Promise Me

Chapter Fourteen

The best thing about Boromir's bed, aside from Boromir's being in it, was how soft and comfortable it was. Everything was just perfect.

Well, almost, anyway.

The bed was soft. The linens were smooth and cool. The room was dark and no one would bother them.

If it wasn't for the fact Boromir snored, it would be utterly perfect. But the truth was, he snored.

Loudly.

Especially when he slept on his back, as he did then. His lips went softly slack and with every inhale, he sounded like she imagined his cave troll had sounded, although in all honesty, she had no idea if cave trolls made any sounds. However, it seemed to her that they should and so, that was what they would sound like.

Which meant she was nowhere near close to sleep. The candles had long since burned out. She and Boromir had done their best to exhaust one another as they rolled about in his big bed. She'd been utterly spent and absolutely sated by the time he sank against her. In fact, her eyes refused to remain open when he did just that, the drowsiness sweet and irresistible as he brushed a light kiss along her neck and murmured, "My love," into her ear.

He'd shifted off her, stretched out beside her, and slipped an arm about her, tightening it as she snuggled against his large, solid body.

A few minutes later?

The windowpanes rattled from the force of his snores.

She tried anything she could think of to blot out the growling, snarling, raspy sounds, but nothing—short of smothering him with her pillow—worked.

Somewhere in the flat, a clock struck two. She gave up the idea of getting any sleep, and so carefully inched out from beneath his arm, and slid to the edge of the mattress. The white marble floor was cold beneath the soles of her feet, had her biting back a yelp when they came flat against it.

He let out a particularly harsh snort and irritation flared hot enough through her that she didn't feel the cold as she stood and swept his tunic from the floor alongside the bed, where she'd let it fall when she'd swept it from his back earlier.

The fire on the hearth was only barely crackling now, the room as cold as it was beyond the stone walls, and as she tugged the tunic over her head, it chased away some of the chill. The heavy fabric wafted down about her, Boromir's scent of leather and hints of horse and cloves teased her nose and had her inhaling deeply despite her annoyance.

The shirt was far too big for her, falling halfway down her thighs, the sleeves well past her fingertips. And when she shoved the cuffs up, it was only to find that they were stretched out from being pushed over his forearms.

She cast a glance over at him, still snoring on, blissfully unaware that he kept her awake for one of the worst reasons ever. But as she watched him sleep, her gaze traveled over him, halting when she reached the bandage wound about his chest. Although she knew he was safe, and Ioreth was, according to him, fairly positive she'd gotten the wound completely clean, her stomach still lurched at the sight. He was in many ways back to himself, but at the same time, he would never be the same man he'd been the morning he'd ridden away from the stable to make his way toward Rivendell.

A soft sigh rose to her lips. She'd loved him for so long, and wanted to kick herself for not having the courage to speak up. Of course, it didn't matter much now, except for the fact that they'd wasted so many years.

The snoring stopped as he stretched in his sleep and rolled onto his side. The silence thickened and she sighed again as she curled into the chair in the corner of his bedchamber. But it was short-lived as he let out a low moan, and threw himself onto his back.