It was only when he uttered another name entirely that she realised whose name was slipping from her very lips. A small gasp escaped her then as she looked up at the man pumping into her as if he too had been waiting for this coupling for too long. That was his name then, Uther. Her hands slid along his sides, across to the small of his back where her fingers splayed out and she aided his thrusts into her as her limbs wrapped about him.<br/><strong>"U ... Uther"</strong>she repeated, unable to look from him and when he in turn whispered the name Clara, it was Sarah's turn to feel affronted.<br/><br/>Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew the name he called must be his wives, she hadn't thought a man like the Marshall would have stayed celibate in his widowed state and had genuinely thought the girls at the Saloon had favoured him with their special gifts in his moments of need. For men seemed to crave this far more than women in her opinion and yet now he touched her, penetrated her as if she were more than simply Sarah, the woman he had helped to train into gun fighting.<br/><strong><br/>"Sarah"</strong>she corrected him in a soft voice, needing to hear it as much as he had and when Uther whispered again against her lips, never to leave him, Sarah felt the sharp pain of memory hit her hard. She had not left, they had. They had been taken from her just as it seemed the wife and child of this man had been taken from him. As his mouth assailed her in a deep hard passionate kiss, Sarah responded to every nuance of it.<br/><br/><strong>"I won't leave"</strong>she whispered, perhaps simply assuring him and herself for the losses they had both accumulated. If it was what he needed in that moment, she would give it to him, give anything to him just as he was giving this now to her. Her arms wrapped tight about him, holding him so very close.<br/><strong>"I won't leave"</strong>she repeated, not sure what the morrow would bring and for once, not caring.