Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
The kiss heated along with their bodies until suddenly Tarr pushed her away and held her at arm’s length. They stared at each other, their passion still stirring their souls.
He shook his head, turned, and walked away.
Fiona remained where she stood—She had to. Her legs had not stopped trembling—and stared at his retreating back. When he was finally out of sight, her footing more firm, she reached down, grabbed the basket, and walked to the cottage alone.
Tarr sat at a table in the shadows away from the few people lingering in the hall. The servants busily cleaned the tables, preparing to settle the keep for the night. He declined the pitcher of ale offered to him by a servant rushing by.
He wanted to be left alone, swallowed by the shadows so that he could wallow in his frustration.
“Fiona is a handful.” Raynor plopped down on the bench opposite Tarr.
“I prefer solitude,” Tarr all but growled.
“Why? To try and make sense of Fiona?” Raynor laughed. “It will not work.”
“You talk as if you know your sister well, and yet you have not seen her since she was but a tiny babe.”
“Fiona was never tiny. She was larger than the average babe. The women who helped with the birthing gossiped about how the first twin’s size gave my mother a difficult time. And once out, she wailed and demanded and refused to be quiet until she was finally placed at her mother’s side.”
“She remains demanding and infuriatingly stubborn to this day,” Tarr said in one long frustrated breath.
“Then why wed her?”
“Because I foolishly fell in love with her.” He pounded the table with his fist. “There I have admitted it. I love your bullheaded sister. Why? I have no idea.” He threw his hands up in the air. “She questions what I say and do. She challenges me constantly. She wields her sword with the same damn strength she wields her mouth, and she sets my blood to—” Tarr stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Like a fool I confide in my enemy.”
Raynor’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile looked ready to burst.
“Laugh again and I shall silence it with a fist to your face.”
Raynor clamped down hard on his lips while his eyes sparkled with merriment.
“You think this funny? I hope that one day you meet a woman who is ten times more chaotic than your sister.”
Raynor’s humor vanished instantly. “Bite your tongue, and wish no such prickly woman on me.”
“Fiona is not prickly.” Tarr’s fist slammed the table once again. “She has a good heart and is caring, though she demonstrates it oddly at times. And she is adamant in protection of her sister. I sometimes wonder if that is why she skilled herself in weapons and fighting.”
“She has protected Aliss since birth,” Raynor said. “The gossip was that Fiona made it easy for Aliss to follow her grand entrance into the world. Aliss cried little as a babe, and when she did, Fiona would wail endlessly until Aliss was placed beside her. They would quiet, then cuddle next to each other.”
“I will not see them separated.”
“That sounds like a warning,” Raynor said.
“Nay, it is my pledge to protect them both.”
“I never doubted you would and that protection may be more necessary than you know.”
Tarr lowered his voice. “What do you mean?”
“It may be just my own fear of losing my sisters again, but I worry. If someone wanted them gone so many years ago, what will happen when that person discovers they have returned?”
Chapter 22
Fiona felt trapped, not only in the keep but also by her thoughts. The day was blustery with a strong wind blowing from the north and bringing with it a chill that tasted of a winter’s storm.
Everyone around her seemed content, settled in routines. Aliss slept exhausted from tending new mother and her son. Raynor was nowhere to be found and Tarr . . .
“What do I care about him?” she mumbled to herself.
She had come to the conclusion that while she had wanted to love, hoped to love, she was actually inept at loving. She had expected it to be a much easier process, and it had been nothing but angst since the beginning. And had that changed any?
“No,” she near shouted, then recalled her sister was asleep and she did not wish to disturb her.
Then there was the fact that Tarr had occupied her thoughts almost all day and then some since he had also managed to invade her dreams.
She wanted him out of her head and she wanted her heart to stop aching. Aware of her stubborn nature, she knew she was probably causing herself more worry than necessary, but she could not help it.
She wanted Tarr to sweep her up in his arms like a gallant knight and proclaim his love for her. That he was a warrior unskilled in gallantry made not an ounce of difference. That she was being obstinate made not an ounce of difference. That she should see and accept him for who he was made not an ounce of difference.