Chapter 9:

Like the slow current of time that had aided their night together, serene silence followed the lovers as they drifted into a warm, sated sleep. The once bright, vibrant fire in the hearth gradually died, yet the couple did not notice.

In the soft white-gold light of the new day, the hues of his bedchamber came into focus as John Smith's eyes leisurely opened. The air felt cool, yet sunlight streamed through the window, coaxing him awake. His sleep-addled mind wondered if such a night had ever occurred, if the tender warmth, peace, and joy were merely fragments of a dream.

But in the next instant, all was made clear as the reason for his tender warmth, peace, and joy sighed in her sleep and moved onto her back. He gazed on as her dark hair spread out on the pale pillows, his right arm held against her bare chest and her cheek pressed into his shoulder.

In that very moment, Captain John Smith would give all he had to remain. When she shivered, he shifted, tucking the blankets around her lithe form. He allowed his body to bask in her warmth, reveling in the feel of her skin pressed against his and the sound of her even breathing. If he could awaken like this every day of his life, he would never ask for anything more.

A contented sigh left his lips as the light scent of citrus and lavender wafted from somewhere in the room. He marveled at how, for the first time in so long, there had been no nightmares—no fears of being found or memories of pain he couldn't escape. Unknowingly, she had been a salve not only to his heart but to his soul. It made him love her even more, just the mere fact she had accepted him despite all he had done. In her arms, for the first time in years, he felt truly safe.

Idly, he wondered if this would be their only time together, the only time he would ever feel such a way. He swallowed hard as he fought the thoughts that assaulted his mind.

As the sunrays entered through the window, he felt her stir beside him, and the weight of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly.

"John?"

The whisper of his name broke him out of his thoughts as she reached for his arm, her soft lips parting in a yawn as he turned to face her.

He could not help the relief in his voice. "Good morning, love."

Her reply was in the form of a kiss, her arms circling around his neck as she held him close. The thoughts vanished as he moved further into her embrace, moaning as her lips caressed his neck. Bare hands traced his back as she sighed against his skin.

"Thank you," she murmured whilst his eyes widened in surprise.

"Whatever for?"

Pocahontas smiled. "Last night, how gentle and… showing me your love. I will never forget."

It was his turn to whisper, "Stay with me. I will see to it every evening that you never will."

"I wish… I wish I could…"

He clung to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

His words came to her in a low murmur. "I love you."

Gently, cupping his face in her hands, she searched for his gaze, not merely seeing his love but the silent question that lingered between them in its depths.

"What troubles you?"

His reply was instantaneous. "You know very well."

"I don't understand what you mean."

She watched as his eyes narrowed. "You know very well what troubles me."

Pocahontas heard the sharp edge to his voice but kept her calm, hoping the soothing hand across his forehead and through his hair would ease his mind.

"You know."

She shook her head, and in doing so, freed the tether that held his patience in check.

His warm cerulean gaze immediately became cold as the ice that formed on the rivers in the winters of her homeland. Though he did not raise his voice, the frigid tone brooked no argument.

"Do not act like a fickle English lady when you and I know that is not who you are. You are not a stupid, mindless doll. Now that we have made that clear, answer my question that concerns him."

There was no need to mention his name; both knew whom Smith was referring to. It was as if mentioning it would shatter the little peace they had found.

Her body tensed under his touch, yet his glare remained. He was as headstrong as she, and Pocahontas was acutely aware that he would not tolerate her silence for long.

The native princess sighed before clearing her throat, "I, that is to say… I care for him, like one cares for a friend."

He could not keep the incredulity out of his tone. "A friend."

"Yes, when we are together, our conversations are civil but short… When he kisses me, I do not feel anything. There is this…"

Pocahontas paused as she considered her words, glancing at John's impassive expression. His face revealed none of his feelings as she searched for his gaze.

"I would wager that he thinks of me the same, and only acts in such a way for my status and the prestige he will undoubtedly…"

John's jaw clenched involuntarily, a surge of protectiveness flooding his veins. His fingers tightened around hers, his voice low but firm.

"He does not deserve you," he murmured, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. "If he cannot see your worth beyond status and prestige, then he is not worthy of your affection."

Pocahontas's expression softened at his words, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She reached out to caress his cheek.

"Thank you, John," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Your words bring me comfort in uncertain times."

"What do you mean, uncertain times?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Pocahontas hesitated, her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns against his chest as she struggled to find the right words.

"I mean," she began slowly, her voice soft yet resolute, "that our future is far from certain. As much as I wish for us to be together, there are forces beyond our control that may seek to tear us apart."

John's heart sank at her words, a cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He had always known that their love would face challenges, that their union would be met with resistance from those who could not understand or accept their bond. But hearing her speak so plainly made the harsh reality crash down upon him.

The morning light now gently illuminated the room, drawing them back to the present. Pocahontas shifted beside him, her warmth against his side comforting, even as the weight of the day ahead loomed.

She sighed softly, tracing lazy patterns across John's skin, her head nestled against his shoulder.

"We should get up soon," she murmured, her voice reluctant. "Patricia will wonder where I've gone and there is no possible way to explain how I ended up in your bed."

John chuckled as his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer

"Oh, I am sure there is," he teased, his tone lighthearted. "We can tell her that due to last evening's chaos we stumbled in here."

Pocahontas laughed at his cheeky response.

"Yes, I am certain she would believe that."

John shrugged. "It is better than telling her the truth."

"Perhaps," Pocahontas began, "You know we cannot hide in here forever. Someone is bound to notice I am not where I said I would be."

John hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled her close, one leg going over hers, his thigh warm and heavy against her.

She kissed him gently, slowly, in a way that carried more weight than words. In that moment they were merely two souls seeking to hold onto one another, to fortify the bond they had forged in the stillness of the night.

A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound of pleasure that sent a tremor through him, tightening the coil of desire in his core. He moved slowly, savoring the warmth of her body. His mouth found the swell of her breast, lingering before drawing the hardened peak into his lips, his tongue tracing delicate circles that made her breath hitch.

Her fingers wove through his hair, holding him close, her touch both urgent and tender. As he lifted his gaze to hers, he found her eyes dark with longing, lips parted, her breath coming in shallow waves.

A shudder passed through her as his hand traced a slow, deliberate path down her side, fingertips grazing the curve of her waist before settling at her hip. He squeezed gently, grounding them both in the moment.

She exhaled his name in a whisper—soft, reverent. "John…"

The sound sent a shiver down his spine. "I'm here," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, their breath mingling in the space between them.

With effortless grace, she shifted, rolling onto her back, their bodies never breaking apart. His gaze met hers—dark, intense, brimming with something deeper than mere passion. Love. Devotion. Need.

He moved within her slowly, reverently, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face—the way her ebony lashes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to stifle a cry, the way she gasped his name as she held him tighter, her legs locking around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

"Look at me," he whispered, his voice thick with need.

Her eyes fluttered open, dark and full of something raw, something unguarded. In that moment, nothing else existed—only them.

"I—" Her breath hitched as he pressed deeper, her fingers tightening in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp. "I am yours…" The words barely escaped between the gasps and helpless moans he drew from her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

John groaned, burying his face in the curve of her neck, his lips brushing her skin as he breathed her in.

She arched beneath him, her legs locking around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper. Her body trembled, overwhelmed by sensation, but still, she forced the words out—fractured, desperate, unfiltered.

"It was never… never him…" A sob of pleasure caught in her throat, her fingers gripping his shoulders. "Only you… always you…"

A shudder ran through him, and whatever restraint he had left shattered. His pace quickened, driven by something far greater than desire—something neither of them could name but both could feel. His hands roamed over her, memorizing every curve, every shiver, until she shattered beneath him, crying out his name.

The sound of it undid him.

A guttural moan tore from his lips as he buried himself deep, his body tensing, trembling, before his release surged through him in a violent, consuming wave. He collapsed against her, his breath ragged, his heartbeat hammering against hers, their flesh slick with heat.

For a long moment, there was only silence—only the slowing rhythm of their breaths, the lingering tremor in their limbs. Then, John pressed a kiss to her damp temple, his lips barely moving as he whispered, "Only me."

"Always," she breathed tightening her embrace, "My love…"

For a long moment, they lay entwined, neither willing to move, the weight of the previous night and what they had just shared settling between them.

John's fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine, his breath warm against her shoulder. Pocahontas curled into him, pressing her face into the hollow of his throat, inhaling the salt and spice of his skin.

But reality loomed at the edges of their sanctuary.

She sighed. "We should go," she murmured, though her voice lacked true conviction.

John exhaled sharply, shifting to prop himself on his elbow. "I know," he admitted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. But instead of moving, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow lingering kiss.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers. "At Eva's house, around midday?" he asked, a teasing smirk ghosting over his lips.

She smiled, brushing her thumb over his jaw. "If you happen to be there at the same time…"

His chuckle was low, affectionate. "I'll be there."

The peaceful quiet between them lingered for a moment longer before the pull of the day became too strong to ignore. Slowly, they began to rise, helping each other wash and dress in the soft morning light, their hands lingering on buttons and ties as they exchanged small smiles.

As they stepped out from their private world and into the bustling London street, the crisp morning air brought with it the clatter of carts and the calls of voices that heralded the arrival of morning. As they navigated the flight of stairs down towards the street, John's arm wrapped around her waist.

"Are you hungry? There is a vendor I go to that sales wonderful meat pies. Have you ever tried one?"

His tone was light, a playful note intertwined with genuine curiosity as he squeezed her waist.

Pocahontas arched an eyebrow, an impish smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as they finally reached the bottom and turned towards the bridge to head across the wide river Thames.

"You are stalling," she admonished, though her stern look didn't reach her eyes, which glinted with amusement. "However, to answer your question I have not. At least, not that I know of."

"Perhaps I am," John continued as they pressed together to avoid a hurriedly moving cart, the warmth of his body steadying her. "Would you still care for one?"

The native princess could not help the laugh that escaped her lips. "Not right now, but I will not forget that you offered."

"So," John began as they stepped off the bridge his tone casual, "Does that mean another time, then?"

Pocahontas smiled, the moment stretching just enough for the promise to settle between them like the steady current of the river they had traversed.

"Another time," she replied, her voice soft but sure.

It wasn't long before John spotted a carriage, its polished wood gleaming in the golden morning light. The fine horses stood patiently near the street corner, their tails flicking as the city bustled around them in the crisp air.

"Good day, sir," John called, feeling Pocahontas tighten her grip on his arm. "Would you be willing to take my lady and me outside the city?"

The driver, who had been absently petting one of the horses, glanced up. His gaze lingered on them for a moment before he adjusted his hat and straightened.

"Yes, I was about to head that way," he replied.

"Brilliant," John said as they stepped closer. "We're bound for the countryside."

He slipped several coins into the man's outstretched palm before turning to assist Pocahontas into the carriage. She accepted his hand with a grateful smile, lifting her skirts slightly as she settled onto the plush seat. The cushions were softer than she expected, and she let out a quiet sigh as she leaned back, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease.

As she smoothed her skirts, her fingers brushed over the fine embroidery at the hem, a detail she had barely noticed the night before. Now, in the morning light, the delicate stitches shimmered faintly as she glanced out the window.

John lingered outside a moment longer, speaking in hushed tones with the driver. "Take us along the east road first," he instructed. "We'll need to pass through the outskirts before heading toward the estate near the river."

The coachman gave a curt nod, tucking the coins into his coat. "Understood, sir."

John finally climbed in and settled beside Pocahontas just as the carriage rocked forward. He exhaled as the noise of the waking city faded into a dull hum around them. The rhythmic creak of the wheels and the steady clip-clop of hooves against the cobblestone filled the space between them.

She turned to him, her fingers grazing the edge of his sleeve. "Do you think anyone saw us leave last night?"

John studied her carefully, his brow furrowing slightly. "And if they did?"

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the window, watching as the narrow streets gradually gave way to open fields beyond the city limits. "Then they might notice I'm missing before I return."

Her fingers curled against the fabric of her skirt. "I need to be back before anyone questions where I've been."

John's grip on her hand tightened slightly. "You didn't seem so worried about that last night." His voice was gentle, but there was something beneath it uncertain.

She turned to face him fully, her dark eyes searching for his. "Because I wasn't." A soft smile tugged at her lips, warm despite the concern lingering in her gaze. "I regret nothing, John."

He didn't speak right away, as if weighing her words, searching for any trace of doubt. But there was none.

She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly over his jaw before she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulled away, she whispered, "We'll see each other at Eva's house around midday. Just a few hours."

John let out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Midday," he echoed, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as Pocahontas kissed him again.

The carriage rocked gently as it continued down the road, the city now a distant silhouette behind them. Fields stretched out on either side, morning mist still clinging to the grass in silvery wisps. Birds stirred in the hedgerows, their songs breaking the quiet.

Before long, the carriage turned onto the estate's long drive, the familiar house coming into view.

John shifted beside her. "Are you sure I can't—"

"No." She interrupted softly but firmly. "You cannot walk me inside."

His jaw tightened. "I don't like leaving you like this."

She reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And I don't like sending you away. But there would be no way to explain why you're here at this hour."

She paused, holding his gaze. "We've already taken a risk. Let's not make it worse."

John exhaled sharply, but after a moment, he nodded. "Fine. But I don't have to like it."

She smiled faintly. "I wouldn't expect you to."

As the carriage came to a stop, John gave her one last look before pushing open the door. He stepped out first, offering his hand to help her down. Their fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he reluctantly let go.

Pocahontas turned toward the house, her heart pounding as she made her way up the steps. The door was unlocked, and she slipped inside, pausing for just a moment to listen.

Voices.

Muffled, coming from deeper within the house.

Steadying herself, she gathered her skirts and moved toward the sound, ready to face whatever awaited her.