"Well? Do you intend to share this plan, or plans, with me?” she asked finally.
"Mayhap we should wait until the morning,” said Sigimor, “after ye have rested."
Taking a deep, slow breath to calm her rising temper, Jolene smiled sweetly at him. “Tell me now."
He did love her temper, Sigimor mused, as he fought the urge to grin. Women rarely stood firm against him or showed him their displeasure. It saddened him, but many women found him imposing, even frightening. A lot of men did as well, but he considered that a good thing. Not this little Englishwoman, however. She did not hesitate to give him a look that clearly said she would like to beat him senseless when he goaded her. Sigimor suspected a lot of men would think him half mad, but he found that intensely attractive.
"I truly think it might be best to wait until the morrow when your head isnae so clouded by exhaustion."
"The only thing my head is clouded with at the moment is a rising fury. Tell me now. Please,” she added in an attempt at courtesy which was utterly ruined by the way she spat the word out from between tightly clenched teeth.
Sigimor shrugged. “As ye wish. The plan is—ye and I will marry."
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Chapter Seven
"I beg your pardon?"
"Ye and I will marry as soon as I can find a priest."
He did not look insane, Jolene thought as she struggled to break free of her shock. Yet, something had to have disordered his wits for him to say such a mad thing. Worse, he said it in much the same tone he might use to ask someone to pass the salt. Ask? He had notasked, he had stated it as if it was an already agreed-to fact.
Beneath her shock stirred anger, an anger roused by a hurt she did not really understand. Jolene told herself it was just pinched vanity, ignoring the voice in her head that heartily scoffed at that pathetic explanation. There was no romance here. It was more a battle maneuver, something meant to block Harold. Later, she might consider it a most gallant gesture, but, at the moment she saw it as no better than being offered marriage for her lands or her dowry or her bloodlines. A sharp distaste for such alliances was one reason she was still a maid at three and twenty.
"That is quite unnecessary,” she said, “and I do not see the need for it."
"Nay? Harold seeks to marry you. Tis one of the reasons he is chasing us."
"Aye—oneof the reasons. Marrying me will not make him turn back."
"It will protect ye if he gains hold of ye again. He cannae force ye to wed with him. E'en a priest eager for coin will hesitate to join a mon with a lass who already claims a husband."
"A marriage between us may not be legal in England."
"A mon of the church will feel compelled to make certain of that, especially if we are wed by a priest. So will Harold if he has plans to breed heirs to keep Drumwich in his grasp e'en after he is dead."
All he said was true, but Jolene shook her head. She was not exactly sure what she was denying—that truth or the inexplicable urge to fall in with his plan. Although she had always wanted a husband, a home of her own, and children, she needed more than he offered, more than a union formed only to thwart Harold's plans. The fact that she was so strongly drawn to Sigimor made thatmoreof an even greater necessity. Jolene could all too easily forsee a bleak future where her emotions grew and deepened while his never did.
Bleak, painful, and full of bitterness, she mused. She had seen what happened when one person in a marriage loved and the other did not. Her family was riddled with such marriages. Her own mother had become a hard, bitter woman after years of loving Jolene's father, a man who could not give her what she needed. It was one reason Jolene had wished to have some choice in a husband. There was still the chance of failure and heartbreak when one chose one's own mate, but, she had always hoped, not so great a one. From all she had seen, marriages made for money, land, or alliances rarely proved to be happy ones. She doubted a marriage made to annoy one's enemy would be any different.
"Nay, ‘tis a bad plan,” she said, then gasped softly when Sigimor stood up and pulled her to her feet to stand beside him.
"We need to talk about this,” he said.
"I thought we were talking about it. I do believe I heard myself saynay."
Jolene cursed softly as Sigimor ignored her and strode toward the surrounding wood, tugging her along behind him. Obviously the man did not know how to accept a simplenay. He was going to try to talk her into anaye. The fact that he was taking her away from the others to do so made her a little uneasy. She could think of a few ways he might cause her to grow so witless she would agree with his mad plan.
She would be strong, she told herself. He could coax her all he wished, ply her with blood-stirring kisses, bewitch her with those beautiful green eyes, and seduce her with his fine voice, but she would not waver. Jolene reminded herself that she was a Gerard and they were famed for their resolve. Some unkind people called it blind stubbornness, but she felt that would serve her just as well.
A gasp of surprise escaped her when Sigimor pushed her up against a thick, moss-coated tree trunk. He placed a hand either side of her head and stared down at her. Jolene knew he could easily pin her in place if she tried to move. She tried hard not to meet his gaze, all too aware of the power of those eyes, but failed. It was terribly unfair that he did not appear to be so easily bewitched, she thought crossly. Using every ounce of will she had, she forced her face into an expression of calm disinterest and prayed he would not be able to perceive how big a fraud it was.
Sigimor looked into her upturned face, studied her cool, remote expression, and felt a stab of doubt. Then he looked into her wide eyes and began to relax. The turmoil clouding the silvery gray depths of her eyes was not easy to decipher, but it proved she was not as cold or distant as her expression implied. Jolene could not completely hide her feelings. Her lovely eyes were the windows to her heart and mind. He intended to do his best to learn what was reflected there. This time he would not be fooled, would not remain blind to what a woman truly thought or felt. Sigimor was determined to understand Jolene, or, at least try to get as close to understanding a woman as any man could get.
A little voice in his head told him that Jolene was no deceiver, that she was not a woman who would toy with a man just to feed her own vanity and pride. He intended to remain cautious, however. Everything within him told him she was his match, his mate, and did so more loudly and fiercely with each passing hour. For that reason alone, he would convince her to marry him, but he fully intended to be the one leading the dance this time. Ten years ago he had followed and found himself led straight into a humiliation that still stung. Although he could not make himself believe Jolene would do the same, he would force himself to remain wary.
"Ye have some objection to taking me as your husband, do ye?” he asked.
