And Shelagh learns to put her stamp on something, too.

Shelagh not-very-gracefully managed to pull the zipper up in the back of her dress. Patrick was in the bathroom shaving, and while she could have asked him, she had already found that to be counter-productive. He never seemed to get the zipper to stay up, and as they needed to begin their drive home shortly, his efforts to distract her would make them late. She smoothed the dress down and looked in the mirror. A giggle rose up, and she looked away, blushing. She felt so very different. Every part of her was different. She knew things, had felt things she never felt before.

Three days ago, she thought she knew what to expect from marriage. She had been a midwife, after all. The mechanics of love were quite clear, or so she had thought. Yet the intimacy, the intensity, even the ultimate conclusion were so much more than she could have imagined. She was changed forever, and could not have been happier.

Determined to face her new self, she looked in the mirror again. Did she look different? She wondered. Could others see this joyful knowledge in her eyes? Here in this small seaside resort no one knew her, or even paid much attention to her. To be honest, she admitted to herself, she and Patrick had left the room so few times that most people in the hotel didn’t even know the new couple was there. But back home, those that had known and loved her for so many years, would they see it?

Patrick tapped at the door. “Shelagh?” he called quietly.

“Come in,” she answered. Opening the door slowly, Patrick entered, carrying his shaving kit under his arm. “Patrick, there’s no need to knock. This is your room, too,” Shelagh teased.

Grinning, he shrugged. “Trying to ease you into life with little privacy slowly, my love. A closed door doesn’t stand much of a chance against Timothy. That’s why our door now has a lock.” He crossed the room to stand behind her. “Are you admiring my beautiful bride?” he asked. His hands on her shoulders, he breathed in the scent of her hair deeply. “Maybe we can get a late start? Tim will be fine at his grandmother’s for an extra hour or so.”

“No, Patrick,” she chided. “I want to start my life with my family. Let’s go home.”

“Hmmm?” he murmured, nuzzling her ear. “But tonight is such a long time from now.”

“Tonight will come soon enough, I promise.” She stepped out of his arms and moved to the dressing table. Picking up her hairbrush, she smiled as she watched Patrick move out of sight of the mirror, complaining of his neglectful wife. The brush smoothed her shining hair and she began to gather it up in her customary twist. “Oh,” she breathed. She looked more closely at her neck. “What on earth? Patrick, come look. There’s some sort of a rash here.”

“A rash?” He crossed the room to stand beside her. “Where?” Craning his neck, he peered down at her, and then exhaled sharply.

“What is it? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Shelagh was concerned.

Patrick was not. Choking back laughter, he told her, “That’s not a rash, sweetheart.”

“Of course it is.” She stroked her hand over the mark. “What else could it be? What could have caused it?”

A lopsided, sheepish grin spread across his face, making him look like a young boy: naughty, yet oddly proud of himself. “I’m afraid it was me,” he admitted.

“You?! How could you possibly–?” Shelagh gasped, stunned. “Oh, Patrick, it was you!”

His shoulders shaking with mirth, Patrick fell back on the bed.

“Oh, you beast!” The crease in her forehead became very pronounced. “Patrick! How could you?” Shelagh rubbed at the mark, but knew it would not rub off. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

Trying valiantly to regain control of himself, Patrick sat up, resting on his elbows. “I’m sorry, Shelagh, really I am. I must have lost con–” his laughter broke out again, uncontained.

Shelagh stood and faced him, glaring down at him on the bed, hands on her hips. “You really are a beast, Patrick. How on earth am I going to cover this up? Everyone will all see it!”

He really did look ridiculous, laughing there on the bed. Shelagh shook her head at him, her irritation gone. “You’re quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” She knelt on the bed, leaning over him. He nodded silently, happy to be at her mercy.

“I suppose I could just wear my hair down, couldn’t I? Then no one would see it,” she suggested. Again, he nodded.

“So there’s a problem solved.” Practically purring, Shelagh lowered her head to his throat. “But how will you hide yours?” she whispered.