"Aye, and she may be right to question her sanity in doing so. She also called ye a contrary, dull-witted oaf and many of us may be inclined to agree with her if ye dinnae go after her. Quickly."
"Ye have changed your mind about her, havenae ye? Ye werenae pleased with my marriage nay so verra long ago."
"I have no love for the English and it grated that ye would marry one, e'en though she seemed a good lass. I also didnae like the reasonswhyye married her—for her protection and the lust ye felt. It wasnae long ere I thought there was more there, but both of ye seemed unable or unwilling to see that for yourselves. Weel, now I have been proven right. Wheesht, I kenned it for certain when she returned with ye. She gave up a lot to stay with ye."
"Aye, she did,” Sigimor said as he stood up, sighing faintly as he heard bits of his stew hit the floor. “I need to wash and change first. I dinnae want to get rabbit stew all over my wife and my bed linen.” He ignored the groans of his family as he strode toward the door.
"Ye should woo the lass,” called Somerled.
"Give her some sweet words,” yelled Liam.
"Aye, aye,” Sigimor said, giving them a negligent wave of his hand as he started out of the great hall. “And just where do ye think that will lead us, aye? I will be borrowing some of your clothes, Somerled,” he called over his shoulder, then, as soon as he felt no one could see him, he raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Jolene stared at Sigimor as he entered their bedchamber and wondered why she had not bolted the door. For a moment she was hurt over how long it had taken him to come to her, but then she noticed that he had changed his clothes and his hair was damp. Recalling why he would have to clean himself, she returned to staring out the window, hoping to hide the blush staining her cheeks.
She felt him come up behind her and tensed. In a moment of anger she had bared her soul, not only to him, but to everyone else crowded into the great hall. Had there been the moment of tenderness she had always envisioned? The soft exchange of love words and vows of devotion? Nay, she had called him names and dumped his stew on his head. Jolene wondered how long she would have to hide in her bedchamber before that humiliating incident was forgotten. She inwardly grimaced, suspecting she would still hear it mentioned when she was old and gray. Accept it, Jolene, she told herself ruefully, it will probably be the first tale told at your funeral feast.
When Sigimor reached around and placed his hands over hers where they rested upon the stone sill of the window, she frowned. She could feel the warmth of him all along her back. A tendril of heat began to curl through her body and she nearly cursed. He could stir her passion even when she was sunk in embarrassment and wanted to beat him about the head with a club. Jolene could only hope he did not know how completely ensnared she was, despite her declaration of love.
Sigimor pressed a kiss to the top of her head and struggled to think of something to say. To his dismay, he heard himself say, “So, ye love me, aye?” He could almost hear his entire family groan in disgust.
Jolene seriously considered turning around and punching her beloved husband right in his handsome nose. Then she sighed. She had said it. Loud and clear. There was no sense in denying it. If nothing else, she thought crossly, there were plenty of witnesses he could ask for verification.
"Aye, that is what I said,” she replied. “That is why I am here instead of riding back to Drumwich with Reynard and Roger."
It surprised him that she admitted it so freely, did not try to take the words back since she was so angry with him. There was a sadness in her voice, however, as if she wished it were not true. Sigimor supposed he could understand that. Her love for him had cost her dearly and he had given her little in return save for passion and, concerning that, Liam was right. Jolene had the wit to know that a man's passion could be a very shallow thing, built upon no more than a need to rut. She was also too innocent to be able to discern the difference between meaningless rutting and the passion they shared. It was not something he could explain to her, either. He might not be the sweet-tongued courtier Liam was, but even he knew it would not be wise to tell his wife that he knew the difference between true passion and empty ruttings because he had indulged in a fair bit of the latter. Especially not when she had just confessed to loving him.
He knew he had to say something. He could not continue to stand there like an idiot, reveling in the fact that she loved him. Sweet words, he told himself, and grimaced. Search through his mind though he did, Sigimor could find nothing there except awkward, common flatteries. He needed to make love to her, he decided. With passion heating his blood, he was sure he could find a few of those sweet love words she needed to hear. He slid his hands up her arms until he grasped her shoulders, then turned her around until she faced him.
"If ye love me, why did ye leave?” he asked as he began to unlace her gown, pleased when she offered no resistance except for a frown.
Jolene watched him remove her clothes. A dozen evasive replies crowded her head, but she pushed them all aside. She had just turned her back on her family, her home, and her country for this man. It was past time for the truth. Perhaps if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind and heart, he would give her some hint of what was going on in his. At the very least, she might discover how hard she would have to work to gain what she so desperately needed—his love.
"I thought I could do it, could honor my vow to Peter to care for Reynard. I did not want to go, but it was not until I faced the choice full on that I realized Icould notgo. I suppose you intend to take me to bed now,” she said when he tossed aside the last of her clothing.
"Aye, I do,” he replied as he began to shed his own clothes.
She watched him, feeling her desire stir with each piece of clothing he removed. He was such a fine-looking man, big, strong, and very, very virile, she mused as he tossed aside the last of his clothing revealing that he was more than ready to indulge the passion they shared. Jolene supposed she ought to feel flattered that she could stir his desire so, and she did, but it was no longer enough for her. She was not sure it had ever been. She knew she would never turn from it, but she ached for the heart of him. In truth, she feared that even this glorious passion would begin to wane if they did not become bonded to each other in some other, deeper way. Just the thought of that made her cling to him as he carried her to their bed.
"Ah, wife, ye are so beautiful,” he murmured against her mouth, and then he kissed her.
Jolene wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself over to his kiss, to the feel of his body pressed close to hers. She would not hide her feelings from him anymore. She would love him so well that, one day, he would wake to find that he loved her back. It was, perhaps, a fool's dream, but she would cling to it for now.
"I wasnae pleased to wake and find ye had left me,” Sigimor said as he kissed his way to her breasts. “I intended to hunt ye down all the way to the gates of Drumwich if need be, to get back what ye stole from me."
Gasping softly as he licked the hardened tips of her breasts, Jolene struggled to speak clearly. “I stole nothing from you."
"Aye, ye did.” He leisurely suckled at each breast, then raised his head to study the results with satisfaction. “Ye took these pale beauties from me, walked away with these sweet rosy nipples that give me so much pleasure."
"I am very sorry I could not leave them upon your pillow for you to enjoy at your leisure.” Jolene suspected the breathless huskiness of her voice dimmed the sharp sarcasm of her words.
Sigimor briefly grinned against her skin as he kissed his way down to her smooth, taut stomach. Her sharp tongue was one of the things he loved about her, but he did not think he would admit to that. He placed his hand over her stomach, envisioning it swelling with his child.
"And this fine white belly within which my seed may have already taken root.” He kissed her stomach and felt the faint tremor that went through her. “I will probably have the night sweats for a long time just thinking of how close a Cameron came to being born in England.” He sat up and stroked her legs. “And ye would have deprived me of the pleasure of these bonnie legs. Sleek and strong like some lad's, but all woman in shape and softness."
He spent several minutes honoring her slim thighs with kisses and strokes of his tongue. The soft sounds of pleasure she made caressed his ears like the sweetest of music. She always made him feel as if he was the greatest lover ever born. When her hips shifted on the bed in blind invitation, he slid one hand up the inside of her thigh and watched her as he intimately stroked her. She was hot and wet and the feel of her strained his control over his own needs. He would not be able to play this game much longer.
"Ah, but one of the greatest thefts of all was taking this sweetness away."
