"Ye dinnae seem verra angry about this any more."
"Oh, I am angry, but I ken ‘tis both useless and unfair. I closed my eyes to this, didnae think on what would happen—what must happen—once Harold was dealt with. Plans should have been made, discussed, and settled. Aye, she should have spoken to me, but, by my silence, I may have led her to believe I didnae want to hear it. And she was right to think so. I didnae. As ye say, ‘tis a fair hard choice for the lass to make."
"Aye. Tis hard enough for any lass to leave her family if ‘tis a close one. Jolene has to leave her country, too. Leave it for a place that hasnae been too welcoming."
"And leave the wee lad she has raised since his birth. Reynard is as a son to her in many ways. She has attempted to keep the lad from seeing her as his mother, but has it worked? Has she convinced her own heart of it? He is but a wee bairn who has just lost his father. Can he let her leave him as weel? Can she resist any pleas he might make? Nay, this isnae a simple matter of choosing the child or the husband. And, I am nay sure I want her to come with me if ‘tis naught but a sense of duty, of honoring vows made."
"Oh, I suspicion it would be more than that if she walked away from that bairn."
"Mayhap, but would it be enough to keep her from regretting it later? Enough to keep the pain of leaving the boy from festering until it becomes a hard anger or resentment against me?"
"Ah, there is that to consider. Weel, ye shall just have to tell her that ye love her."
"Why should I be telling her that?"
"Why shouldnae ye? Tis the truth."
"I have ne'er said so.” Sigimor was not sure why he was so inclined to deny it, except that he found it a little unsettling that Liam could recognize a feeling inside him that he himself had only just acknowledged. He also wondered how such a nearly pretty man could so skillfully produce such a rude and scornful sound. “She is my wife. Naught else matters."
"It does if ye want to hold her fast at your side and have her pleased to be there."
"Shewaspleased to be there. I kept her and the lad safe, saw to her earthly needs, and bedded her until her eyes crossed."
"Weel, what more can a lass ask for? Her eyes crossed, eh? Tis an odd image that should be alarming yet is strangely intriguing. Then again, are ye sure ye are doing it right? Mayhap—"
"Mayhap ye best cease emptying that bucket of mockery o'er my head. Leastwise, if ye plan on reaching your next saint's day. Of course I was doing it right. I may nay have wooed and rutted my way through half the lasses in the land as ye have, but I am nay without some skill. The lass burns hot for me."
"Aye, ye will get no argument on that. Twas easy to see. Howbeit, ye cannae tie a lass to your side with only that, Cousin. Any lass with wit—and we both ken that Jolene has more than her share—kens that a mon's passion can be a fleeting thing, with no depth or true feeling to it. Ye need to let her ken that she has a place in your heart, in your life, nay just in your bed."
Sigimor knew Liam was right, but he still felt a need to defend himself. “She has said naught."
"She was a highborn Sassenach virgin who took ye, a Scot, to husband,” Liam said. “That says a great deal. And, ye arenae the one who must give up something. Jolene must give up Reynard and her home, her land of birth. There needs to be more than the delight of the bedchamber to make her do that. Ye need to woo her."
"Weel, ‘tis a wee bit late for that,” Sigimor whispered as they drew near the clearing where Jolene met with the Englishmen.
"Tis ne'er too late. She is still within reach. Give the lass a few sweet words."
"In front of two score men or more?"
"They would carry more weight if spoken so openly, witnessed by so many."
There was a lot of truth to that, but Sigimor knew he would be hard pressed to take that good advice. He was not a mon skilled in sweet words or speaking openly about what he felt. Jolene should understand that. Sigimor felt the knot in his chest tighten as he and Liam took their places in the circle of Camerons now formed around Jolene and the Englishmen. He had one last chance to keep his wife, but only if he could woo her with soft, sweet words of love—a skill he had never obtained.
He looked at Jolene and all thought of wooing fled his mind. She was in the arms of another man, a tall, handsome man. The man had black hair which meant he could be a cousin, but Harold had also been a cousin and that blood tie had not stopped the man from lusting after her. It had not proven any true obstacle to marriage, either. Sigimor felt jealousy rear up and blind him to all but the need to tear her out of that man's arms.
"Soft words, Cousin,” murmured Liam as he watched Sigimor dismount.
"I willnae yell at her."
Liam sighed. “Ye said we werenae supposed to kill any of the Sassenachs."
"I willnae kill him. I will just break his arms."
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Chapter Twenty
"We have company, Jolene."
