Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Fiona ignored the talk between the two men. Her mind was fixed on Tarr’s change of heart. He would allow Aliss to remain with her. Had he done this out of love for her? Did he truly wish to see her happy? Or had the change in circumstances forced his change of heart? Or did his heart have nothing to do with the reversal of his decision; was he merely being practical?
Her stomach plunged and she cursed the affects love, or the uncertainty of it, had on her appetite. One minute she was herself and could eat, the next she could not put a morsel of food in her mouth. She would wither away to nothingness if this were not soon settled.
The subject was changed and she was finally able to eat in relative peace, not the amount she usually ate but at least enough to satisfy. As the evening drew to an end, the hall growing empty, Fiona began to gather food to take to her sister.
“Several women have offered to bring Aliss food,” Raynor informed her.
Fiona stopped filling a wooden bowl. “I know my sister’s tastes, and besides she would expect no one but me to bring her nourishment.”
“And do not fill the bowl so much,” Tarr said. “Aliss eats little and she will not appreciate you trying to force food on her.”
Fiona held a chunk of black bread in her hand and stared at him. It was the second time this evening he had startled her. He was actually being considerate of Aliss and again she questioned his motives. Was he actually concerned for Aliss or was he merely attempting to seduce her into believing he cared?
Damn, damn, damn, this love game.
Fiona held her tongue, fearful of lashing out at Tarr for confusing her. Instead she allowed him to help her wrap the bowl in a linen cloth a servant provided, place it and a jug of cider in a basket, and walk with her, after a good-night to Raynor, to the cottage where Aliss kept vigil over the mother and newborn.
“Winter draws near,” Tarr said, and took off the wool cloak he had donned, draping it over Fiona’s shawl-covered shoulders as they left the hall and walked slowly through the village.
His hand lingered a moment, a brief moment at her shoulder, then fell away, but his touch was enough to spark her body—and she cursed her emotions for responding so easily, but then her body forever responded to his touch, simple or intimate, it did not matter. Her blood soon fired, her flesh tingled between her legs, and she grew moist.
She wanted him.
Why?
A stupid question. She loved him.
Or could she be only curious?
Idiot.
She fought with herself, and who could possibly emerge victorious when one battled with oneself?
“Something troubles you?” Tarr asked, reaching out and, with a little struggle, taking the basket from her.
Fiona shrugged. She was surrendering to this man more and more. She needed no one to carry things for her. And yet—it seemed so natural to let him.
“You do not answer me.”
“I am thinking,” she snapped.
He simply looked at her patiently waiting for her to reply, which annoyed her all the more.
“Why the change of heart?” she demanded, stopping in the middle of the village, thankful it was late enough for all to be snug inside their cottages.
His brow knitted.
“Do not play the fool. You know what I speak of. You suddenly decide that Aliss can remain with your clan. Why now?”
That he was uncomfortable by her confrontation was obvious. He looked off into the night sky, moved uneasily in place, and then reluctantly turned to glare at her.
“I realized you and your sister belong together.”
“Now? This moment in time, when there is a good chance I need not heed the agreement reached between the MacElders and the Hellewyk clan? How convenient for you.”
“You think I do this to keep you?”
Fiona wanted to shout yes, yes, tell me that you would do anything to keep me; tell me you love me. Instead she challenged him. “Do you?”
She watched him struggle with his response. He drew his broad shoulders back as if in defense, his head went up, his eyes narrowed, and his lips appeared stuck together purposely, preventing him from answering.
Suddenly he dropped the basket to the ground, reached out, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and yanked her against him, claiming a kiss before she could object.
His grinding kiss jarred her senses. He demanded, expected, insisted—and what did she do?
She surrendered willingly, melting into his kiss that robbed her of any sensible thought or reason. His tongue proved an awesome weapon and one that she had no desire to combat. With a thrust and a jab he had completely captured her, and she did not mind the capture, she relished it.
Her arms went up around his neck and they were soon locked together like two crazed lovers unable to let go, feared letting go, could not possibly let go.