“Hacon, I thought ye brought me here so that we might talk.”
Her arms crossed beneath her breasts, Jennet scowled at Hacon. It was difficult not to notice how good he looked. He wore a soft blue jupon, open at the neck, and snug gray hose. No sword was buckled at his waist, and he wore no armor at all. The light breeze tousled his thick, fair hair. With his hands on his trim hips, he surveyed his lands with open pride and pleasure. Jennet felt herself soften with appreciation, then quickly checked that feeling. She had every right to be annoyed with the man.
He had dragged her along a skinny, overgrown path through the bracken and heather to the top of a small rise. Half of it was encircled by a small loch. It was lovely. From any point atop the hill one could see for quite a distance, either out across the moors and fields, which nearly encircled the village, or across the bogs and moors that formed the banks of the loch. Jennet could see people working in the fields, cattle and sheep roaming freely, and even a group of ducks floating on the deep blue waters of the loch. In the village, a group of women were gathered in the center around the well. It all looked so peaceful. And that, she decided, was its greatest beauty. But she saw no reason to be there. She wanted to talk, and he was taking her or an idle walk over his lands.
“Aye, whatever ye desire, dearling.” He draped his arm about her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “What do ye think of this spot?”
“’Tis verra lovely, but—”
“And a good defensive position.”
“Aye,’tis that too. Now—”
“Here is where I shall build my tower house.”
“Oh.” She looked around again, realized curiosity was diverting her from her purpose, and concentrated on what she wished to discuss. “The perfect place. Now, Hacon—”
“I dinnae plan to have some stark tower with no thought for the comfort of those who must live in it.” He tugged her closer to the center of the hilltop. “I think ye can still see where I scratched out a rough plan ere I left on the raid.”
Jennet stared down at the ground and almost smiled. The grass hid it a little, but there was a shallow trench scratched into the ground. She took Hacon’s hand and followed the rough line all the way around, as he walked silently by her side. When they returned to their original place, she glanced up at him. Jennet found it rather touching that he would do such a thing. He had drawn his dream in the dirt, and he had let her see what he had done.
“’Twill be shaped like an ell?” she asked quietly.
“Aye, it will be defensible yet not as austere as many others.” He smiled faintly. “I forsee it gracing this hill for many years to come.” He gazed out over the loch. “Mayhaps even long enough to outlive the need for it.”
He sounded very sincere. The way he looked now, she could easily envision him being content to stay at Dubheilrig tending his lands and watching out for his people. He truly cared for Dubheilrig, truly loved this land.
“That would be a pleasure beyond words,” she whispered. “When do ye start to build it?”
“The men will break ground on the morrow.” Hacon glanced at their still-clasped hands, then fixed his gaze upon her face. “Ye havenae said what ye think of it.”
“I am certain it shall be the finest tower house between here and London.” She smiled when he laughed and put his arm around her shoulders, then grew serious. She could not allow herself to be diverted any longer. “Hacon, ye said we would talk today.”
He grimaced and rubbed his chin. “In truth, it was you who wished to talk.”
“Aye, and I let ye distract me.”
“I am willing to do so again.” He began to tug her into his arms.
She neatly slipped free of his hold and moved to gaze blindly at the loch. “I cannae stay here, Hacon.”
She cried out softly with surprise when he grasped her arms and abruptly turned her back to him. “Why?”
“I find I have too much pride to live here with your family, as your leman. The bite of shame is sharper than I can bear.”
“Then stay as my wife.”
“What?” She nearly gaped at him, for it was the very last thing she had expected him to say.
“Stay as my wife.”
It took a full minute before Jennet could compose herself. She fought a brief, fierce struggle with the urge to give him an immediate and resounding aye. The few times she had imagined him asking her to be his wife there had been some tenderness and the exchange of a few sweet words. This sounded very much like a command. And it solved only one problem. She would no longer be a mistress, a possible object of scorn, but she would still be the daughter of a poor, landless thief. Hacon had not only regained his lands but had also been given a title. A match between them could be viewed only with displeasure by his family.
“Why do ye hesitate?” he asked, and smiled crookedly. “Am I so poor a choice?”
“Nay. Ye are too grand a choice for a lass like me.”
“What do ye mean?”
