"You are not as I expected."
"Why?"
"You hate the English and you would have killed my stepfather without blinking, but
you have shown me consideration."
"You are my bride."
"Emily was to be your bride, but you were not so considerate of her."
"I had no intention of marrying Emily."
"So, why agree to marry me?"
He had lived almost three more years without a mate and realized he would
probably never find one. "My king offered sufficient incentive."
"My dowry."
"Aye."
"At least you get something you want from this marriage." She spoke quietly,
almost as if to herself.
"I want you, too."
"You don't want an English wife."
"You aren't English."
"What am I, then?"
"Mine."
Abigail was once again riding her own horse the next day when Talorc signed for
his soldiers to stop. It was nowhere near nightfall and they had watered the horses
recently. It had been another silent ride today, and Abigail had not minded a bit.
Trying to keep track of the conversations around her while on horseback was quite
taxing.
She did not ask why they had stopped because she did not know if it was safe to
speak.
Talorc swung down off his horse, said something to Niall and then crossed to
Abigail's horse. He put his hands out. "Come."
She reached toward him, allowing her husband to lift her from the horse. He helped
her to find her feet, holding on to her until her stiff muscles started working again.