The pie Rohan made wasn’t as bad as the soup. Belle ate that, along with so fresh fruit he had brought in from the yard for her. Afterwards, no matter how much she insisted on wanting to look around the house, Rohan sent her back to bed to rest. She had already slept for three days, so sleeping again wasn’t exactly possible.
That evening, he helped her bathe, and then gave her a tour around the small cottage and the vast yard. Belle realized they had their very own farmhouse, with many dostic animals, from cows to chickens and ducks that swam in the flowing creek. The entire place slled like spring and flowers, of peace and harmony. It was a simple place with a life of its own. The grass was so green, and the sky so blue and clear, with birds flying overhead.
She enjoyed feeding the chickens at sunset as they gathered around her legs, making her laugh. And while she fed the chickens, she could see Rohan carrying a bundle of hay with ease on his broad shoulders to the stables, where two horses were kept. He was in there for a while before coming out with an axe to split logs of firewood he planned to use for preparing dinner.
Even though she insisted on cooking, he refused and said she could just instruct him instead of him having to read the damn book. He was hellbent on doing everything himself. Feeding the chickens was the only task he allowed her to do, and even that ca with a rocking chair placed in the yard for her to sit on.
She had never actually thought Rohan could adjust to such a life, yet he belonged in it, completely, as though it had always been his. Since the mont she’d woken up, he had moved through it all with ease.
She might have co from a noble family, but her life hadn’t exactly been luxurious. She had fed the animals at the Dawson farmhouse and washed her sister’s dirty laundry, which made this life not too far from what she was already used to.
After everything that had happened in Bimrville, this place felt like paradise.
To be quite honest, she had never known peace like the one she was feeling in that mont at sunset. The breeze was warm and comforting, and the soft sounds around her, it was bliss. She basked in it.
Her husband chopped the large logs of wood into smaller pieces, his muscles flexing as he raised the axe, sweat dripping from his forehead. He wore no gloves, nor did he try to hide his scars. He was free to be himself here too. She also noticed he was barefoot, the legs of his trousers folded up, revealing strong, tanned ankles. He looked so picture-perfect she wished she could paint this very mont, where sweat glistened over his bronze torso and narrowed waist.
She watched him finish his task, never once taking her eyes off him.
Belle wanted to help carry the logs inside, but of course, he wouldn’t let her touch a thing. Instead, he leaned down toward her with that boyish smirk of his, dark eyes glinting in the twilight, silently asking her to wipe his sweat for him.
"That’s the only work you’re allowed to do in this house until you’re relieved of the weight of the baby," he told her. "Now do your job and help your hubby wipe his sweat."
She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she used the sleeve of her day dress to dab at his forehead, then his nose, and then, slowly, the sharp edge of his jaw. "You’re ridiculous," she whispered.
"And you’re beautiful," he murmured back, stealing a kiss from her lips like he’d earned it. Quick. Sweet. But with enough heat to leave her breathless and wanting for more.
Then he hoisted the logs up like they weighed nothing and swaggered back toward the house, throwing her a wink over his shoulder.
Belle stood there, hands on her stomach, grinning like a girl in love, and not even trying to hide it.
Belle could hear him fixing the stove from where she stood. Then, looking up at the horizon, where the sky had begun to turn a purplish-orange, the gentle arrival of night, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, hoping this place would last longer than any other she had ever lived in.
’I’d give anything for this to last... That’s my only wish.’
That night, they slept on the bed with the pink drapes, its small size pressing them closer together than ever before. When they lay down, Belle in her nightdress and Rohan wearing only a loose, off-white shirt that reached his knees, one he had found among the male attires in the cottage that had once belonged to the widow’s late husband, he began to silently touch his wife with the clear intention of arousing her in the softly lit space.
And she allowed him, even shifting closer to et his bold touch.
But when his hand moved to her breast, she let out a sudden hiss of pain, and he imdiately pulled back, concern flashing across his face.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. The room was dim, but he could still make out the grimace she tried to hide. His hand reached to cup her cheek, touching her gently.
"Nothing, it’s just sensitive and tender," she confessed quietly. "It’s been like that for a while. But I can handle it. Go on," she encouraged, reaching out to him again.
But Rohan shook his head and instead gently shifted her, switching their positions. He laid down behind her on her pillow, pulling her back into his arms in a spooning embrace, their bodies curving together, fitting like puzzle pieces.
"Let’s sleep," he murmured. "We can have all the fun we want after the baby is born and you’re fully healed. My cock can hold itself," he added teasingly, pressing a kiss into her hair and letting her warmth and scent soothe him.
He hadn’t brought her here for that. He would cause her no more pain. He’d brought her here so she could heal, so she could breathe and feel safe again. The purpose of them being here was to heal her.
"Are you sure?" ca her soft voice. She could feel him, hard and hot, pressed firmly against her backside as he draped one leg over hers. They weren’t using a blanket tonight; the temperature was too warm. And from the way he held her, she could easily tell he wore nothing underneath that loose nightshirt.
"I can feel you, hubby. Can you handle it?" she teased, a hidden grin tugging at her lips as she felt his arm tighten around her waist.
"Go to sleep, wife," he groaned.
She giggled, loving and hating the way she enjoyed teasing him like this, and how much he let her. He’d teased her so many tis in the past that she didn’t feel bad for making him wait now.
After two days in the secluded cottage nestled in the open mountains, Rohan began to notice the change in his wife’s movents, slower, more careful. He knew then that her labor was drawing near. The realization stirred unease in the back of his mind, a quiet dread he had tried to ignore.
He would be the one to deliver their child. He had never delivered any living being, not even an animal, let alone his own wife. But he had known from the beginning that this responsibility would fall on him. Bringing a doctor here was impossible.
Apart from the fact that the cottage was deep in the mountains and far away from civilization and any town, he wouldn’t risk allowing a human to deliver a child he knew wasn’t human. He had learned from staying in Bimrville that a little mistake could bring an end to everything.
Compelling was no longer safe, knowing they had invented sothing that made it impossible and could give back mories. Though they were far away from Bimrville, he did not want to take any risk with anyone. He had gotten her pregnant and put her in this state. It was only right that he eased it away for her.
Before he had flown here that day after leaving Roseville, Rohan had gone to prepare for things. He had stopped at a library and gotten many books that would teach him about farm life and also delivering a child. He had not gotten the chance to read it, but seeing as the day was drawing near, he decided it was ti he got to it.
That night after dinner, while Belle shelled walnuts at the kitchen table with a nutcracker, Rohan sat at a right angle to her, turning pages of the books he had piled up at the table, going through them.
He spent an informative half hour reading three of the books, then picked up the fourth—The Housewife’s Handbook of Common Sense. He wouldn’t have chosen the book if he hadn’t skimd through it and seen that it covered a range of subjects he needed to know, so vital, others, to Rohan, silly.
He smiled in amusent at topics like "How to Choose a House Helper" and "How to Clean the House."
Rohan shook his head as he ca across many absurd tips in the book. He flipped through the pages, and his fingers stopped shuffling when he arrived at a Chapter titled A Chapter for Young Maidens.
His eyes scanned ahead, then retreated to an essay titled Choosing a Husband. As he began reading, he slumped lower and lower in his chair until his spine was bowed, the book resting against the edge of the table, and an index finger covered the grin of amusent tugging at his lips at the silly things these humans were teaching their young won. His curiosity made him read on, even though he knew that wasn’t the reason he had picked up the book in the first place.
Reviews
All reviews (0)