He is asleep again. He seems to sleep very soundly here. As if every worry and care that he ever had are all swept away. I've never been a hard sleeper, as Pa used to say. The tiniest things wake me, or keep me awake. I think I'm more like Ma in that way.
But now I get to look at Tairy while he sleeps. What a gift! It's only just after nightfall and he's laid out on the couch again. He looks so fine in these robes that our kind hosts left for him! Like a lordly prince or even a king. Something hurts a little inside me when I think such thoughts. I think about where he came from. And if he should go back. And if he might turn out to be someone of a rank so very far above me...
Nay. None of those thoughts tonight. Not here!
His mouth is moving again. How sweet it is when he does that! I'll just sit here on the little stool beside him and try to be quiet as a mouse. His face is so smooth and calm. He looks like a young lad. So strange to know that when he is awake, he is not so very calm and innocent sometimes. Not with me. His face is like a storm when he stares at me. When he holds me close, he is like a bull. All bursting muscle and wild, fiery passions that I never knew... I never knew a man could love a woman the way he loves me. Do all people love each other like this? It can't be so! There is something in him that is needful. Desperate. I feel as if there's some great pain in him that I don't yet understand. And to him, I am the...the answer. Nay, that's not the right word. He could break me in his two hands if he wanted to. Sometimes he is demanding and forceful, but...there's something behind all of that. Fragile.
Who did it? Where are they? I want to ask the questions so badly. But only when the time is right. Only when it's right.
Sweet, darling Tairy. I will always be whatever you need. Always, always.
It's so hard not to touch him. But I don't want him to wake. Not yet! Look at his hands. They're huge! He works so hard with them. I want to pick them up and kiss each finger...
The moon is coming in the window now. Making patterns on the floor, and on him. He looks pale in that silver light. Almost as if he was ill. I don't like it. Maybe I'll light a candle.
There are flowers in the garden here that I've never seen before. But also flowers that you'll find anywhere in spring. There are snowdrops and tulips and daffy-down-dillies. I don't know why he calls me his "daffodil". I am not yellow! But I don't care, because it makes him happy. And then I'm happy! I will be his daffodil until the end of time.
Should I pick some and put them in a vase on the table here beside the couch? I wonder if he would smile to see them when he wakes up. Will they make him think of me? Of course, he'll know right away that I brought them in. Is it a silly idea? Maybe he'll think it's foolish.
Nay. Nay! There isn't a drop of scorn in his body. He would like it.
Now, to tear myself away from him, just long enough to slip outside!
