to be," he told her meeting her gaze. He was finished with the gutting and cleaning of the fish and though he wanted to touch her, he needed to wash the remains from his hands before he could properly touch her.

She sighed softly, reluctantly releasing him from her grasp as he turned to face her. Her eyes held his for a long moment, wishing he could understand how little the word meant to her, safe in the knowledge that it was a lie. She belonged to him; she'd be his wife very soon. No one would ever be able to call her a whore again. Her smile was a little sad for how deeply he took the word to heart, fingers stroking against his cheek. "I already am," she told him in a tender tone, drawing back with a soft smile. "I'll put the fish in the cold room, you wash up."

She paused, something in his tone forcing its way through her urgent impatience to make her still, gazing up into his eyes with an affectionate smile painting her lips. Her fingers drew gently against his cheek, pushing his hair back from his face. "It's going to hurt," she assured him quietly, fully aware of what to expect. "But I'm not scared. The sooner we get it out of the way, the sooner we can really enjoy each other."

He didn't need to ask her again if she was sure. She had made that quite clear. She seemed to know what she wanted, and what she wanted was him. The sheer knowledge of that alone caused him to feel a yearning deep inside, not only to love her, but to possess her, to make her his and only his, forever and always. "I'll try to be gentle," he promised, having no more experience in this that she did, not really knowing what to expect. He felt edgy, his nerves raw, strung tight. There was no turning back now, and no one there to stop them. He helped her get the braes off - both his and hers - gaze admiring the loveliness of her. She was a girl no more, but a woman and one who was exceedingly desirable, at least, to him.

She'd never yet been completely naked with him when he was in any position to do more than sleep beside her, and even now, she wasn't quite there. His shirt, so large on her slender frame, bunched at her waist and hanging off one shoulder, still protected her from complete immodesty as she felt herself blush, the shift of her legs together betraying the very faint nerves that couldn't quite be banished entirely. Her breath came in staggered gasps, her body suddenly still as she lay back beneath him, green eyes locked trustingly on his face. "What do you want me to do?"

As far him, he was the one who was naked here, his tunic already shucked in the heat of the day, and his trousers stripped away, by way of necessity. As inexperienced at this as she was, he was unsure how to go about it without hurting her and had to rely on his instincts to tell him what to do, but then, men and women had been doing this since the beginning of time without an instruction manual to teach them how, and he knew that it would get easier - and better - with time. "Just....try to relax," he said, thinking that the more she tensed, the more painful it would be.

He'd dreamed about this moment and was aching to be inside her. It wasn't quite the romantic moment he'd expected it to be, more fumbling and awkward but no less desirable. He knew from experience how to make her relax, having learned her a little as she'd learned him, and it was to this goal he now aimed. He spread her legs, letting his fingers find her first, stoke the fire that was growing inside her in hopes of relaxing her enough that the pain would be minimal.

She was easily coaxed to heat and sweetness under his hands, forgetting the shyness and embarrassment when he'd parted her legs as a fresher, more immediate feeling washed through her. He'd brought her there before, of course, but never with quite such purpose in his touch, even in his gaze. Her only concession to the openness of this place was an attempt to muffle her moans as she moved under him, rising to panting, desperate pleasure with a plea he couldn't deny, not any longer. "Please, Duncan ....I ....I can't ..."

He had taken her over the edge before, but this wasn't about that, not yet anyway. It was about priming her, relaxing her, and to that end, he seemed to be successful. His own desire burned inside him, and he was having a hard time holding himself back, but he pushed his own needs aside in favor of hers. Her plea stirred that desire again, reaching inside him, to his heart and his soul, wanting nothing more than to give her what she wanted, to imprint himself on her body and soul, not realizing that in doing so, he'd ruin her for anyone besides him, and ruin himself. No matter how many women he might love, there would only be one who held his heart the way that she did. He distracted her with his lips, tasting her, touching her, loving her, hoping his kisses would help ease the pain and distract her from feeling it, if only for a moment.

She'd been ruined for anyone else the moment he'd chosen to step in and prevent a fifteen-year-old boy from forcing kisses on the twelve-year-old girl she had been then. For years, Duncan had been the epitome of hero, man, and friend, and though it was a only a development of the last year, Mara was certain no one would ever replace him as the perfect lover. There was pain, yes, something both of them had known was unavoidable, but she had never been afraid of a little pain, rising to the challenge of pushing that sensation aside as she gasped and writhed, no longer a maiden but his woman.

He was gentle, even at his tender age, gentle and caring and attentive, but when he was inside her, completely filling her with himself, he found it was more wonderful than he'd ever dreamed of. He moved inside her slowly at first, claiming her as his, making her his, and at the same time, giving himself to her in ways he'd never done before or would again. It wasn't just a joining of bodies, as a joining of hearts and souls. He opened his heart to her and offered himself to her, heart and mind and soul, whispering her name again and again between a shower of fevered kisses.

No amount of lecturing or lessons could ever have prepared her for this. In fact, Mara was learning that even Elise was capable of lying when it came to some things. The pain did not last, did not mar the feeling of something building, a feeling she had enjoyed before but never like this. As he moved inside her, she felt herself begin to rise and fall with him, smoothing possessive, loving hands tentatively over his sides as lips traded kisses back and forth in the ever rising tide that promised something truly wonderful at its peak. She was ruined, completely and utterly. No one else would ever make her feel this way. Duncan owned her heart, mind, body, and soul, and she would never take them back from him, no matter the future ahead of them.

He took her to new heights, filling her with himself, and joining her there. There was nothing like this feeling. It was sacred and beautiful and private - something that only they could share, that only they knew. The pleasure was brief, but indescribable in its intensity. It was like his entire body exploded with a delightedly delicious heat, filling her with the his warmth, his heart racing in his chest. He felt moved to tears, a swell of emotion rocking him to the core of his being the likes of which he'd never felt before. This wasn't just love. It was far too intense to be described by such a simple word. He had no words for it, no definition, but was quickly lost and overwhelmed by the feel of it, whatever words were used to describe it.

If he, with his fine education and intelligent mind, could not find words to describe the feeling that passed from one to the other, she stood no chance at all, falling into it with a blissful moan, throwing her head back as she rose with him through the fierce intensity, into the breathless, wondering awe beyond. She fell back against the grass, gasping for breath, her arms gathering him in close to enjoy the weight of him over her in the sun-dappled garden.

Though their first time was over, their love had only just taken wing, blossoming and deepening, a love that could last a lifetime, if only people would let them. "Mara," he whispered, as he settled down beside her, the warm summer sun dappling through the trees, making his eyes water, though they both knew it wasn't the sun at all, but the wealth of feelings that were bubbling up inside him. "My love," he whispered, a caress of fingers against her cheek, loving and tender.

She rolled with him, shaken and feeling just a little bit giggly in the wake of that first coupling, something she felt in her bones would be the first of a lifetime of loving. Leaning close, she kissed away the tears that escaped from his eyes, brushing the tip of her nose to his, tender, loving, his. "You are amazing, my darling," she murmured back to him, and despite the gentle ache making itself known, her smile took on an impish cast. "When can we do it again?"

He smiled, flushing a little at her question, though he wasn't sure why. They had shared the most intimate moment that any two people could possibly share, and still he felt a flush of heat in his cheeks at the cheeky honesty of her question. "Let me catch my breath first, at least!" he exclaimed, all out of breath.

She giggled at his blushing response, curling herself close in the flattened grass, unembarrassed by her naked lower half warmed by the sunlight. "You are so easy to make blush, Mal," she grinned, nipping fondly at his jaw. Her palm smoothed with loving affection against his skin, her nose nudging at his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured adoringly. "Couldn't have been more perfect."

Instead of a smile, her murmur of thanks won her a small frown. He didn't want her to thank him; he only wanted her to love him. He blushed further, if only because she'd pointed out his tendency to blush. "I love you," he told her again, feeling strangely awkward in saying it, as if now that they'd made love for the first time, she might feel differently about him. Though she'd told him he was amazing, he knew he was far from it, lacking in knowledge and experience, but hoping he had been sufficiently attentive and that her pain had been minimal.

"I know," she murmured back to him, rolling until he was beneath her. Her thumbs smoothed against his brow, easing the frown from his face as she smiled down at him. "Don't frown. I'm allowed to thank you for deflowering me so gently, that doesn't mean I suddenly don't love you anymore. This doesn't change anything, Duncan. It just makes it deeper."

He looked up at her, all the love and adoration he was feeling for her apparent in the warmth of his eyes. He brushed a thumb against her cheek, suddenly feeling too exposed, vulnerable, almost shy. He wanted her all to himself, someplace where no one would ever find them, by accident or otherwise, and he wondered if such a place even existed. "Let's go inside," he told her quietly, wanting to make love to her a second time, slowly, tenderly, the ache of desire making itself known once again. He wanted to spend the whole day doing nothing but making love to her, discovering and memorizing her and learning to love her.

She was certainly not going to argue with that prospect. It seemed as though they had been waiting an age for the time to be just right, when all the while it had only needed one of them to decide to make that moment happen. Now it had been and gone, it would never be so awkward again, and if Duncan had his way, after today there would be no blushes or embarrassment left in them.

Smiling sweetly, Mara rose, reaching down to pull him up onto his feet with her, sweeping their discarded clothing into the crook of her arm as her hand slipped faithfully into his. They had a day that was all their own, a day to renew and replenish and confirm the searing connection that linked hearts and souls, and now bodies, too. Real, tangible, unbreakable love had blossomed from the first flush of young love, and despite the pain and trauma of the months and years to come, what Mara felt in that moment, beneath the dappling of sunlight through trees, would never be broken. She loved him, with everything she was or would ever be, light that would brighten the darkness, no matter where it fell.

((Ah, young love. :lol: Enormofununculous thanks to Duncan's player! Even more backstory to come!))