if she could not eat a thing. She could not blame it only on her situation with Tarr. Being honest, she would have to admit she was concerned with meeting her parents.
How would they be? How would they feel about Tarr and his demands? And would they have demands of their own?
“Troubled thoughts?”
Fiona jumped and almost toppled off the bench, Tarr’s firm grasp preventing her fall. They stayed as they were, gazing into each other’s eyes, a million thoughts and questions caught in a single unacknowledged space and time. Instinct prevailed and they instantly joined in a kiss, ignoring all else around them.
Simple and sweet. Tasty and lingering. Trembling and aching. Needing and wanting. Their kiss spoke volumes, they parted reluctantly.
“Join with me?” she asked, and shook her head as she corrected, “join me for breakfast?”
He brushed his lips faintly across her cheek to her ear. “I would gladly agree to your first offer, the time and place your choice. Until then . . .”
He left her side to walk around the table and sit opposite her.
The servant appeared from out of nowhere, startling them both as she placed a tankard of cider in front of Tarr and a pitcher, steam rising from it, between them on the table. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared.
“Tell me what troubles you,” he said with earnest as he slathered a piece of bread with honey.
To Fiona’s surprise he handed it to her. She took it with a gentle awkwardness. “Thank you.” He actually seemed concerned not only that she ate but with her thoughts.
He waited, fixing himself a slice of bread and honey.
This man really cared for her, she thought, then brushed it aside. Was it what she wanted to think, or was she seeing a side of him she had not noticed?
“I think on my parents.”
“The ones you are to meet?”
“Both,” she said with sadness.
“You loved the parents that raised you.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes, very much. They were so good and so loving to Aliss and me. And they taught us the value of family love.”
“I envy you.”
She stared at him perplexed.
“Why do you envy me?” she asked. She caught uncertainty in his eyes and reminded, “Last night you asked me to share with you my feelings; you must then do the same if we are ever to build that bridge to meet in the middle.”
“You are right. I cannot expect you to give and me not to return in kind.” He acknowledged his own words with a sanctioning nod. “There was a distance between my father and mother that I thought common for married couples. I came to think of marriage as a duty with love far removed from it.”
Fiona shook her head and tore a piece of the bread off, suddenly feeling hungry. “Marriage is made stronger by love.”
He hesitated. “I am beginning to realize that.”
Fiona took a swallow of the cider, the piece of bread caught in her throat, though perhaps it was his reply that had lodged the lump there. Was he implying that he had reconsidered his concept of love?
He continued. “I admit, though reluctantly . . .”
She smiled.
“That love could prove to be a mighty weapon.”
Fiona chewed her bread heartily while nodding rigorously.
“It is forged with patience, consideration, kindness, and most of all unselfishness.”
Fiona wanted to sigh at his loving and tender words, but she remained wide-eyed and alert as if his every word was a declaration, but then was it not? Had he realized what they shared? Did he know that their souls were one and that their hearts beat to an exact rhythm? Or was he placating her to convince her he loved her so that they could wed?
“I admit there is much I do not know, but I am willing to learn,” he said, and reached out to take her hand sticky with honey. “Tell me your thoughts on your parents.”
He unselfishly maneuvered the conversation to her concerns, and it more than touched her heart, tempted her soul.
“I do not think of them as my parents.”
“I would feel the same.”
“You would?”
“Of course. Suddenly you learn that you were abducted from parents who loved you, yet you were raised by people who also loved you. How do you love strangers who love you?”
“I have thought on that all night. Am I expected to love strangers, to feel for them as I felt toward my parents, the couple who raised me? And yet it was not their fault Aliss and I were