Hushed Willows [m] high on the hill where the foxhorns blow

Never, he promised, and perhaps she was a fool to believe him. Hadn't Lestan promised the same? But Boone was different, a different sort of man entirely, and Reverie found that she did believe him. He wrapped an arm around her and she shivered as warmth snaked down her spine, pressing close, leaning her head against his chest. And as he went on, Reverie began to understand, for the first time, that Boone knew as well as she did what it was like to feel alone.
She'd never been on her own, not truly; not like he had. But Reverie had known abandonment all the same, the suffocating loneliness of being surrounded by those who did not seem to see her at all. Her heart ached to imagine her husband feeling that way; her husband, so young and so alone. She could not erase the hurts of his past, but —
I'm sorry, She murmured, eyes shining a little with the beginnings of tears. But she blinked them away and went on, I don't think it's corny. I think it's beautiful. And you don't have to be alone anymore. We'll - we'll do this together. Start a family of our own. And - it might hurt me, but it's - well, it's a risk we'll have to take if we want children. As long as I have you, I know I'll be okay.
Besides - my mother managed, even though it was hard. Three times! I think - I think I can do it too, if we find a midwife, Reverie pulled away just slightly to meet his eyes, never breaking their contact. But her gaze wandered after a moment, drifting over his cheekbones and his lips, the pretty dark mask over his eyes, that dark stripe under his nose and over his chin where she so loved to plant soft kisses. She was struck with the urge to kiss him there now, but refrained in favor of their conversation, only studying the features she had come to love so fiercely in open admiration.