The Honeymoon

May 1990

Roger and his wife lay down in bed, snuggled together on the edge of sleep.

“You know, Bree,” he said.  “In all the years we’ve been marrit, we havena really had a honeymoon.”

In answer, she rolled over on her stomach and leaned on her elbows, facing him.

“That’s true, but there wasn’t much time for vacation in the eighteenth century.  Did you have anything in mind?” Brianna asked.  “By the way, I love your voice when you’re sleepy.  Your accent comes out, and it reminds me of Da.”

I dinna exactly have anything in mind, but I’ll figure something out.  Do ye miss your parents?” he asked.

Yeah.  Always.  It’s a bit harder to bear when Jem randomly starts speaking Gaelic, but it’s not like I’m going to stop him.  He’s already been traumatized by Mrs. What’s-Her-Face.  Besides, it reminds me of the good times we had.”

“We certainly had fun, didn’t we?” Roger said.

“Yeah, we did,” Bree said, laughing quietly and rolling on her side with her head on Roger’s chest, looking up at the ceiling.  “It’s just weird missing people who are in another century.”

Soon after that, they both fell asleep.

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