Munro basked in a glow of contentment. Satisfying his male needs had brought him physical release, but joining his body with Sarah’s had been akin to a spiritual awakening.

He wanted to stay inside her forever, but his tarse eventually curled up happily in the warm nest of her moist folds.

He became aware she was tracing circles on his back, lifting up on his elbows when he realized he was lying with his full weight on her. She was smiling, languidly, like a woman well-bedded. He suddenly felt smug. “Did ye enjoy that?” he asked confidently.

She chuckled, deep in her throat, twirling a finger in his hair. “I’m drunk with happiness. You’ve intoxicated me.”

He laughed, lifting her to lie atop him as he turned onto his back. “And I plan to keep ye in a permanent state of intoxication.”

Straddling his hips, she nestled her head against his neck and molded her breasts to his chest. “Can we do it again?” she asked, bathing his shaft with warm wetness.

“Sooner rather than later, if ye keep that up” he replied, offering a silent prayer of thanks he’d banished one of Sarah’s demons. The prospect of a lifetime of marital bliss made him giddy. He moved Sarah to his side and spooned his body around her. “We’ll sleep for a wee while.”

She reached for the candle lantern, but he stayed her hand. “Leave it. I want to watch yer face when we make love again.”

Sunlight was filtering into the apartment from the shop downstairs when Sarah woke, cocooned in Munro’s warm embrace. She’d lost count of the number of times they’d made love during the night, but she wanted more.

His steady breathing seemed to indicate he was still asleep, but she gently moved her foot up and down his calf, relishing the soft, dark hair, so unlike her own legs.

The sound of another person breathing suddenly became vitally important. It was as though she and Munro breathed together, for each other, in unison. She closed her eyes again and thought of Henry Marten lying abed, listening to Mary’s breathing. It was a strangely comforting notion.

“What are ye thinking?” Munro asked lazily, kissing her shoulder.

“That I want to lie in bed forever just listening to you breathe.”

He chuckled. “’Tis all ye require of me?”

She turned to face him, draping one leg over his. “No. I have other husbandly duties in mind.”

He kissed her nose. “Making porridge, mayhap?”

“Aye.”

He traced a thumb along her lower lip. “Rekindling the stoves?”

“Aye,” she replied, already losing control of her hips.

“Fetching water from the pump?”

“Aye,” she laughed, letting her hand wander down his belly to his manhood. A compulsion to take his hard arousal into her mouth seized her. She threw back the linens, knelt between his legs and licked the swollen tip.

“Ye dinna have to,” he rasped, but his eyes betrayed his longing. “I—”

He groaned when she enveloped his length, savoring the salty taste, the aroma of a man in lust with his wife. She could scarcely believe the transformation in herself. Sarah North had metamorphosed into a sensual woman who craved every inch of the man she loved.

Munro Pendray had banished the ghost of years of physical and emotional abuse.

She was free.