Free Highland Conqueror by Hannah Howell Page B

She would have little chance of findingher way back to Sigimor in the dark. With her abominable sense of direction, she thought ruefully, she could end up in Wales.
    The real trick would be getting away from a very alert Harold and his equally alert men. Jolene refused to think that it was impossible. All she needed was one small chance, one tiny miracle. Even if just Harold’s two men were thoroughly distracted for a moment, escape might be possible. Then she could strike Harold with the rock tucked under her skirts and make a run for it. One thing she could do was run fast and she had the stamina to do so for a long time. Just one little chance, she silently prayed.
    “The moment we return to Drumwich, we shall be married,” Harold said, watching her intently as he spoke.
    Obviously her prayers were to go unanswered for the moment, Jolene thought. “You make a poor jest, Cousin.”
    “I ne’er jest and we are but distant cousins. It was not very hard to get a special dispensation since our blood ties are so very thin.”
    “And some bishop was so very greedy.”
    “Tsk, so little respect you have for our esteemed clergy. I but made a gift to the church out of gratitude for their help and understanding.”
    Jolene rolled her eyes, then scowled at him. “You are very free with coin that is not yours by right.”
    “I hold it and Drumwich, thus ’tis all mine.”
    “It all belongs to Reynard, my brother’s son, his heir.”
    “For now.” Harold took a drink from his wineskin and then offered it to Jolene.
    Thirst overcame her urge to spurn his offer, but Jolene pointedly wiped clean the mouth of the wineskin before taking a drink. The way Harold narrowed his pale blue eyes told her she was stirring his formidable temper, but she doubted she could keep too firm a rein upon her tongue. Simply being so close to the man who had Peter’s blood upon his hands roused her hate and anger to a near-feverish pitch. The knowledge that he would kill Reynard, too, if given the chance, and do so without remorse, only hardened those feelings.
    “What do you mean by that?” She hated to ask, but felt compelled to as she handed his wineskin back to him.
    “Such young children are very prone to dying, are they not?”
    “You would actually stain your hands with the blood of an innocent, helpless child?”
    “Not if I can help it. I was actually planning to have him proclaimed a bastard. Although I was willing to take the easier, swifter path, if the boy fell into my grasp, making him illegitimate will work as well.”
    “That would still leave you with nothing. You are not the next male in line.”
    “But I am named Peter’s heir after Reynard.”
    For one brief, horrifying moment, Jolene thought he was telling her the truth, but then she saw how intently Harold watched her. He was waiting to see if she was fool enough to believe him. It was something he habitually did when he lied, something she had noticed years ago. She was disgusted with herself for forgetting that.
    “Nay, Peter would ne’er have named you his heir,” she said firmly. “He would have hesitated to disrupt the proper line of succession, but, even if he had, he would ne’er have chosen you. If naught else, he ne’er fully trusted you. He would have chosen Rogerwhom he loved as a brother and trusted in all things.”
    When she saw the fury which darkened Harold’s face and saw him slightly raise one fist, Jolene braced herself for a blow. It surprised her when he controlled that urge. Harold never resisted the urge to strike those who displeased him. In a strange way, Harold’s newly acquired ability to control his fury made him seem all the more dangerous to her.
    “I will hold Drumwich and I will hold you,” he said between tightly clenched teeth.
    “Nay, you will never hold me.”
    “I will marry you, securing my hold upon Drumwich, and I will bed you, thoroughly.”
    The very thought of Harold’s bloodstained hands touching her made