"Richard, do you want to know how I felt when I was told that he was dead?" She had moved closer, or perhaps he had, but there was no longer space between them. He nodded tensely. "I could tell only you … only you," she said, very softly now. "No one else, for it is a shamefully cruel and un-Christian admission to make. You see, I was glad, Richard. I was so very glad.” He didn’t reply at once, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek, his fingers light and cool to the touch against her skin. "I think I would have given all I have to hear you say that," he said, and the room blurred for her in a dazzling blaze of misted sunlight. So close were they that he could see the shadows cast by downswept lashes; they showed golden at the roots, quivered against her cheek as he touched his lips to hers, very gentle and easy but far from cousinly, nonetheless. The Sunne in Splendour, Sharon Kay Penman
