“Why didn’t you say something?”
Flushing beet red, I replied, “Your inheritance was unexpected. I wanted to live there again, thought that it may have been . . . mine.”
“And so it is!” he crowed. “Every brick, every weapon, every bloody blade of grass is as much yours as I am, darling, supposing you’ll give me a pallet in the stables and a crust from time to time. Are you quite mad?”
“I don’t want you to live on a pallet.” My tears spilled, and he painted his fingertips over my jaw. “I want you to live in my bones.”