Page 77 of The Musician (Emerson Pass Historicals 5)

The next morningI woke to a slant of sun in my eyes. It took me a moment to remember where I was. I grinned, remembering the night, and rolled over to take a look at my bride. She was asleep on her side with one pink cheek pressed against the pillow.

We needn’t have worried about making this new kind of music together. After a few tries, we were quite good at it. In fact, learning to love Fiona wasn’t nearly as difficult as the violin or piano.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a smile spread over her pretty face. “Hello, husband.”

“Hi, wife.”

“It’s still all real, correct?” Fiona asked. “You and me?”

“You and me and the boys.”

“We’ve gotten ourselves into a fine mess, haven’t we?” She smiled and reached for me.

“The best kind of mess, if you ask me,” I said against her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you love me. I’m pinching myself fifty times a day to make sure it’s not a dream.”

I looked into her eyes as I tangled my fingers into her curls. “I wrote you a letter confessing my love. Ages ago now, after everything that’s happened since then. I didn’t think I could say the words out loud, so I’d written them in a letter.”

“When?”

“I planned on giving it to you the day the men attacked me.” My chest tightened thinking of it all, the beating and the spiral of despair that had nearly drowned me. “What they did—it made me believe that I was selfish and wrong to tell you how I felt. Honestly, even though I’ve hurt you, everything I did was for you.”

“I know. I can see that now,” Fiona said. “You were so strong not to tell me when I was pouring my heart out to you.”

We didn’t have breakfast until quite a while later.