Fiona stood speechless for a few moments, and actually, if she had not, she probably would have reached out and punched the fool. Finally she said, “You are an idiot.” She turned and started walking back to the keep.
A firm grasp of her arm halted her.
A stinging glare warned him to release her.
He refused, and with a sharp yank she landed against him. “Then you wed an idiot.”
Her smile was slow and sly. “We will see.”
“Do not think you can win against me,” he warned.
“I do not think,” she spat. “I know! And if you were not such an idiot you would know as well.”
A rebellious yank of her arm and she was free to return to the keep.
This time Tarr did not stop her. He watched her storm off, her steps more of a stamp then a shuffle. She was angry, but then so was he.
He finally knew her identity. But discovering that she is not a MacElder at all does invalidate the agreement, not that he would admit it.
He intended to wed Fiona. She belonged to him, at least he wanted to believe she did—or did he need her to belong to him? He turned and instead of entering his campsite, he wandered off on the outskirts in the dark until he plopped down by a boulder to rest.
He had never equated love and marriage. Marriage was a duty, as he witnessed between his mother and father. He did not remember ever seeing his parents embrace; they lived separate lives and there had been talk that his mother had left his father’s bed after he was conceived.
That his mother had loved him he had no doubt, but she had not loved her husband, and so Tarr grew up believing that love was not necessary to a marriage. He had thought love a fleeting emotion, there one moment gone the next, too elusive to hold on to and too complicated to explore.
He shook his head and rested it against the hard rock. Why had he given love so much thought lately? It seemed to plague him, nag at him relentlessly.
His mother had once told him that love could be felt with the heart. It could bring joy and it could bring pain, but it would not matter for you would never want to let it go.
How would he feel if Fiona was taken from him?
A wave of pure anger washed over him and as it receded, an awful ache settled in the pit of his stomach, not a sickness ache but one that could not easily be defined nor would he want to try. He only knew he had no want of it now or ever.
If he felt this strongly about losing Fiona did it mean . . . ?
Several oaths flew from his mouth, and he punched the ground beside him. Had he fallen in love and not even realized it?
You are an idiot.
Perhaps Fiona had been right, he was an idiot.
He stood and looked to the keep. He had some thinking to do, some conclusions to reach. Some—
He threw his hands up in the air. Who was he fooling? He had fallen in love and was too stubborn to admit it to himself let alone Fiona. And why should she believe him now. She would think his declaration of love a ploy in an attempt to get her to wed him.
Now what was he to do?
Persist in his usual fashion and demand his agreement with Leith MacElder be honored? Then let her learn of his love for her later. Or attempt to make her see reason now? They were made for each other, both being bullheaded, quick-witted and exceptional warriors.
Tarr had no idea what he would do. He knew only one thing. Fiona would be his wife.
Fiona entered the keep mumbling to herself and looked to find a place of solitude, a nook or cranny so that she could be alone to think. She found it in a small barren room kept warm by a fire that burned in the hearth.
She stood before the fire warming her chilled hands, her thoughts on Tarr. With so much news to digest, news that concerned her, she remained focused on Tarr. He invaded her thoughts day and night. There was not a moment she did not think about him.
She knew she was falling in love with him.
Why?
That was a good question. There were many things she admired about him and a few things that displeased her,