"How can ye be so certain?"
"Ye are still alive."
A telling point, Sigimor mused, although he would crawl naked through glass shards before he would say so. “I believe she is heading back to England, taking the wee lad back to Drumwich."
"Alone? I would have thought she had more sense than that."
She did, but Sigimor's conviction that she was headed for Drumwich did not waver. He was now certain that all her soft flatteries and greedy passion last night had not been the sign that she had settled to being his wife as he had thought. She had been saying farewell. If she thought he would allow that to stand, she was in for a surprise. He had finally found his mate and he simply refused to believe that Jolene would not fall in with Fate's plan.
He also refused to believe she had left without a firm plan of action. Although she might mumble clever excuses when she went the wrong way, Jolene knew she had no sense of direction. If she did not take anyone with her to lead her, then she knew someone was near and at a place shecouldget to. Jolene was meeting someone and returning to England with him.
For a brief moment, he was seared with a fierce jealousy, then calmed himself. If Jolene had a man in England whom she loved, she would never have married him. That much he was sure of. That she might be joining up with some English ally Harold had mentioned was, however, a strong possibility. It would explain the feeling he had had that Jolene was distracted after her rescue, that she was keeping something secret from him. Unfortunately, he had let passion divert him. The thought that Jolene had used the passion they shared for just that purpose angered and hurt him more than he cared to think about. He shook the thought aside and started out the door, pleased by the way everyone hastily moved out of his path.
"What are ye planning to do?” Liam asked.
"Go fetch my wife back,” replied Sigimor.
"Nay alone ye arenae."
Sigimor watched his large family scatter, racing to their chambers to prepare to ride with him. He considered ignoring them and starting on his way immediately, then inwardly shrugged. It would make an impressive show if he arrived at Jolene's rendezvous with a goodly force of men. If some ally or kinsman of hers had been chasing Harold, he would undoubtedly have fighting men with him. Sigimor went to the great hall to break his fast as he waited for the others. He would not wait long, however. He was willing to chase his wife all the way to the gates of Drumwich, but that did not mean he wanted to.
When Sigimor finally rode out of Dubheidland, he had to wonder if anyone was left to watch over the keep. A careful look over the men revealed that his twin and Ranulph had stayed behind, but the other ten brothers residing at Dubheidland were with him, including Fergus the Last. At a quick guess, he felt there were about a dozen of his cousins with him as well, and, of course, Nanty. When he did reach his wife, Sigimor realized there would be little privacy available to them. Whatever needed to be said would have to wait until they returned to Dubheidland. There was a reckoning due with his little wife and he was not going to indulge in it in front of half his kinsmen.
Pain formed a tight knot in his chest. That only added to his anger. He had been so intent upon making Jolene succumb to him in body, mind, and heart, he had not truly realized how fully he himself had succumbed to her. All of his well thought out plans to lead the dance had failed miserably. His only hope of avoiding humiliation now was to make sure Jolene joined him in this confusing state of mind and heart, one that seemed to consist of equal parts of bliss and torment. Someone should have warned him about love, he thought crossly.
Sigimor startled himself so thoroughly with that thought, he jerked hard on his reins causing his horse to rear slightly and then move sideways. He quickly calmed his mount and ignored the startled and curious looks of his kinsmen. For a moment, he tried to scorn the thought that had skipped through his mind, but it refused to be pushed aside, settling in hard as the truth was wont to do.
He loved Jolene. Somehow she had wrapped her little fingers around his heart while he had been distracted with thoughts of finding a comfortable mate and keeping her safe. As he had sought to tie her to him with passion, she had captured him in a far more complicated and complete way. He had been so caught up with the thought that she was his mate, that she feltright, that he had not really considered why that was. Nor had he given much thought as to why Jolene could make him, an experienced man of two and thirty, tremble and sweat like some untried boy. Now thatthatword had lodged itself in his mind, he understood it all. He loved Jolene. He loved a tiny, dark-haired Englishwoman who did not tremble before his anger, who would never blindly obey him, probably not even under threat of dire torture, and who was as impertinent as his sister Ilsa. Sigimor would not be surprised if God and the Fates were rolling about their celestial realms convulsed with laughter.
There was, of course, only one solution to this problem. She would have to love him back. It had been his plan all along to make her love him, but it had been a plan based mostly upon his opinion that a wifeshouldlove her husband. He had decided it would be a nice boon, one that would make his life easier. Now it was a necessity, something as vital to him as water.
She did care for him, he told himself. Sigimor did not think pride or vanity prompted that belief. He could not believe a woman could give so freely and fiercely of her passion unless shedidcare for the man she was with. Surely, even he could nurture that until caring became love. He could continue to keep her passion stirred up hot and fierce, but that had apparently not yet succeeded in completely capturing her heart. Sweet words, compliments, and tokens of affection might help, but he had little skill in the ways of a proper wooing, he mused, fixing his gaze on Liam. It would choke his pride to ask advice, but Sigimor knew of none other as well versed in wooing as Liam.
"Why are ye staring at me?” asked Liam when he noticed Sigimor's steady gaze.
"Weel, we are all following ye, aye?” Sigimor shrugged. “Just wondering if ye really ken where ye are leading us."
"Tis a verra clear trail I follow. Jolene is obviously giving the wee lad bread to gnaw on and he is dropping near as much as he is eating as far as I can see."
Glancing down at a piece of bread Liam pointed to, Sigimor grunted. “I suspicion the wee lad likes to see the birds come after it,” he said, nodding toward a point a few yards ahead where several blackbirds poked at something on the ground.
"Aye, that would interest the boy.” Liam smiled faintly at Sigimor. “I dinnae think that was the reason ye were staring at me, though. Ye have ne'er questioned how I followed a trail before."
"Ye havenae been following my wife before."
"Ah, of course, save for that one time she got caught by Harold,” Liam muttered. He nudged his horse to a slightly faster pace, then rolled his eyes when Sigimor kept close by his side. “I sent Nanty ahead to see if he could espy this meeting ye think she has gone to."
"Good.” Sigimor inwardly cursed, annoyed that he had been so caught up in his own thoughts he had not noticed that or suggested it himself.
"If ye have something to say or ask, just do it. Tis clear something is gnawing at ye."
"Could it be that my wife ran away?"
Liam grimaced. “I dinnae think sheran away, nay as ye seem to mean it. I think we all forgot the laddie's place in all of this. He is the laird of Drumwich, her dead brother's only heir. The mon who wanted the lad dead, wanted to steal all that was rightfully Reynard's, is dead. There isnae any need for the lad to hide away in Scotland now, is there? In truth, it could cost him dearly."
Sigimor muttered a curse. In some ways, Liam was right. Although he had never truly forgotten who and what Reynard was, he had given little thought on what must happen after Harold had been defeated. It was too easy to see Reynard as just a bairn, not the lord of an English castle. Once or twice he had considered what might need to be done once the threat to the boy was gone, but only in vague, fleeting ways. He had made no plans for that future. Worse, he had not discussed that future with Jolene. He had become so concerned with making her completely his, he had ignored her responsibility to the boy, and her vow to her dying brother to care for his son. That had been a serious error and he was not sure how to rectify it.
Stupidly, he had ignored the fact that a hard choice awaited Jolene once Harold was defeated. She had had the care of Reynard since his birth and the bond between the two was clear to see. Although she would not be accepted as his guardian since she was a woman, that did not mean she would simply walk away from him. In his heart, Sigimor knew he may have realized all of that. It would explain some of the fierce need he had felt to try and bind her to him in any and every way he could. He had been trying to weight the scales in his favor for when the time to choose came. What Sigimor feared now was that she had made her choice and it was not him.
