In Which Cladelia Tries the Unpracticed Thing

January 28, 1179

After nearly thirty-eight years of marriage, Cladelia had yet to discover a third event in which she and her husband had any reason to share a bed. They slept like any husband and wife. They fucked like... well, maybe not any husband and wife, but they did. But had they ever just sat and talked? Not on the bed, no.

Actually, they'd never done much sitting and talking to begin with, which made his joining her all the more strange. "What do you want, Haldred?"

He mumbled something. The room spinning as it was, she couldn't be bothered to ask him to repeat it. "I see."

"You didn't hear what I said, did you?"

His voice usually handled those words with a fiery grip of impulsive anger, not the soft, almost sensitive whisper he laid before her now. It was not like Haldred to ask meekly. When Cladelia's husband wanted an answer, he expected to get it. "Perhaps you ought to speak up."

"I said I still have your letters."

An odd thing to bring up at a time like this. "The ones in your drawer?"

Her vision was hardly clear and she saw him only in peripheral, but she thought his face looked a little pink. "I didn't know you knew."

"Well, I did." And if she'd never mentioned it, then clearly it meant little. "Why did you bother keeping them? They'd serve a greater purpose as kindling."

"And I suppose you think I never considered that?" The violet of his eyes intensified in their narrowed state. She'd once thought she had remarkable eyes, but that was before she'd ever gotten a good look at Haldred's. Only three of her children had his eyes, and one was dead besides; if only the rest could have been so lucky. "You're beautiful."

Cladelia sniffed. "You're a horrible liar."

"No. I mean it. I always thought you were beautiful.

"Sorry it took me thirty-eight years to say it."

Sorry. He'd never been sorry in his life. And of all the things he'd done, not calling her beautiful wasn't what he ought to be sorry for. But she supposed it was more than he thought it was. "Haldred?"

"Hmmm?"

"I don't really think your chin can crush a dozen rocks. Seven or eight at most, but not a dozen."

He grunted. It was more like him but not quite the man she knew. She'd long suspected he was insecure deep down, but she'd never guessed he'd fall apart without her. It was too romantic a thought for such an unromantic pair. "Haldred?"

He glanced over and she threw some spare energy into an unpracticed smile. He responded in kind; she hoped she didn't look quite so stupid.

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