"No, I've got it," he replied, taking the basket from her once he'd deposited the packages just inside the door. He did the same with the basket before pushing the door open further and moving back to her to sweep her up off the ground and into his arms. Whether he believed himself to be romantic or not, he knew a little about traditions, and he knew that carrying one's bride over the threshold - no matter how rustic that threshold might be - was good luck, and they needed all the luck they could get.

She laughed as he took the basket from her, braced as he swept her up off her feet. Despite having married him earlier that day, this was the closest they had been thus far, her arms curling trustingly about his shoulders as she met his smile with her own. One thing he could now be certain of was that he never needed to worry about getting a corset off her - she wasn't a woman who wore one. "You know, you didn't kiss me when we were married," she pointed out playfully as he bore her across the threshold, a rosy flush painting her cheeks under the sprinkling of freckles that decorated her pale skin.

Strong arms carried her into the cabin, with very little effort, before kicking the door behind him, a bit of a smirk on his face at the mention of a kiss. "Disappointed?" he asked, knowing that kiss was coming and probably soon. He wasn't all that surprised to find she wasn't wearing a corset, as he'd already noticed that with only his eyes to tell him.

She considered this for a moment, though one look at her face proved that thinking it over was just another way to tease him. "Little bit, aye," she nodded eventually, her smile almost childlike in her enjoyment of being able to tease him so comfortably. Without realizing it, her fingertips stroked against his neck, an unconsciously tender caress that was likely the first time she'd touched anyone with this kind of affection.

It was such an innocent touch, and yet, it stirred both his body and heart, so much that he heard himself sigh as he set her at last on her feet, turning to face her with a look of longing in his eyes. "I wouldn't wanna disappoint you," he said, hesitating a moment as he tipped her chin upwards so he could meet her gaze. He paused a moment to search her eyes, to admire the sprinkle of freckles against her nose, the softness of her lips. What the hell was he waiting for"

Her brow rose, still playful as she looked up at him, her hands rising to remove the pin from her hair and set her hat down with it. "So ....does that mean you won't kiss me?" she asked him, tucking a stray hank of escaping red behind her ear. "Just because you think you could ever disappoint me?"

"I reckon now we're married, it kinda goes without saying," he replied, a soft smile on his face, though he found he was unexpectedly nervous. He raised a hand to help her tuck that strand of hair behind an ear, his fingers brushing her cheek for the very first time. "I know I ain't much of a catch," he admitted.

She shook her head gently, tilting her cheek into the brush of his fingers with a shy light in her eyes. "You're a better man than any I've known," she told him. "I won't have my husband talkin' himself down. He's a good man, and fair on my eyes, too. I'm proud to share his name."

He wasn't sure he'd ever feel truly worthy of her, but it was good to know she disagreed with him. "A husband you've known for two days," he reminded her with a soft smile, his fingers grazing her cheek. He longed to pull the pins from her hair and let his fingers trail through its softness, but he didn't want to rush. The best things in life were worth waiting for, and she was certainly one of those. "Reckon we shouldn't let the basket go to waste," he told her, though he made no move to draw away.

"Aye, and you've a wife you've known the same amount of time," she pointed out impishly. They were so close, close enough to feel each other's breath in the air between them, close enough that she could rather accurately imagine what it would be like to be held in his arms ....and then he mentioned the food. Blushing, she dropped her eyes to hide the flicker of disappointment as she glanced toward the basket. "I'm not really hungry for food," she admitted softly. She'd already eaten more today than she had any other day of her life.

He caught the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, and the smile faltered. He wasn't hungry either, or at least, his was a different kind of hunger. "Bridget," he called her name gently, lifting her chin to face him again. "Tell me what you want," he said, putting her in control, letting her lead the way and tell him what she was or was not ready for.

Raising her eyes to his once again, that bold spirit of hers came to her rescue, preventing an attack of shyness that might have rendered her mute. "I want to be your wife, Sam," she told him quietly. "In every way I can be. I don't truly know what to do, and ....well, I'm a wee bit scared of it. Not of you, but of the act, of bein' so bare and not knowin' how to be. So ..." She drew in a slow breath. "I think you should show me our home, and help me put that food away for another day. Maybe we could wash up together. You're the one who knows what happens next, love. I need you to take me by the hand."

"I don't wanna scare you or rush you," he told her, gentling his voice as much as he could. "But I do want you, Bridget. I'm just trying to go slow," he explained, unsure if that was what she wanted from him. He took a step back and offered her his hand. "It ain't much, but it's home sweet home."

"Well, I've heard English girls are told they just have to lie there and the man does everythin', but I'm pretty sure that's wrong," she offered in a wry tone, moving with him as she settled her hand in his grasp. "I want you, too. I know what this feelin' is, and it's stronger for you than I've ever felt it before."

Sam snorted at her remark, though he had no experience with so-called English girls. All the girls - er, women - he'd ever bedded had been from Rhy'Din. "You can lie there and do nothing, if you want, but I reckon it's more fun if you play along," he offered back with a smile as he led her through the small cabin to show her around. There wasn't much to see really - a small sitting room with a fireplace, kitchen, bathroom with a claw-foot tub, and lastly, the bedroom. Sam frowned as they stood in the doorway that led to the bedroom. It was small but clean, simply but neatly furnished. Someone had seen fit to change the bedding while they'd been away, but what bothered him was the realization that the bed was only made for one.

She giggled softly at his comment, her eyes hungry to take in the little cabin that was now her home. "You have a real bath," she wondered, amazed at how posh that seemed. "Does it run hot water, too, or do I need kettles?" That, of course, being the main problem with having a tin bath. She walked into his back as he stopped in the doorway to the bedroom. "What's wrong, Sam?" she asked, tilting her head to see over his shoulder. "It's a sweet room, that I can see."

"It runs water," he replied, though his thoughts were elsewhere now. The cabin was no place to raise a family, if by some miracle, that's what they ended up doing. It was small and clean and cozy, comfortable enough for one, but maybe even two, but a family would be hard-pressed to feel comfortable there. "Gonna need a new bed," he remarked, wondering if he should have bought that instead of rings, but he'd wanted her to have one. She deserved to have one. Then again, she deserved to have a proper home and bed, too.

He laughed, the tension and awkwardness of the moment easing a little at her remark. "I reckon that might have got us arrested," he replied, green eyes shining brightly. "Well, which hunger would you like to allay first, Mrs. McAlister?" he asked, rocking back onto his heels as he gazed up at her with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

It seemed that one little kiss had undone the tension that had begun to build between them, her smile far more relaxed now even as her fingers played through his hair. "Maybe a drink'd do some good," she suggested. It was a warm day, after all, and they'd been on the dusty road for a good hour.

"You still ain't showed me how we'll both fit in this here bed," he teased, reminding her why they'd approached the bed in the first place, other than for the obvious reasons.

"That's 'cos you got all hungry and distracted me," she accused him laughingly, giving him a tug by the collar as she leaned backward. "Either get in or you're landin' on top of me, fella."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied obediently, as he moved forward to flop down beside her. There wasn't much room, and sleeping next to each other was going to be a challenge, unless they clung close together. Given the coming heat of summer, it might prove a problem, and it had him frowning thoughtfully again.

She seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was, although she was certainly enjoying the close fit in the bed. They wouldn't get cold, come winter, that was for sure. "You know, my brother says he used to sleep in the boiler room on the smoke stacks he was shovelin' on," she said thoughtfully. "He said they had a big ol' hammock thingy that could fit three without a squash. You know, with wood in the ends to hold it flat so's no one got pressed up close?"

"No, I didn't know," he teased her again, more gently this time, so close together they were practically nose to nose, and there was that feeling of tension again that curled like a snake in his middle and coiled outward. Maybe they should just give in to the feeling and be done with it, but he wanted her first time to be something to remember, tender and unhurried. He brushed a stray tendril of copper from her cheek, just an excuse to touch her really. "I got some money saved. I'll buy us a new bed," he offered.

"That money's been set aside for somethin' else," she pointed out, blushing a little as his fingertips brushed her cheek. "Maybe there's a bigger bed in the main house, somethin' they don't use anymore they wouldn't mind goin' to a deservin' home."

"Maybe," he agreed, uncertainly. It certainly wouldn't hurt to ask. "I'll talk to Jem in the morning," he suggested. He didn't want to ask for any more favors or charity, but if anyone would have a solution to their problem, it would be the mistress of the house.

"Or I could talk to Mrs. Prudey," Bridget offered. "Woman's only known me a day, she's already tryin' to treat me like the daughter she never had. Does the same to Maud, too." She giggled; Mrs. Prudey was something of a gorgon if you interfered in the kitchen, but it seemed as though every female under the age of fifty in the surrounding area fell under the protection of her long-handled spoon.

"If you like," he replied, letting her make that decision for them both. "Bed's cozy, but sooner or later, one of us is gonna end up on the floor," he told her, with a boyish-looking grin. She had suggested something to drink, and he had a feeling there was more than just food in the basket that had been packed for them, but he seemed in no hurry to get up out of bed, now that they were there.

"Cot sides?" she suggested with an impish grin of her own, wriggling to lean up on an elbow and look down at him. "It'll be more comfortable when we're not ..." And there was the blush she'd been hoping wouldn't make an appearance as her eyes unconsciously swept over his form. "....dressed."

He noticed both the grin and the blush, but he wasn't quite sure if she was teasing him or not. "You prefer one bed or two?" he asked, curiously, brows arching upwards. He knew what his own preference would be, given the choice.

"I didn't marry you just for your name, Sam," she pointed out to him, her blush fading as she felt the need to defend her desire for him to be close. "I married you for you. I don't want to be put away in another bed and to live a lie. I'm your wife. I'll be your wife as long as you want me to be."

"Then you talk to Mrs. Prudey," he said, agreeing with her plan. If that didn't work, then he'd talk to Jem. Failing that, he'd take matters into his own hands, but one way or another, they were going to have a bed deserving of their marriage. It didn't have to be today, but it would happen and soon. He smiled suddenly at the almost possessive way she'd made her claim. "I didn't marry you out of pity, Bridge. I married you 'cause ..." Why had he agreed to marry her anyway' He frowned, unable to find the words to explain what he was feeling.

She tilted her head, knowing he probably didn't have an answer to that question just yet. "'Cause I'm pretty?" she suggested hopefully, although - again - she knew she didn't compare with many of the beautiful women they had seen in the city today.

"Well, that's one thing," he replied with a smile, but it wasn't the whole reason. He touched a kiss to the tip of her nose. "C'mon. Let's see what?s in the basket before it spoils," he suggested. They had all night, after all, and it was just getting dark.

"Aye, that's a plan," she agreed, twisting to rise and tipping herself right out of the bed in the process. She landed hard on the floor, already in fits of giggles that reverberated around the cabin even before the impact really registered with her.

He had to stifle a chuckle, not wanting to anger her by laughing at her, though it was kind of funny. "You got a funny way of getting out of bed, darlin'," he told her, eyes twinkling with amusement, as he rolled out of bed and offered her a hand.

Laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes, she groped for his hand as he helped her up, staggering to her feet cheerfully. "And after I went to the trouble of gettin' you in the thing to prove it was big enough and everythin'!" she howled with laughter, leaning on him to stay upright as she fought to get the giggles under control.

He echoed her laughter as he helped her to her feet. If anyone were to overhear them, they'd probably wonder what was so funny, but thankfully, the cabin was far enough away from any other buildings that no one would hear. He didn't want to say he told her so, but he had!

"Oh, my wee Rory would never let me forget that," she giggled as the laughter finally faded, tucking her hand into his as she headed back to the main room and the basket they'd been given. All they really knew for certain was in there was an illicit cobbler Mrs. Prudey had made and Maud had been only too happy to tell them about.

"Do you miss him?" he asked, as he followed her back to the main room in his socks, his boots abandoned near the bed, along with her shoes. His thumb unconsciously toyed with the ring on his finger; it would take a while before he got used to it being there.

When she came back, she was barefoot, the stockings clearly put away for tomorrow. "Oh, that's nice," she remarked on the gentle breeze coming in through the window. Bending to check on the food, she considered it for a moment. "I reckon this is all done. Ready to eat?"

While she was in the bedroom, he busied himself with setting the table, pouring them each a glass of cold water and fussing over the placement of the plates and cutlery, as if it mattered. He even found a glass for her flowers and set them in the middle of the table, in hopes it might please her. By the time she got back, he was just switching the cutlery around for the third time, as if he was unsure where they were supposed to go. "Yes, ma'am," he said, straightening as he turned to face her, his gaze darting to her bare toes a moment.

The sweetly set table brought a softer smile to her face, touched that he would go to so much trouble over such a small thing. She reached up to touch his cheek, daring to rise up onto those bare toes to kiss him softly. "I'll serve up, then," she murmured, reaching for a cloth to pull the hot pan from the oven.

Such an innocent touch, and yet, it did something to his insides that he'd rarely, if ever, experienced before. His smile softened when she touched his cheek, glad she seemed pleased with his efforts. "Can I help?" he asked hopefully.

"You can sit down and let me serve you," she told him with a gently teasing smile. "Sort of what a wife does, you know." She might never have been married, but she had virtually raised her younger brothers and sisters after her mother's death. Despite that one area of inexperience, Sam had got himself a wife straight out of the packaging, so to speak.

"Don't much know how to be a proper husband," he said, with a small frown of uncertainty. Of course, he was willing to learn, and he truly wanted to be a good husband to her, but he wasn't quite sure how. There were few good examples to follow here at Oakham Mount, other than for a handful of servants.

"I think you do," she told him, setting the pan on a holder on the table to serve him a healthy dollop of the mixture that had bubble and crisped over in a short time. "You've no confidence in yourself, do you? We'll have to change that. A good man should know it, and you are a good man."

He bristled a moment over what she said before realizing that she wasn't criticizing him exactly, but only trying to help. Meanwhile, he pulled out a chair for her, remaining standing until she seated herself at the table. "Confident when it comes to some things, I reckon." But when it came to being a husband, no. What did he know about being a good husband" Neither Dobson nor Rogier had proved a very good example, after all. He sure as hell didn't want to be like either of them.

"Thank you." Smiling at him, she put the hot pan back on the kitchen surface before taking the seat he offered her, raising her hands to twist her hair out of the way. "You've been good to me," she pointed out to him. "And there was nothin' forcin' you to do it. My da used to say that every good man needs a good woman. I'll try and be that for you."

He made no reply as he waited for her to take a seat, then followed by claiming one for himself, looking over at her after a moment, a hopeful expression on his face. "You reckon we can be happy here, Bridget?" he asked, not necessarily meaning here, as in at the cabin, but here at the ranch, together, as a couple.

She did him the courtesy of considering that, looking into his eyes with the same hope he showed her reflected back in her expression. "I don't see why we can't be," she said quietly. "I've never met a man whose children I could imagine bearin' and be glad of it before now. I think we have a lot of years to be happy in ahead of us, Sam."

"I never imagined myself being a husband or a father," he told her. He'd never known his father - or so he believed - and no one had really stepped up to take his place. Oh, Rogier had taken him when he'd been a boy, allowed him to remain here when his mother had died, rather than becoming one of Rhy'Din's many orphans, but he hadn't been a real father to the boy - no one had. If they were to be blessed with children someday, he wanted to be the kind of father they could depend on, not just to provide for their physical needs, but to love and care for them, too.

"You'll be both before the end of two years," she promised him, certain that she would be able to deliver on that promise. "And loved, too." She blushed a little as she raised her glass to her lips, grateful for the coolness of the water as she sipped.

"Is that a promise or a prediction?" he asked, arching his brows curiously. He knew she wasn't a seer, but a simple woman who shared his hopes for the future.

"Both," she told him through her smile, setting her glass down as she took up her cutlery once again. "Aye, and a hope, too. Though I'll not wish eight children on us. That might be a little too much, even for me."

He reached for her hand, before she could take up her cutlery, honesty and sincerity in his eyes as his gaze met hers. "I would like nothing better than to make you happy, Bridget," he told her gently. While the Nexus might be to blame for saving her life and bringing her to Rhy'Din, it had not only changed her life, but his, for the better.

A little surprised by the warmth of his hand about hers, she raised her eyes to his once again as he spoke to her. "I believe you can, Samuel McAlister," she said, her confidence in him growing stronger by the hour. "But you'll not have the strength to do it tonight if you don't eat."

That brought a smile to his face. What she was saying was true enough. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, obedient once again to her will, wondering if she was already starting to care for him, as he was for her. There were worse matches to be made in life than two people who'd started as friends, but were slowly becoming lovers.

Giggling softly to herself, Bridget began to eat, her attention wholly taken up by the sheer luxury of the food on her plate once again. Or at least, so it seemed at first. If Sam was paying attention to her, he would notice eventually that she was stealing glances at him as she ate, a gentle sort of longing in her eyes. A longing awakened by his mere presence, and brought into the light by one kiss. Who knew what a night together would bring forth?

The rest of the meal passed in quiet, companionable conversation, each of them stealing glances at the other when they thought the other wasn't looking, in anticipation of what was to come later that night. Even the cobbler was consumed quietly, Sam smiling broadly to see how much Bridget enjoyed the sweet treat. All that was left was the fae wine, which neither seemed in a hurry to open, though it might give them the courage to get past the awkward silence that had settled between them.

The light was finally beginning to fade, the long evenings of summer already shortening now that the solstice was passed. "I don't really know what to do, you know," she offered nervously as he drew her into the bedroom, her free hand fingering the buttons of her shirt with uncertain energy.

"There ain't nothing to know," he assured her as they stepped into the bedroom and he turned to face her. Lovemaking wasn't something one could teach, really, but something that was learned from experience. "I promise I'll go slow," he told her as he drew her closer. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"Oh, I want to," she breathed, going willingly into his arms. As much as she was an innocent here, her mind wasn't exactly untutored when it came to making love. Her hands gripped his shirt, betraying in that longing touch what she couldn't quite put into words. "I'm not afraid, Sam."

"I don't wanna hurt you, Bridget," he told her, knowing it was going to hurt whether he wanted it to or not, no matter how slow he went with her. He brushed her hair back from her face. It was at least safe to touch her that way, but he knew they were going to have to get past their fears, whatever they might be, sooner or later. "Do you trust me, Bridget?"

"Course I trust you, don't be daft," she told him, rolling her eyes at what she deemed to be a very silly question. "D'you really think I'm afraid of a little pain" I've had worse from worse men than you, love. You won't mean it, if it does hurt, and you'll make it better. I trust you, see?"

"Worse?" he asked, brows arching upwards. He'd thought she was a virgin; was he wrong in that belief" It wouldn't much matter if he was, but it might change how he went about things.

"Oh, bless you, not like that," she smiled, shaking her head. She knew where his mind had gone in the wake of that declaration. "Men have hurt me all my life, love. Backhanded by a drunk when you're five years old, beat by another for burnin' the bread. Woman's place is to take it, just like my ma did. You wouldn't do that to me, and I don't believe you'd ever hurt me and mean it."

His expression darkened momentarily, anger bubbling up at the thought that anyone might have hurt her like that, but there was nothing he could do about it, other than keep her safe from this moment forward. "I won't let no one ever hurt you, Bridge. Promise," he told her, touching a protective kiss to her forehead as if to seal that promise with a kiss.

She smiled, curling into his arms as he kissed her forehead. "Would've liked to see you go the rounds with my da," she murmured a little wickedly. "Man never got himself beat down in his life. Could've learned a few things from you." She squeezed him gently, closing her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat.

He wrapped her in his embrace, as she curled her arms around him, holding her close in the warm safety of his arms. "He can't hurt you no more, Bridget. I ain't gonna let no one hurt you ever again," he repeated his promise, meaning it with all his heart. He held her there for a moment, savoring the quiet of the moment. He wasn't afraid to make love to her; only afraid he might not live up to her expectations, whatever those might be.

"I know," she murmured back to him, and to her credit and his, she did know. He'd entered into this marriage to protect her from someone she barely knew, someone who wouldn't have cared what happened to her when he'd had his fun, no matter what other reasons had occurred to him afterward. A man who was prepared to marry her to protect her would never willingly let her be hurt by anyone. "I won't have you hurt by anyone either."

He wasn't too worried about that, and he had few enemies that the knew of, but it was nice to hear her say it anyway, despite the fact that there was likely little she could do to actually protect him from anyone who might want to do him harm. Though neither might realize it yet, it was one of the first steps toward loving each other, not just falling in love. "Promise you'll tell me if you want me to stop," he said, that worry about hurting her still prominent in his mind, even as he held her close.

She drew back a little way, looking up to meet his eyes. "I promise you I will," she swore to him gently. "Will we be gettin' up again when we're done" If we won't, we should lock up for the night."

He didn't think there was much need to lock up. He never had before, but then, he was used to being alone and not having someone else to protect, and though he felt safe at the ranch, he wasn't quite so trusting when it came to Bridget's safety. "You get comfortable. I'll lock up," he suggested. The dishes could wait until morning.

She nodded, reassured by the implied promise that he wouldn't be like other husbands she had heard of in taking his dues and leaving before the dust had settled on him. Easing back, she let him go to check the doors and windows, turning herself to draw the threadbare curtains over the bedroom window. After a moment's hesitation, she began to strip down to her shift, a short affair of white cotton that ended at her knees and bore no sleeves to speak of, laced over what bust she had. Her new clothes were folded and placed reverentially aside, taking her time about it in the hope that he would be back before she had a chance to grow uncertain once again.

He wasn't gone overly long, just long enough to make sure the cabin was secure against intruders of any kind. There was no need to build a fire, as it was summer, a pleasant breeze stirring the bedroom curtains. Locking up the cabin was really more for her peace of mind than anything else. If anyone really wanted to intrude, it wouldn't take much more effort than kicking the door in or climbing through a window, but at least she'd feel safer. Once that was finished, he returned to the bedroom, rapping his knuckles on the door to warn her before joining her.

She straightened as he knocked, turning to face him as he stepped inside, one arm wrapped about her own waist as the other hand played with the laces at her bosom. "I ....I didn't know if you wanted me in the bed, or ..." She shrugged, glancing down at herself in her less than modest attire. "Well, I didn't know."

He furrowed his brows, recognizing her uncertainty where it came to his wishes. He hadn't had anything in particular in mind, other than for her to make herself comfortable. "Bridget," he started, closing the door behind him, but only to make her feel that much more secure, as there was no one there but them. He crossed the room to lift her arm from her waist and twine his fingers with hers as he looked her over. "You look lovely," he said, though that wasn't what he'd planned on saying when he'd entered the room.

"Well, you're not alone now," she promised him, gently wriggling to settle herself over him, nose to nose as her hair fell in copper curtains about their faces. "You'll not be alone so long as I draw breath, Sam, I promise you. You're stuck with me now."

"I could love you, Bridget," he told her quietly, almost afraid to admit it out loud. It was the first time he'd used the word since they'd met, though there was obviously something going on between them, some inexplicable attraction neither could deny. He cupped her face in his hands, pushing that curtain of copper away from her face, searching her eyes for some hint that she might someday share those feelings, that theirs might not just be a marriage of convenience.

The echo he sought was there, warm in blue eyes that showed her smile long before her lips curved to share it with him. "Aye, I could love you, too," she said gently. "Reckon I will, in time. You'll be easy to love, Sam. Very easy."

He'd known friendship in his life, from those he'd known all his life - Mrs. Prudey for one, Marin for another, at least until a few years ago - but he'd never really known love, not the kind of love between a man and a woman, not the of love that every human craved at the very depths of their soul. "It's you who's easy to love, Bridget," he told her, knowing it was true.

"Then we'll be lovin' very soon, won't we?" she smiled back to him, leaning down to brush her lips to his. "Still think we ought to give this another go, though," she added in a teasing murmur. "Think I'll do it better second time around."

"Practice makes perfect," he said with a warm smile, that was partly amused and partly hopeful. Two days ago, he'd been a bachelor, with no end in sight, and now he was married to a woman he was starting to care for and with whom he was hoping to make a family.

Yet her gains were greater. Two days ago, she had been homeless, unemployed, nothing to her name, stranded in a place she had never even heard of. And yet now she was married; she had a home; a job; and a man she could feel herself falling for as each moment swept by. She had promised him a family before the end of two years, but she felt sure they would have it before then. Sometimes the greatest misfortune in life can bear the greatest rewards. If the threat of drowning in the most famous maritime disaster on Earth was anything to go by, her life here with Sam was going to be wonderful. Fate or gods, it didn't matter who had given it to them. All that mattered was that they were here, and love would follow.