"Iwouldlike to live to a ripe old age.” He smiled sleepily when she laughed.
Jolene soon felt his body grow lax. A moment later he made that odd little sound that was not quite a snore. It was a strange thing to make her want to cry, she thought, as she eased out of his arms to sit by his side.
Her body felt sated and pleased, but her heart ached with sorrow. He was everything she had ever wanted in a husband and she had to leave him. Glancing toward the window, she knew she could not even stay here and watch him sleep for a while. It was going to require a great deal of stealth to get out of Dubheidland unseen and stealth could be very time consuming. There was also a long walk ahead of her. She looked back at Sigimor and struggled against the urge to kiss him, afraid that might make him stir.
Wincing a little at the various little aches in her body, she cautiously got out of bed. Never taking her eyes from him, she got dressed and collected her small sack of belongings from under the bed where she had hidden it earlier. For a moment, she just stood there, unable to take that first step, but she forced thoughts of Reynard and promises made to the fore of her mind. As silently as she was able, she let herself out of the room.
Collecting Reynard was relatively easy. He slept near the door in the room with several other boys who slept like the dead. She wrapped him up in his blanket, grabbed his little sack of clothes and hurried out of the room.
Slipping into the room Barbara had used, she set the still-sleeping Reynard down on the bed and dressed him. He was just starting to wake up when she began to put him in a blanket sling she then hefted onto her back and secured around her chest. Out of the corner of her eye she caught his eyes widening slightly when he looked around and realized where they were.
"Hush, m'love,” she whispered. “There is no danger. We are going to go and visit someone."
"Who?"
"Cousin Roger."
"Oh. I like Cousin Roger."
"He likes you too.” She picked up their small sacks in one hand and moved to the fireplace to open up the passageway.
"Why are we going this way?"
Grabbing a torch in her free hand, she replied, “Because it is very early and I do not want to disturb everyone. They are all very tired after saving us yesterday."
He fell silent and she slipped into the passage. The lie she had just told was a small added weight to the guilt she was already feeling. She pushed aside all thought of guilt, lies, a peacefully sleeping husband who would wake to find himself alone, and how her grief was growing deeper and deeper with every step she took on the journey that would take her away from Dubheidland. There was a long walk ahead of her and, if only to be sure she did not get lost, she had to concentrate on the journey alone.
It was a little later than an hour after dawn when Jolene stepped into the clearing where Roger was supposed to be waiting. For a moment she feared he had already given up and left, but then, one by one men appeared from the surrounding trees. She looked for Roger and smiled when she saw him. He looked absolutely stunned, but a moment later he was hugging her.
With an admirable efficiency a fire was made, Reynard was tended to, and Jolene found herself seated on a folded blanket before the fire sipping wine. She told Roger all about Harold's death and he told her all he had done since hearing of Peter's murder. When he told her that he had been appointed Reynard's guardian, that his wife was already at Drumwich waiting for the boy, she was stunned. She finished her wine, stood up, and stared in the direction of Dubheidland.
"I hope you are pleased,” said Roger as he moved to stand beside her.
"Very pleased,” she replied. “It is all exactly as I wanted it to be."
"About this husband I have heard you now have. It will be possible to get an annulment, you know.” He frowned when she shook her head.
"I am going back,” she said, and, despite the fact that she would have to leave Reynard, she felt the hard knot of grief she had suffered since yesterday begin to unravel.
"Go back to Sir Sigimor? But, Jolene, he is a Scot."
"Aye, a big, rough, redheaded Scot. He is my husband.” She suddenly smiled, with joy and at her own idiocy. “And I love him."
"Ah, well,” Roger dragged a hand through his hair, “after all you have been through you may be mistaken in your feelings. Some time back at Drumwich and you will see that this is not the marriage for you.” He cursed softly when she shook her head again. “Does he love you?"
"Perhaps. He gets jealous and is very possessive."
"Most men are, but it doesn't have to mean much."
"He is always seeing to my comfort and will not stand for any insult to me."
"As any gentleman should."
"Oh, Sigimor is not really much of a gentleman."
"There, you see, a woman of your blood should have a true gentleman as her husband."
"He talks with me, about a lot of things, and he listens to what I have to say."
