By the time Margaery begins to reply, Ned has already forgotten the confession that so recently left his lips, and his brows gather with confusion as he attempts to understand what it is she's saying. It takes him a bit longer than it would normally to piece it all together, and if his face weren't already flushed scarlet from the heat of the fever, it would have done so now, from the burst of embarrassment and impropriety bubbling in his chest.

He grumbles something incoherent, though he imagines it to be something clear and dismissive, perhaps something seeking her forgiveness for having spoken so boldly and without forethought. With some effort and a groan, he shifts himself a bit in the bed, settling back down into it with a huff. His grip tightens briefly as he feels her lips pressed to the backs of them, and he meets her gaze for a few silent moments. His eyes are weighted with regret, remorse, and embarrassment.

"Yes. She is a good woman. The only woman I could have ever dreamt of as my wife." Thoughts of Catelyn, especially now in his feverish state, pain him in such a particular and intense way, that he needs to inhale a sudden gust of air in order to subdue it. "I am glad you have found love," he manages to reply, closing his eyes again. "You deserve that and more, and I am sorry for having spoken so out of turn."