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His hands were on her face, snaking into her hair.

He knew he was overwhelming her with his attentions, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was satisfying this hunger he seemed to have about her, this inherent need to possess her.

He knew he’d pushed her about marriage and he’d very well pushed himself on her in general, but he was a man who knew what he wanted.

He was determined to have her even if he had to force her into it.

Somehow, his mouth was moving along her face now, that sweet and beautiful face that had first caught his attention.

Her skin was smooth and her lips, those lush and full lips, drove him mad.

Her big green eyes with their dark lashes and delicately arched brows, were kissed and kissed again, just because he could.

And she was letting him. He could feel her trembling beneath him, little sighs of pleasure feeding his lust. There was so much he could do to her now, in the privacy of the loft.

But so much he wouldn’t.

For the first time in his life, Jamison was aware that he wanted to take his time with a woman.

He’d experienced a lot of women in his life, the brawny and sexy beast that he was, and he’d looked upon all of them as a conquest of sorts.

Some were simply sport to him. But Havilland didn’t fall into any of those categories.

She was naive and unspoiled, and he liked that about her.

He wanted to take his time with her, to teach her what it meant to physically satisfy a man.

To satisfy him . As his wife, he wanted her to know everything that made his heart race, something she seemed to be able to do with frightening ease.

“Mayhap I shouldna done that,” he murmured, his lips against her jaw, gently kissing her, before finally pulling away and looking her in the eye. “But I’ve been a-wantin’ tae do that since nearly the first I met ye.”

Breathless and very close to swooning, Havilland struggled to regain her composure. “That… that is not true.”

He frowned, gently done. “Why would ye say that?”

She swallowed but there was a glimmer of humor in her eye as she spoke. “The first time you saw me, you spanked me,” she said. “And then you threatened to spank me every time you saw me. There is a distinct difference between spanking and kissing.”

He grinned, rolling his eyes at their rough beginning. “Aye, now,” he said, shrugging as if to defend himself, “there is a distinct difference between kissing and spanking, but in this case, when I said ‘spank’, I shoulda said ‘kiss’.”

She smiled because he was. “That is not what you meant.”

“It ’tis, I tell ye!”

She laughed softly. “You also said I was a disgrace to my sex,” she said. “Did you mean that?”

He looked at her, then, a big hand coming up to cup her face.

The power from his gaze was intense. “I meant tae say that ye’re the most beautiful and brave woman I’ve ever met,” he said in a voice that sent chills up her spine.

Gooseflesh popped out on her arms. “I’ve never in me life met someone as remarkable as ye, so remarkable that I knew I had tae make ye me wife.

No one else is worthy of ye, Havilland. Only me. ”

Oh, the chills that continued to run up her spine as she met his gaze, feeling the heat from the man, feeling his sincerity and his interest. Her breathing still hadn’t righted itself, made worse by the expression on his face.

When he leaned forward and kissed her again, tenderly, she swore she saw sparks flying before her eyes.

Whenever the man touched her, it was as if a fire was igniting somewhere deep in her soul.

“I… I have never had anyone say such things to me,” she whispered. “I told you that I am not a fine lady and men seem to want beautiful and refined women. I do not know the first thing about being beautiful and refined. Surely… surely you do not want a wife who dresses in tunics and breeches.”

He gave her a half-grin, looking over at the dresses that were strewn about from the open trunks.

“Ye would do justice tae any one of those dresses,” he told her.

“Anything ye wear will look glorious on ye, including tunics and breeches. I’m not marrying yer wardrobe, Havilland– I’m marrying ye, and if ye come tae me in breeches and tunics, then so be it.

The real treasure is what is inside the clothes, not the clothes themselves. ”

Havilland sighed at the sweetness of his words but at the same time, she was shaking her head at him in disbelief. “I cannot believe my lack of wardrobe doesn’t concern you,” she said. “It is too good to believe. You truly do not care?”

He shrugged. “I want ye tae be happy,” he said. “If ye want tae wear dresses like other women, then do it. But dunna do it because ye think I want ye tae.”

She looked over at the dresses, too. “I would not,” she said “But… but my sisters and I were only recently discussing how it is Papa’s doing that we dress as we do and fight as we do.

Never having sons, he raised us as sons after my mother passed away.

He told us he wanted to be proud of us and fighting at his side was the way to do it, so we did. ”

He was listening with interest. “But ye made it seem as if this is what ye wanted as well.”

Havilland shook her head. “I do not honestly know,” she said.

“We were all so young when my mother died and Papa set forth to make us his sons. We did it because we were told to, not because we had a choice. Now it has become a way of life. Earlier today, Madeline was telling me how she did not intend to dress this way any longer. She said she wanted a home and husband and family and… well, that will not happen now for her. We were pulling out these dresses to attend Alis de Lara’s party but I do not suppose we can go to that now, either. ”

Jamison didn’t think it would be wise, or in the best taste, to leave Four Crosses with everything that had happened. “Ye would feel comfortable going tae a festival with yer sister in the vault, facing an uncertain future?”

Havilland shook her head. “I did not mean it the way it sounded,” she said, although she sounded disappointed. “It was simply an observation.”

Jamison didn’t particularly believe her. He knew she’d had her heart set on going to the celebration. “If I offered tae still escort ye, would ye go?”

Havilland shook her head. “It does not seem right to do that with Madeline locked away,” she said.

“It would be difficult for me to enjoy myself. No matter what she has done, she is still my sister. Going to a festival would seem as if we were somehow celebrating her captivity. It would seem irreverent.”

He was glad she showed some restraint and common sense given the situation.

Havilland was not a silly woman, in any case, and she understood the seriousness of what was going on around them, and no matter how she felt about her sister, going off to a party while Madeline was in the vault would have been an unsavory thing to do.

Reaching out, he took her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“I am sorry ye’ll not be able tae go,” he said quietly. “But I am not sorry that I was forced tae act against her. Madeline’s situation is of her own doing.”

“I know.”

He continued to kiss her fingers, calloused and dirty from the fighting life she led, but it didn’t matter to him.

They were the sweetest fingers he’d ever sampled.

But in thinking on the situation with Madeline, he was reminded of something else that had been said during the conversation he’d listened to between Madeline and Havilland and Evon.

A small matter of Roald de Llion and his true state of health.

Given the circumstances, Jamison felt he had a right to know the truth. Perhaps this was the moment for it.

“If I ask ye a question, will ye tell me honestly?” he asked quietly.

Havilland was watching him kiss her fingers, fascinated and upswept in her first real taste of affection. “I will always be honest with you.”

“Good,” he said, eyeing her a moment before continuing.

“When ye were speaking with Evon and Madeline, I heard Evon say that Madeline had told him the truth about yer father and that the man was mad. Will you tell me truthfully what yer father’s affliction is, Havilland?

Why has no one been able tae see the man for over a year? ”

The warmth on her features faded as she realized he was asking her a direct question about her father.

It caught her off-guard, to be truthful.

One moment they were speaking of Madeline and of the festival they would not attend, and in the next moment they were speaking of Roald.

Havilland realized that this was a defining moment.

At this point, she usually panicked and tried to change the subject, but this time, it would be different.

Different because she knew she could no longer continue the charade.

It was time to tell the truth.

There was no way she could lie to Jamison; to do it would be to destroy the fragile trust building between them.

But she was so used to being evasive about her father that there was a lie on her lips before she even thought about it.

She had to force herself to swallow that lie, to push it aside in favor of an admission she hoped she’d never have to make.

But if Jamison had already heard about her father’s difficulties from Evon, then there was no use denying what he’d heard. He already knew.

The time for truth had come.

“Come with me,” she murmured.

Jamison did. He followed Havilland from the loft, down the ladder and out of the stables.

He walked beside her beneath the building mist of the coming night but kept a proper distance, difficult because he wanted very much to hold her hand.

So he clasped his big fingers behind his back, holding tightly to his own hands so he wouldn’t forget himself and make a grab for her.

After that brief taste in the loft, he very much wanted to savor her again.

Many thoughts were rolling through his mind as he followed her, not the least of which was the fact that she was taking him somewhere, presumably in answer to his question about her father.

He didn’t ask her and she didn’t offer, but he had a feeling he was about to meet Roald de Llion, the first person to see the man in well over a year outside of his family.

But that anticipation and curiosity was nothing like the reality of it once Havilland took him into the keep and up to a third floor chamber that smelled as if an animal live there.

In that dark and smelly bower, Jamison discovered the truth about the once-great warrior known as Roald de Llion.