“No new beginnings.Damn it, it shouldn’t bother her!But it did. She tried to turn away, but his hand flashed out and caught her by the chin.“Let me go,” she snapped.“Nay.” His grip was implacable on her jaw.There was little point in fighting for control of her face; he could have hoisted her into the air with that one big hand on her jaw, if he’d wished.He searched her gaze a long silent moment. “You truly doona ken it, do you? Excepting with you, Jessica. You, lass, are the exception to everything,” he said softly.As if he’d not just knocked the breath out of her with those words and left her feeling weak-kneed, he released her chin, turned away, and began pushing the cart again.”

“Nope,” she managed. “No other questions.”Eleven centuries of captivity. Hung on his hated enemy’s study wall. Eleven centuries of not touching. Not eating. Not loving. Had he had anyone to talkto?Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, for he startled her by saying softly, “ ’Tis no longer ofconsequence, lass, but thank you for the compassion. ’Tis nigh over. Seventeen more days, Jessica. That’s all.”For some reason his words brought a sudden hot burn of tears to the backs of her eyes. Not only hadn’t eleven centuries turned him into a monster, he was trying to soothe her, to make her feel better about his imprisonment.“You weep for me, woman?”She turned away. “It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long week.”“Jessica.” Her name was a soft command.She disobeyed it, staring out the window at the rolling hills.“Jessica, look at me.”Eyes bright with unshed tears, she whipped her head around and glared at him. “I weep for you, okay?” she snapped. “For eleven centuries stuck in there. Can I start driving again or do you need something else?”He smiled faintly, raised his hand, and splayed his palm against the inside of the silvery glass. Without an ounce of conscious thought, her hand rose tomeet his, aligning on the cool silver,palm to palm, finger to finger, thumb to thumb. And though she felt only a cold hardness beneath her palm, the gesture made something go all warm and soft in her heart.Neither of them spoke or moved for a moment.”

“Chloe kept her expression bland. He looked immensely pleased with himself this morning, and there was no wayshe was letting him know she'd had even one nocturnal thought about him. "I can't remember," she said, blinkingguilelessly. "In fact, I slept so deeply I don't think I dreamt atall.""Indeed," he murmured. When he moved forward, she nearly jumped out of her skin, but he simply reached behindher and pulled the door to her bedchamber shut.Then backed her against it."Hey," she snapped."I sought but to give you a good morrow kiss, lass. 'Tis a Scots custom."She craned her neck, scowling up at him, and gave him a look that said Yeah, right, nice try."A wee one. No tongue. I promise," he said, his lips curving faintly."You never give up, do you?""I never will, sweet. Doona you know that by now?"Oooh, that was beginning to take on shades of her dream.And he'd called her "sweet," a little endearment. She damped her mouth shut and shook her head.”

“Circenn moved swiftly, intending to catch the tear upon his finger, kiss it away, then kiss away all her pain and fear, and assure her that he would permit no harm to touch her and would spend his life making things up to her; but she dropped the flask onto the table and turned swiftly. "Please, leave me alone," she said and turned away from him. "Let me comfort you, Lisa," he entreated."Leave me alone."For the first time in his life, Circennfelt utterly helpless. Let her grieve, his heart instructed. She would need to grieve, for discovering that the flask didn't work was tantamount to lowering her mother into a solitary grave. She would grieve her mother as if she'd in truth died that very day. May Godforgive me, he prayed. I did not know what I was doing when I cursed that flask.”

“In her dreams the Hawk would be waiting for her by the sea's edge; her kilt-clad, magnificent Scottish laird. He would smile and his eyes would crinkle, then turn dark withsmoldering passion.She would take his hand and lay it gently on her swelling abdomen, and his face would blaze with happiness andpride. Then he would take her gently, there on the cliff's edge, in tempo with the pounding of the ocean. He wouldmake fierce and possessive love to her and she would hold on to him as tightly as she could. But before dawn, he would melt right through her fingers. And she would wake up, her cheeks wet with tears and her hands clutching nothing but a bit of quilt or pillow.”

“At the very last moment, just before its lips claimed hers, its grip on her face relaxed slightly and she did the only thing she could think of: She head-butted it. Snapped her head back, then forward again, and bashed it square in the face as hard as she could. So hard, in fact, that it made her woozy and gave her an instant migraine, making her wonder how Jean-Claude Van Damme always managed to coolly continue fighting after such a stunt. Obviously, movies lied.”

“By ten o'clock she thought he might soon be ready to talk. He'd threatened, blustered, even tried to sweet-talk her. Then the bribery had begun. He'd let her live if she let him out immediately. He'd give her three horses, two sheep, and a cow. He'd give her a pouch of coin, three horses, two sheep, not just a cow but a milking cow, and set her up anywhere in England, if she would just leave his castle and not bother him again for the rest of his life. The only offer/threat that had perked her momentary interest was when he'd shouted that he was going to "toop her 'til her bonny legs fell off." She should be so lucky.”