She smiled and poked at his chest. “You are.”
“You will ignore your duties with Aliss around.”
“Aliss’s healing keeps her busy. You have seen that for yourself.”
“Are you telling me that if I agree to allow Aliss to remain with the Hellewyk clan, you will wed me?”
“No.”
Tarr threw his hands up in the air. “You do not know what you want.”
“I do too,” Fiona said, her hands going to her hips. “I want a man who will love me, allow me to be me, not dictate to me, and will accept my sister. That is not very much to ask.”
“What will you give a husband in return?”
“Love, respect, and devotion.”
Tarr stared at her a moment, then reached out to take her in his arms.
She stepped out of his reach and held her hand out to prevent him from approaching her. “Your touch does not allow me to think rationally.”
He smiled and advanced on her.
“No,” she said firmly, and moved away from him. “It would be easy to get lost in your arms, but I cannot. It is important to me that you understand how I feel.”
“Then the truth of the matter is that I would have to love you if I wish to wed you.”
“I look for true love, not a love you conveniently discover to suit your need.”
He shook his head. “You cannot be serious. If I did love you, how than could I ever convince you of it?”
“That is for you to determine.”
Chapter 20
It was early, the sun having yet to rise, when Fiona crept silently through the keep to emerge in the great hall as a servant added fresh logs to the hearth. The dry logs caught quickly and the fire was soon blazing, sending heat scurrying out into the dank hall.
Fiona cozied up on a bench at a table nearest to the fireplace. She pulled her green wool shawl around her shoulders and knotted it at her breasts to keep warm, then tucked her feet along with the hem of her brown skirt beneath her crossed-legs on the bench.
The servant promised to return with hot cider, letting her know a cold rain fell hard outside and she would do well to remain warm by the fire.
The few of Raynor’s clan she had the opportunity to meet she liked. They seemed hospitable and friendly, though a few warriors regarded her with skeptical glances. She did not blame them, for she would have done the same herself.
Fiona thanked the servant profusely when she placed a steaming tankard of cider in front of her and a wooden bowl piled high with bread that appeared hot from the hearth. A pot of honey was the last item left.
She eagerly reached for a piece of bread and stopped, her hands returning to the heated tankard. She thought herself hungry, but now . . .
Her chaotic thoughts had her stirring all night. She slept little and when she had, it was a restless sleep. Fearing she would disturb her sister with her twisting and turning, she left the bed, dressed, and thought food might ease her anxious state.
Her stomach presently thought otherwise. It rumbled, flip-flopped, and fluttered until she felt as if she could not eat a thing. She could not blame it only on her situation with Tarr. Being honest, she would have to admit she was concerned with meeting her parents.
How would they be? How would they feel about Tarr and his demands? And would they have demands of their own?
“Troubled thoughts?”
Fiona jumped and almost toppled off the bench, Tarr’s firm grasp preventing her fall. They stayed as they were, gazing into each other’s eyes, a million thoughts and questions caught in a single unacknowledged space and time. Instinct prevailed and they instantly joined in a kiss, ignoring all else around them.
Simple and sweet. Tasty and lingering. Trembling and aching. Needing and wanting. Their kiss spoke volumes, they parted reluctantly.
“Join with me?” she asked, and shook her head as she corrected, “join me for breakfast?”
He brushed his lips faintly across her cheek to her ear. “I would gladly agree to your first offer, the time and place your choice. Until then . . .”
He left her side to walk around the table and sit opposite her.
The servant appeared from out of nowhere, startling them both as she placed a tankard of cider in front of Tarr and a pitcher, steam rising from it, between them on the table. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared.
“Tell me what troubles you,” he said with earnest as he slathered a piece of bread with honey.
To Fiona’s surprise he handed it to her. She took it with a gentle awkwardness. “Thank you.” He actually seemed concerned not only that she ate but with her thoughts.
He waited, fixing himself a slice of bread and honey.
This man really cared for her, she thought, then brushed it aside. Was it what she wanted to think, or was she seeing a side of him she had not noticed?
“I think on my parents.”
“The ones you are to meet?”
“Both,” she said with sadness.
“You loved the parents that raised you.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes, very much. They were so good and so loving to Aliss and me. And they taught us the value of family love.”
“I envy you.”
She stared at him perplexed.
“Why do you envy me?” she asked. She caught uncertainty in his eyes and reminded, “Last night you asked me to share with you my feelings; you must then do the same if we are ever to build that bridge to meet in the middle.”
“You are right. I cannot expect you to give and me not to return in kind.” He acknowledged his own words with a sanctioning nod. “There was a distance between my father and mother that I thought common for married couples. I came to think of marriage as a duty with love far removed from it.”
Fiona shook her head and tore a piece of the bread off, suddenly feeling hungry. “Marriage is made stronger by love.”
He hesitated. “I am beginning to realize that.”
Fiona took a swallow of the cider, the piece of bread caught in her throat, though perhaps it was his reply that had lodged the lump there. Was he implying that he had reconsidered his concept of love?
He continued. “I admit, though reluctantly . . .”
She smiled.
“That love could prove to be a mighty weapon.”
Fiona chewed her bread heartily while nodding rigorously.
“It is forged with patience, consideration, kindness, and most of all unselfishness.”
Fiona wanted to sigh at his loving and tender words, but she remained wide-eyed and alert as if his every word was a declaration, but then was it not? Had he realized what they shared? Did he know that their souls were one and that their hearts beat to an exact rhythm? Or was he placating her to convince her he loved her so that they could wed?
“I admit there is much I do not know, but I am willing to learn,” he said, and reached out to take her hand sticky with honey. “Tell me your thoughts on your parents.”
He unselfishly maneuvered the conversation to her concerns, and it more than touched her heart, tempted her soul.
“I do not think of them as my parents.”
“I would feel the same.”
“You would?”
“Of course. Suddenly you learn that you were abducted from parents who loved you, yet you were raised by people who also loved you. How do you love strangers who love you?”
“I have thought on that all night. Am I expected to love strangers, to feel for them as I felt toward my parents, the couple who raised me? And yet it was not their fault Aliss and I were abducted. How, then, can I blame them, for they must have suffered greatly.”
“It will take time,” Tarr said.
Do we have time? Fiona thought. He allotted her time to visit with her parents, but then she would return home with him.
Or would she?
If she did, it would be as his wife.
“Time seems to be my enemy of late.”
“Your enemy is my enemy;
we will combat it together.” He raised her hand and licked at the honey on her finger. “Sweet. Is it Fiona I speak with?” He teased with an endearing smile.
“You have tasted, you tell me,” she challenged, while her stomach suddenly flip-flopped and her arms crawled with gooseflesh.
“I must taste again.”
Not a good idea, Fiona.
She ignored her own warning, smiled, and wiggled her finger in his face.
His laughter was barely audible as he brought her finger to his lips and licked slowly, as if savoring the flavor of her. Several long lingering licks later he said, “There is a tartness there.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her flesh tingling at her finger, up along her arm and crawling slowly over her neck.
He leaned over the table. “If I dare taste you again, it will not be your finger my tongue licks.”
Fiona yanked her hand free as if his words scalded her.
“We will join.” He stood and spoke before she could deliver her usual response. “It is your choice when.”
He delivered a stunning blow to her without raising his hand. She was too shocked too move, too shocked to watch him walk away. His words stirred in her mind like a whirlwind unable to settle.
He had suddenly changed the tactics of their skirmish. It would not be he who forced their union but she. So he thought.
He was an idiot.
Or was she?
Would she finally surrender to him?
Or would it be what she wanted?
“Are you all right?” Aliss asked, taking the seat where Tarr had sat.
Fiona nodded, shook her head, nodded again then shook her head adamantly.
“Tarr passed me in the same confused state,” Aliss explained. “His response, when I expressed concern for him, was identical to yours.”
“Really?” Fiona asked, perking up.
“He shakes his head harder than you.”
“It is his own fault.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
Fiona glared at her sister. “You take his side.”
“I do not think sides exist in this matter. I think you are both stubborn and refuse to see the truth.”
“What truth?” Fiona demanded.
“That you both love each other.”
Fiona was ready to give a quick response, instead her mouth dropped open.
“It is obvious.”
“Truly?”
“Raynor even made mention of the way Tarr looks at you.”
“How does he look at me?” Fiona asked anxiously.
“Like a love-sick puppy,” Raynor said, joining them at the table. “If the man were not my enemy, I would feel sorry for him.”
“He cannot be your enemy,” Fiona said curtly. “For then I would have to be your enemy too.”
“You put this man before your brother?” Raynor asked incredulously.
“I do.” Fiona was unyielding.
“It must be love,” Raynor said with a laugh.
Fiona leaned across the table. “If we had grown up together, I imagined I would have clobbered you more than once.”
“You wish.”
“I know—”
“And I—” Aliss interrupted—“would have continually settled your foolish disputes.”
“While we both protected our little sister,” Raynor said like a pompous older brother. “Lord, but it feels good to sit here and talk with my sisters this way.”
“It is strange to learn we have a brother,” Fiona admitted.
“I can understand. It will take time for you to grow accustomed to me. But please understand that I have missed you both these many years and that I feel I reunite with you.”
“We were mere babes when we vanished,” Aliss said.
“True, but I was your older brother and loved you from the day you were born. My love did not tire and grow old or dissipate through the years. On the contrary it grew in strength and determination to find you and return you home. When word came of the twins Tarr was bringing to Hellewyk, I dared to pray for a miracle.” He grinned proudly. “And I got it.”
“Attention was drawn to us because of Tarr,” Fiona said.
“Aye, I had heard no word of the twins of the clan MacElder before that,” Raynor said. “I had passed through that clan years before but saw no twins.”
“We had yet to arrive,” Aliss said.
“I missed you by a few months according to what you have told me of your mother’s passing.” The sadness that had marked his tone turned cheerful. “Now we are together again, and we have much absent time to make up for.”
“While that is true,” Aliss said, “there is Fiona’s situation to consider.”
“I agree it must be addressed, but it must wait until mother and father arrive.”
Fiona bristled. “I will make my own choices.”
“I never doubted you would. I only ask that you wait on our parent’s arrival.”
“It will not make a difference in my decision,” Fiona insisted.
“You never know,” Raynor said.
Chapter 21
Tarr and Raynor stood as Fiona entered the great hall for supper. Her face shined from its recent scrubbing, her brazen red hair fell like wildfire to her shoulders, and a green shawl was knotted at her waist and hung over her hip.
She weaved her way through the trestle tables and collapsed in the chair between the two men.
“Where is Aliss?” Tarr asked.
“She is finishing up after a lengthy delivery, though mother and babe are doing fine,” Fiona said.
“She must be exhausted and hungry,” Raynor said. “I have heard the delivery took all night.”
Fiona reached for a chunk of cheese. “I will see that she eats and rests.”
“And what of yourself? You helped your sister,” Tarr said.
“I took my leave right after the delivery, which is why I am refreshed, feeling good and starving.” Fiona reached for a piece of succulent lamb and continued reaching until her plate was piled high.
“The clan talks of Aliss’s skills and hopes she remains here with us,” Raynor said, “though I have heard mumbles from your warriors, Tarr, that the healer belongs to them.”
Fiona stared at Tarr, a smile tempting the corners of her mouth. Tarr appeared to ignore her obvious pleasure over the news.
“I heard they boasted of her talent.” Pride rang in Raynor’s voice as he continued. “Telling tales of how she healed several of their warriors and clan members, and of course they spoke of how she defended me when I could not defend myself.”
“We may just have a war on our hands over Aliss, especially now with her saving Ellie and her son’s life and—”
“Where Aliss resides is her choice,” Tarr interrupted, shocking Fiona into abrupt silence.
She stared at him, his words echoing like a distant thunder in her mind. Had she heard him correctly? Had he just removed the major stumbling block to their joining? Did he really mean that Aliss could remain with the clan Hellewyk, which meant they would not be separated? Had their talk last night caused him to reconsider?
“Since the sisters refuse to be separated, Aliss will remain with the Hellewyk clan,” Tarr said confidently.
Fiona ignored the talk between the two men. Her mind was fixed on Tarr’s change of heart. He would allow Aliss to remain with her. Had he done this out of love for her? Did he truly wish to see her happy? Or had the change in circumstances forced his change of heart? Or did his heart have nothing to do with the reversal of his decision; was he merely being practical?
Her stomach plunged and she cursed the affects love, or the uncertainty of it, had on her appetite. One minute she was herself and could eat, the next she could not put a morsel of food in her mouth. She would wither away to nothingness if this were not soon settled.
The subject was changed and she was finally able to eat in relative peace, not the amount she usually ate but at least enough to satisfy. As the evening dre
w to an end, the hall growing empty, Fiona began to gather food to take to her sister.
“Several women have offered to bring Aliss food,” Raynor informed her.
Fiona stopped filling a wooden bowl. “I know my sister’s tastes, and besides she would expect no one but me to bring her nourishment.”
“And do not fill the bowl so much,” Tarr said. “Aliss eats little and she will not appreciate you trying to force food on her.”
Fiona held a chunk of black bread in her hand and stared at him. It was the second time this evening he had startled her. He was actually being considerate of Aliss and again she questioned his motives. Was he actually concerned for Aliss or was he merely attempting to seduce her into believing he cared?
Damn, damn, damn, this love game.
Fiona held her tongue, fearful of lashing out at Tarr for confusing her. Instead she allowed him to help her wrap the bowl in a linen cloth a servant provided, place it and a jug of cider in a basket, and walk with her, after a good-night to Raynor, to the cottage where Aliss kept vigil over the mother and newborn.
“Winter draws near,” Tarr said, and took off the wool cloak he had donned, draping it over Fiona’s shawl-covered shoulders as they left the hall and walked slowly through the village.
His hand lingered a moment, a brief moment at her shoulder, then fell away, but his touch was enough to spark her body—and she cursed her emotions for responding so easily, but then her body forever responded to his touch, simple or intimate, it did not matter. Her blood soon fired, her flesh tingled between her legs, and she grew moist.
She wanted him.
Why?
A stupid question. She loved him.
Or could she be only curious?
Idiot.
She fought with herself, and who could possibly emerge victorious when one battled with oneself?
“Something troubles you?” Tarr asked, reaching out and, with a little struggle, taking the basket from her.
Fiona shrugged. She was surrendering to this man more and more. She needed no one to carry things for her. And yet—it seemed so natural to let him.
“You do not answer me.”
“I am thinking,” she snapped.
He simply looked at her patiently waiting for her to reply, which annoyed her all the more.
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