Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“I guess the kiss worked. He does look after you,” Fiona admitted grudgingly. “I heard him talking to a woman about food for you when you finished with your healing.”
“You know me when I am healing. I do not think of sleep or food or anything.”
“Do you love Rogan?” Fiona asked.
Aliss gazed down at the flames searing the meat. “I don’t know. I thought I did; he was so kind and thoughtful. But now?”
Fiona reached for her sister’s hand. “What do you want?”
“I want to keep my bargain with my husband and see what comes of it.” She paused. Did she dare hope that he would prove his love? “And I want you to encourage my efforts to do so.”
“I want you to be happy and safe, though I wish the Isle of Non were closer than several hours away.”
“There will only be a distance between us if we let there be,” Aliss said.
Fiona squeezed her hand. “Then there will never be a distance between us.”
“Never,” Aliss agreed.
Fiona jumped then quickly placed Aliss’s hand on her stomach. “The babe is surely a warrior. He seems to forever battle in my stomach.”
They laughed and began to talk about the babe, the birth, and much more, while feasting on the burned rabbit. The sun had settled and the village had quieted when Aliss gave her sister a hug and returned to the cottage.
When she was a short distance away, she realized that Rogan waited supper for her. She had forgotten—or had she not wanted to return to the cottage?
It was difficult to continue as his wife when so much was uncertain. She would have preferred to be done with it all, and yet that would mean losing him, or would it? Did she actually harbor a spark of hope that the mighty warrior would battle to save their love?
She sighed, frustrated by the barrage of thoughts that refused to allow her some peace, and entered the cottage, stopping short when she heard voices. She proceeded down the hall to the end and turned, entering the room, surprised to see Tarr and Rogan sitting at the table.
Tarr raised his tankard. “Finally, the women are finished.”
“Tarr informed me you feasted with your sister,” Rogan said. “So I invited him to feast with me.”
While the two seemed amicable Aliss knew the two men were doing what any good chieftains would do—getting to know their enemy.
“Join us?” Rogan asked.
A yawn gave her the excuse to decline his offer; she felt the men were better left to themselves. She bade them good night, and after changing into the soft linen shift she climbed into bed ready for sleep.
Her mind intended to torment her with issues that would find no solutions this night and she tossed and turned until, frustrated, she kicked off the covers and let out an exasperated moan.
“Trouble sleeping?” Rogan asked, slipping out of his shirt as he entered the room.
She had hoped to be asleep before he came to bed, and feeling the coward for hiding, she quickly diverted the conversation. “No, did you and Tarr fare well?”
He slipped naked in bed beside her. “We waged no battles.”
“But formed no friendship?”
“Be grateful we played our parts as chieftains well.”
“Could you call him friend one day?” she asked.
“Does it matter to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked and turned on his side to face her.
“It is better to have many friends than many enemies.”
“You worry about me?”
His query caught her off guard. “I do not wish you harm.”
“What do you wish me?”
She stared at him, unable to answer.
“You do not know?”
Finally, she found words. “I thought I had known. I thought I had known you. I believed you.”
“You can still believe me.”
“After you lied to me?”
“In time you will—”
“Will learn the truth and hate you even more?” Her words were harsh to her own ears, and distraught by her outburst, she jumped out of bed and ran to the other room, tossing herself down on the narrow bed.
Rogan gave her barely a minute before he appeared in the doorway. She stared at him. He stood there like a proud warrior ready to do battle, his nakedness his armor, his determination his weapon.
He walked over to her, grabbed her around the waist, and flung her over his shoulder. He returned her to his bed, tossing her down and coming to rest over her. He locked his fingers with hers, spreading her arms above her head.
“’Hate’ is a strong word, Aliss. Are you sure you hate me?”
“Don’t!” she warned, realizing his intentions.
“Let us see how much you hate me.”
“Rogan, no,” she cried out, too late.
He captured her mouth though she tried to avoid his lips. It was a savage kiss that meant to prove her a liar, and it did. It fired the blood of both to a feverish pitch that soon had her writhing beneath him.