"I don't know how many ways I can tell you that your fear is needless," he said, never taking his eyes from her own, "or how I may convince you that it is unwarranted, any more than I can make you unafraid when my full attention is demanded elsewhere-" he nodded, as her eyes had widened at this. "My wife, you should have told me, rather than suffer needlessly in silence."
Tears welled in her eyes at this, and she choked, "I thought . . . thought you knew-!"
He gave her a humorously wry, rueful look. "You should know by now that your husband can be rather thick where matters of the heart are concerned." His smile broadened. "That said-"
He never got to finish his sentence, for she had buried herself in his arms, weeping brokenly, and all he was aware of for a long time was the feel of her in his arms, the beating of her heart, the feel and smell of her soft hair against his cheek . . .
During their two weeks of travel, every step of the way Lily found herself thinking of Belloc's old dwelling-- the place she had come into this world; the place she would always think of as home. She thought of the room she had shared with Anest, and wondered if, like the rest of the house, it had been taken over by soldiers.