"Probably wants to be sure I dinnae stumble and chance falling on her for fear I would flatten her into the ground."
"Idiot. Shewatchesyou. She shows no interest in any of the rest of us save as companions in this wee crusade."
"Nay, not e'en ye,” Sigimor murmured, recalling his surprise over that.
"Nay, not e'en me. She isnae intimidated by your size and your manner. If the way she was glaring at ye earlier today is aught to go by, she also has the spirit to stand up to ye. What did ye say to her, by the bye?"
Still caught up in the pleasant thought that Jolene watched him, Sigimor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “She was telling me what qualities an Englishmon likes in his women and I told her it sounded as if the fools were thinking to breed a hound, nay a woman."
"Nay wonder she looked ready and eager to gut ye. I was hoping ye kenned how to flatter the lasses, but I begin to fear ye dinnae."
"I did tell her that I suspected most Englishwomen smelled a wee bit better than a hound."
"Tis a wonder she didnae swoon with delight,” muttered Liam and then he shook his head. “Ye do it apurpose, dinnae ye? Ye just have to keep poking at a person, waiting to see what will happen."
"Tis part of my charm.” Sigimor paused at the edge of the camp and his gaze immediately settled upon the slim form of a sleeping Lady Jolene. “Let it rest, Liam. There may be something there between us, some mutual attraction, but I am nay sure it should or could go any further than looking and thinking. She is an English lady and I am a Scottish laird. A greedy mon wants her and the lad dead. That wee lad is an English lord and she is verra nearly his mother, bound to him by blood and love. Aye, and I still believe she hasnae told us everything, that she holds fast to a wee secret or two. Tisnae a simple matter in any way. Twill go as it will go. One can but wait and see.” He started to collect his bedding, fully intending to spread it out at Jolene's side.
"Fine, wait and see. Just be sure ye keep both eyes wide open. Aye, and your mind and heart."
If the last few days were any example, Sigimor mused, he could do nothing else. His mind and heart would not let him.
Sigimor woke with a curse as a small, hard fist slammed into the side of his head. As he hastened to fend off further blows, he realized the woman at his side had not suddenly turned into a virago intent upon murdering him, but was caught fast in a nightmare. Reynard began to cry and Nanty quickly appeared. Sigimor told the man to take the child to his bed, then set his mind to pulling Jolene free of her nightmare before she did him a real injury.
It took him longer than he felt it ought to get her thrashing body pinned firmly beneath him, but he was trying hard not to bruise her. He was a little surprised at the virulence and the variety of the curses she spat out while she fought against the enemy haunting her dreams. The blind panic that briefly twisted her delicate features when she finally opened her eyes struck him to the heart. In a soft, calming voice he had perfected over the years of raising his siblings and many of his cousins, he repeatedly told her who he was and where she was.
The moment she calmed, he became all too aware of the intimacy of their position with her slender legs pinned beneath his and their groins pressed close together. His body's reaction to that suggestive delight was immediate and fierce. Sigimor was not surprised to see her eyes slowly widen and the hint of a blush shadowing her cheeks. Even as a voice in his head told him not to do it, he brushed his mouth over hers, finding her lips soft and sweet.
"What do you think you are doing?” Jolene asked, shivering over the strange tingling warmth his lips had left upon hers.
"Kissing it to make it better?” Sigimor lifted his head only a little until they were nose to nose.
"Tis already better for I am now awake.” Steeling herself against the shockingly strong urge to rub herself against that hard length pressing so impudently against her, she gave him what she hoped was a very stern frown.
"What haunts your dreams, m'lady?” Having heard her curse Harold in her dream, he had a suspicion or two, but wondered if she would answer truthfully.
Even as she wondered how the featherlight kisses he brushed over her face could make her insides tremble so, Jolene replied, “Peter's death.” It was not a complete lie for there had been glimpses of that horror mixed up with all the other fears and terrifying memories.
"Ah, so that is why ye were cursing Harold, aye?"
"Aye."
"I begin to think ye arenae telling me everything, lass, and for that I have decided ye must pay a forfeit."
"A forfeit?"
Jolene had barely finished muttering the words when he kissed her. This time it was no gentle tease of a kiss, but one that made her toes curl. She tried to fight the feelings tearing through her, but she lost that battle completely when, suddenly, his tongue was stroking the inside of her mouth. How it got there, she did not know, but, when it left, she immediately wanted it back. Instead, she was abruptly free, Sigimor lying on his side next to her with his back to her. He grumbled something about Nanty keeping Reynard with him, then said no more. Jolene stared up at the stars, felt a strange, gnawing ache inside of her, and wondered why she wanted to kick the man senseless. She could forsee a great deal of trouble in the days ahead and not just from that murderous usurper Harold.
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Chapter Four
"Harold is in Scotland."
Liam's announcement sent a chill through Jolene, a cold that settled into her very bones. Up until that moment she had been riding beside Sigimor idly wondering if she should scorn him for daring to kiss her last night or try to get him to do it again. Now she was brutally recalled to the reason why she was with Sigimor and his men, why she had fled to Scotland. Unthinkingly, she tightened her grip on the reins and caused her horse to shift about in nervous confusion.
Sigimor reached over and patted her thigh without taking his gaze off Liam. To Jolene's amazement, she felt calmed by that touch. It was a silent reminder that she was not alone. She still felt the pinch of guilt over dragging them into her troubles, but it was fading. Whenever the men spoke of Harold there was such anger and hatred in their voices that she realized they, too, hungered for revenge. They had, after all, come very close to dying at Harold's hands. Jolene had no doubt that these men would never hesitate to help a woman or child in trouble, but they also intended to make Harold pay dearly for imprisoning them and plotting to hang them.
"Are ye sure?” Sigimor asked, reluctantly removing his hand from Jolene's slim thigh once she was calm again.
