He was in need ofher.
There was no sense in denying it further. It was not rational, this urge to claim her, but it was now all-consuming.
He decided then and there that she would be his wife. The child would bear his name. And anyone who tried to hurt her again would find themselves at the bottom of a very deep ravine, their death ruled an unfortunate accident in the woods.
First, he needed to make sure she needed him, even wanted him. Needed his protection, his provision, his strength. With what she had been through, only then would she be willing to accept what he offered, and what he wanted in return.
HANNA
The basket appeared one cold morning.
Hanna discovered it as she emerged from the cottage to fetch water, nearly tripping over the woven willow at the doorstep. She looked around, but the lane was empty, the pre-dawn darkness barely touched by the first grey light.
Hanna bent to examine her mysterious gift. Inside were two dressed rabbits, still slightly warm to the touch, and a small jar of honey sealed with wax.
No note. No explanation.
Her heart hammered as she carried the basket inside, glancing over her shoulder as if she might catch sight of whoever had left it. But there was nothing. No one.
"What's that, then?" Her father's gruff voice startled her as he descended the stairs.
"I... found it at the door. Rabbits and honey."
Johan Weatley grunted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Someone's guilty conscience, maybe. Or charity from the church." He shrugged. "Don't matter, we will eat them nonetheless."
But Hanna knew it wasn't charity from the church. Reverend Michaels had made his opinion of her quite clear when her condition became apparent.
This was something else. Perhaps asomeoneelse.
She thought of tawny eyes watching her from the shadows of the trees.
Of the gamekeeper who seemed to appear when she was in trouble.
But that was ridiculous… Why would Alaric Wolff care enough to leave gifts at her father's door?
The next morning, there was firewood, expertly cut and stacked beside the workshop door. Her father was pleased with that, at least, though he grumbled about accepting charity and how Hanna shouldn’t get used to being idle.
The morning after that brought a wool shawl, finer than anything Hanna had owned since her dismissal from the manor. It was draped over the garden gate, wrapped in oilcloth to protect it from the dew.
Hanna held the soft fabric to her cheek, breathing in the faint scent of woodsmoke and pine. Her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed.
This wasn’t food or some practical help, this was agift.
She should refuse the shawl. Return them somehow or at least leave them where they appeared. It wasn't proper to accept such things from... from whoever was leaving them.
Nothing comes for free, and you know who it is, her thoughts whispered insistently.You've felt his eyes on you. You felt his presence.
And she had. Over the past weeks, she'd caught glimpses of a tall figure in the forest, always at a distance, always watching. At first, she'd been both confused and a bit frightened. But he never came close, he never scared her the way others did.
And the gifts spoke of care, not menace.
At least that's what she told herself.
James needed food. Winter was coming. And she was so desperately tired of being cold and hungry and afraid.
Hanna bundled the shawl in her arms and carried it inside, hiding it inside the small chest beside her pallet.
She could never wear it, her father would immediately suspect something if she did that.
