Love’s Spirit Excerpt
Emily Brentwood slowly rose to consciousness steeling herself against the assault of anguish and sorrow that accosted her at every dawn. For the last four months the memory of her beloved husband Jonathon being shot and dragged into a British skiff had been the image that lifted her from her sleep and carried her to waking. The surreal sensation she had felt as that scene had unfolded before her, leaving her to believe that he was dead, seeped through her as if it were all happening again.
But something was different this morning. What was it? She battled waking to delay the pain, but there was a whisper of awareness that eased her reluctance. The sun was not rising; it was slanting in the western sky, and the pungent smell of cedar surrounded her. Slowly coming awake, she started at the sensation of strong arms holding her and warm breath tickling the back of her neck. Jonathon was beside her. She gasped as her eyes flew open.
“Jonathon,” she breathed.
“Love,” he answered sleepily.
She rolled toward him and buried her face in his chest. His scent was intoxicating and the thick mat of hair tickled her nose; she burrowed into him and he kissed the top of her head. Her arms encircled him and pulled him closer, but his gasp reminded her that his injuries were still fresh. She released him.