to be happy ones. She doubted a marriage made to annoy one’s enemy would be any different.
“Nay, ’tis a bad plan,” she said, then gasped softly when Sigimor stood up and pulled her to her feet to stand beside him.
“We need to talk about this,” he said.
“I thought we were talking about it. I do believe I heard myself say nay .”
Jolene cursed softly as Sigimor ignored her and strode toward the surroundingwood, tugging her along behind him. Obviously the man did not know how to accept a simple nay . He was going to try to talk her into an aye . The fact that he was taking her away from the others to do so made her a little uneasy. She could think of a few ways he might cause her to grow so witless she would agree with his mad plan.
She would be strong, she told herself. He could coax her all he wished, ply her with blood-stirring kisses, bewitch her with those beautiful green eyes, and seduce her with his fine voice, but she would not waver. Jolene reminded herself that she was a Gerard and they were famed for their resolve. Some unkind people called it blind stubbornness, but she felt that would serve her just as well.
A gasp of surprise escaped her when Sigimor pushed her up against a thick, moss-coated tree trunk. He placed a hand either side of her head and stared down at her. Jolene knew he could easily pin her in place if she tried to move. She tried hard not to meet his gaze, all too aware of the power of those eyes, but failed. It was terribly unfair that he did not appear to be so easily bewitched, she thought crossly. Using every ounce of will she had, she forced her face into an expression of calm disinterest and prayed he would not be able to perceive how big a fraud it was.
Sigimor looked into her upturned face, studied her cool, remote expression, and felt a stab of doubt. Then he looked into her wide eyes and began to relax. The turmoil clouding the silvery gray depths of her eyes was not easy to decipher, but it proved she was not as cold or distant as her expression implied. Jolene could not completely hide her feelings. Her lovely eyes were the windows to her heart and mind. He intended to do his best to learn what was reflected there. This time he would not be fooled, would not remain blind to what a woman truly thought or felt. Sigimor was determined to understand Jolene, or, at least try to get as close to understanding a woman as any man could get.
A little voice in his head told him that Jolene was no deceiver, that she was not a woman who would toy with a man just to feed her own vanity and pride. He intended to remain cautious, however. Everything within him told him she was his match, his mate, and did so more loudly and fiercely with each passing hour. For that reason alone, he would convince her to marry him, but he fully intended to be the one leading the dance this time. Ten years ago he had followed and found himself led straight into a humiliation that still stung. Although he could not make himself believe Jolene would do the same, he would force himself to remain wary.
“Ye have some objection to taking me as your husband, do ye?” he asked.
“Nay, not to you , but to your reasoning,” she replied.
“And what is wrong with my reasoning? Harold seeks to tie ye into marriage, to use ye to tighten his grasp on Drumwich, and pull wee Reynard into his web. If ye are wedded to me, he cannae do that, now can he?”
“Nay, but he cannot do it if he cannot get hold of me, either.”
“He already has once.”
Jolene inwardly cursed. It was difficult to argue with such cold, hard logic, especially when all of her arguments were based upon emotions. In her experience, meager though it was, emotional arguments were either scorned or ignored by men. Anything based upon one’s feelings, no matter how sound or reasonable, was considered unworthy of consideration. She did not think Sigimor would be quite so harsh in his judgment, but she doubted her words would sway him.
“Nay, ’tis a bad plan,” she said, then gasped softly when Sigimor stood up and pulled her to her feet to stand beside him.
“We need to talk about this,” he said.
“I thought we were talking about it. I do believe I heard myself say nay .”
Jolene cursed softly as Sigimor ignored her and strode toward the surroundingwood, tugging her along behind him. Obviously the man did not know how to accept a simple nay . He was going to try to talk her into an aye . The fact that he was taking her away from the others to do so made her a little uneasy. She could think of a few ways he might cause her to grow so witless she would agree with his mad plan.
She would be strong, she told herself. He could coax her all he wished, ply her with blood-stirring kisses, bewitch her with those beautiful green eyes, and seduce her with his fine voice, but she would not waver. Jolene reminded herself that she was a Gerard and they were famed for their resolve. Some unkind people called it blind stubbornness, but she felt that would serve her just as well.
A gasp of surprise escaped her when Sigimor pushed her up against a thick, moss-coated tree trunk. He placed a hand either side of her head and stared down at her. Jolene knew he could easily pin her in place if she tried to move. She tried hard not to meet his gaze, all too aware of the power of those eyes, but failed. It was terribly unfair that he did not appear to be so easily bewitched, she thought crossly. Using every ounce of will she had, she forced her face into an expression of calm disinterest and prayed he would not be able to perceive how big a fraud it was.
Sigimor looked into her upturned face, studied her cool, remote expression, and felt a stab of doubt. Then he looked into her wide eyes and began to relax. The turmoil clouding the silvery gray depths of her eyes was not easy to decipher, but it proved she was not as cold or distant as her expression implied. Jolene could not completely hide her feelings. Her lovely eyes were the windows to her heart and mind. He intended to do his best to learn what was reflected there. This time he would not be fooled, would not remain blind to what a woman truly thought or felt. Sigimor was determined to understand Jolene, or, at least try to get as close to understanding a woman as any man could get.
A little voice in his head told him that Jolene was no deceiver, that she was not a woman who would toy with a man just to feed her own vanity and pride. He intended to remain cautious, however. Everything within him told him she was his match, his mate, and did so more loudly and fiercely with each passing hour. For that reason alone, he would convince her to marry him, but he fully intended to be the one leading the dance this time. Ten years ago he had followed and found himself led straight into a humiliation that still stung. Although he could not make himself believe Jolene would do the same, he would force himself to remain wary.
“Ye have some objection to taking me as your husband, do ye?” he asked.
“Nay, not to you , but to your reasoning,” she replied.
“And what is wrong with my reasoning? Harold seeks to tie ye into marriage, to use ye to tighten his grasp on Drumwich, and pull wee Reynard into his web. If ye are wedded to me, he cannae do that, now can he?”
“Nay, but he cannot do it if he cannot get hold of me, either.”
“He already has once.”
Jolene inwardly cursed. It was difficult to argue with such cold, hard logic, especially when all of her arguments were based upon emotions. In her experience, meager though it was, emotional arguments were either scorned or ignored by men. Anything based upon one’s feelings, no matter how sound or reasonable, was considered unworthy of consideration. She did not think Sigimor would be quite so harsh in his judgment, but she doubted her words would sway him.
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