or both of us. This isna France, and we are no' in possession of so civilized a form of government. You are a lassie with a free spirit, and I admire that in ye, I truly do, but there are situations where a man must be in control, and that means ye will have to do as I say, like it or no'."
"All right," she said, obviously angry. "I'm sorry I came outside to get some fresh air...for the, first time since I came here."
"That is what I mean. You say one thing and believe another. What I am telling you is you must believe what I say, and trust in it with all your heart, no matter if you want to or not. It is your obedience I want, lass, not your apology. You will not set foot outside Danegaeld until you prove your willingness to carry out what I demand or order, without question. For your sake, I hope this doesna happen again, for if it does, I will punish you. Have no doubt about that."
She was thinking about kicking him in the shin when he said, ' 'Now, come here and I will give you a hand up and you can ride the rest of the way back wi' me."
"I prefer to walk...if I may have your royal permission."
"When ye find yer mark and stand on it, ye are a hard lass to move. Stick like a burr, you do."
She pointed her uplifted nose toward Danegaeld and began to walk.
He did not go after her, as she hoped, and that infuriated her even more.
By the time she reached the graveled drive that led to the lodge v the sun was almost gone and it had begun to snow, and enormous, fat flakes fell slowly around her.
She pulled the sides of her borrowed cape closer together, thankful for the fur lining.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie ride toward the stables, but she did not turn to look at him, preferring to walk on with the snow melting on her face. She found herself wishing she would freeze, just to get her point across, but soon realized there would be precious little feeling of victory if she were a dead woman encased in a sarcophagus of ice.
Personally, she hoped he would sink up to his eyeballs in one of his soggy peat bogs. To think she had actually considered telling him the truth about her past and the reason she left France. Ha!
As if he would be capable of understanding anything except brute force. She smacked herself on the forehead. How could she be so stupid? How could she think him capable of either compassion or understanding? Sometimes she felt as if she were depriving some village of their idiot—she could be so stupide...
He would not understand if she spoke of her own loneliness, or the death of her beloved father, any more than he would care to hear how her mother married again, and to a man who tried to use Sophie to gain favor with the king. What would he care that Rockingham gave the king lavish gifts and large amounts of gold, and how it made her feel to know she had been sold into the slavery of marriage to a man the age of her father, a man she despised?
No, she would not tell him of her lonely life growing up with only one brother who was considerably older than she, and the years spent in the convent where she prayed that one day she would find her own hero.
She knew he could not understand how she dreamed that he would be a man with long black hair and a strong profile inherited from his Viking ancestors; a man who would love and protect her, and keep her always by his side, because he saw her not as a chattel, but as his equal.
She felt the warm trail of tears that mingled with the cold, melted snow on her face. There was so much love inside her that she wanted to give to the man of her dreams, only now she understood that she had been wrong to think that man would be Jamie.
She came upon a fountain and stopped to look at the ice crystals that formed around the edges. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie come out of the stables and walk toward her.
She did not want him to see her like this.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and cursed the Bourbon blood that ran in her
"All right," she said, obviously angry. "I'm sorry I came outside to get some fresh air...for the, first time since I came here."
"That is what I mean. You say one thing and believe another. What I am telling you is you must believe what I say, and trust in it with all your heart, no matter if you want to or not. It is your obedience I want, lass, not your apology. You will not set foot outside Danegaeld until you prove your willingness to carry out what I demand or order, without question. For your sake, I hope this doesna happen again, for if it does, I will punish you. Have no doubt about that."
She was thinking about kicking him in the shin when he said, ' 'Now, come here and I will give you a hand up and you can ride the rest of the way back wi' me."
"I prefer to walk...if I may have your royal permission."
"When ye find yer mark and stand on it, ye are a hard lass to move. Stick like a burr, you do."
She pointed her uplifted nose toward Danegaeld and began to walk.
He did not go after her, as she hoped, and that infuriated her even more.
By the time she reached the graveled drive that led to the lodge v the sun was almost gone and it had begun to snow, and enormous, fat flakes fell slowly around her.
She pulled the sides of her borrowed cape closer together, thankful for the fur lining.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie ride toward the stables, but she did not turn to look at him, preferring to walk on with the snow melting on her face. She found herself wishing she would freeze, just to get her point across, but soon realized there would be precious little feeling of victory if she were a dead woman encased in a sarcophagus of ice.
Personally, she hoped he would sink up to his eyeballs in one of his soggy peat bogs. To think she had actually considered telling him the truth about her past and the reason she left France. Ha!
As if he would be capable of understanding anything except brute force. She smacked herself on the forehead. How could she be so stupid? How could she think him capable of either compassion or understanding? Sometimes she felt as if she were depriving some village of their idiot—she could be so stupide...
He would not understand if she spoke of her own loneliness, or the death of her beloved father, any more than he would care to hear how her mother married again, and to a man who tried to use Sophie to gain favor with the king. What would he care that Rockingham gave the king lavish gifts and large amounts of gold, and how it made her feel to know she had been sold into the slavery of marriage to a man the age of her father, a man she despised?
No, she would not tell him of her lonely life growing up with only one brother who was considerably older than she, and the years spent in the convent where she prayed that one day she would find her own hero.
She knew he could not understand how she dreamed that he would be a man with long black hair and a strong profile inherited from his Viking ancestors; a man who would love and protect her, and keep her always by his side, because he saw her not as a chattel, but as his equal.
She felt the warm trail of tears that mingled with the cold, melted snow on her face. There was so much love inside her that she wanted to give to the man of her dreams, only now she understood that she had been wrong to think that man would be Jamie.
She came upon a fountain and stopped to look at the ice crystals that formed around the edges. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie come out of the stables and walk toward her.
She did not want him to see her like this.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and cursed the Bourbon blood that ran in her
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