Love Me Forever by Donna Fletcher

her with gentle hands, and never once had
she felt threatened by his touch. Actually, of late she found his
touch more soothing than she had ever realized a man’s touch could
be.
    He showed concern for her pain even when she
knew his own wounds must cause him just as much discomfort. He
never complained of his own suffering and was immediately at her
side if she issued the slightest moan or sigh. He was like no man
she had ever met, and the thought brought a smile to her face. She
quickly forced it to fade.
    Whatever was the matter with her? She was
acting as if she had an interest in this man. She wanted an
interest in no man. They were not worth her time or effort.
She was presently content with her life, and she wished to keep it
that way. Her brother cared not if she married. She was welcome to
live with him and his wife Moira, as long as she wished. And she
decided that she wished to remain with them until her dying day.
They were her family and she would have no other, after all, she
could have no children.
    She was barren, as her husband often
reminded her.
    Her hand slowly moved across her flat
stomach. She would never know the joy of a child cuddled safely in
her womb or the pleasure of creating a child with someone who
deeply loved her as she did him.
    She wondered what Royce thought of her body
when he tended her. He saw more of her naked body than her husband
ever had. Arran would insist they make love in the dark, for her
body displeased him and he did not wish to look upon her.
    She had noticed that at times Royce diverted
his eyes from her body. Was she that displeasing to a man? But
there were other times his eyes would linger over her.
    What, then, was he thinking?
    “It matters not,” she said and slipped her
hand out from beneath the blanket. “I need no man. I want no
man.”
    She sighed. Why, then, did this empty ache
grow in her and why did her thoughts linger on Royce?
    “Stop this, Brianna,” she scolded herself
and strained to sit up on her own.
    It took some effort and pain that eventually
subsided to a dull ache, but she succeeded. She felt victorious and
courageous. If she could sit up on her own, why could she not
stand? And if she could stand, then she could reach her satchel at
the foot of the bed and slip on her night shift.
    The thought of gaining back her mobility
excited her, and she moved back the blanket so that she could slide
her legs to the edge of the bed. She took her time, for she
realized that if she rushed, the pain would return. With slow
movements her body had time to adjust, and while there was some
discomfort, it was nothing she could not endure.
    She was grateful Royce had added logs to the
fire before he left. The cottage was heated well, and she did not
worry about a chill. She grew eager to stand but tempered her
enthusiasm, giving her body time to acclimate to each movement.
    Her feet finally rested on the thick carpet
of rushes that covered the earthen floor. She felt a slight pain
begin to throb in her lower back and paused to allow it to subside.
It persisted and she decided to ignore it. She was doing well and
she intended to retrieve her night shift, slip it on, and return to
bed. She would deal with Royce when he returned, though with the
task accomplished, what could he say to her?
    She took several fortifying breaths and
gently began to ease herself to stand on her own two feet. Her
smile grew with each successful movement, and her smile spread wide
when she finally stood to her full height, allowing her legs to
accept her weight.
    The pain shot through her lower back so fast
and furious she had no time to respond before she fell hard to the
ground, the breath knocked completely from her. She was braced on
her hands and knees, gasping for a breath.
    The room suddenly became like an oven, and
beads of perspiration dotted her face. She felt faint from the
intense pain, and she did not know what to do. Her arms grew weak
and would not be able to support her much