dismissive. He stood ready for action, but not with an attitude of boredom or any indication
he had better things to do than converse with his English bride-to-be.
Even if he had made no effort to be in attendance upon her arrival. Suddenly, she
considered the possibility that slight was meant for her parents, not necessarily for her.
When he looked at her, Talorc's expression showed wariness. There was also
distrust, even frustration, though from what, she did not know, but he did not look at her
with hate.
She knew that once he learned of her inability to hear, he would reject her as his
wife. He might even hate her then, but her choices were meager. If she thwarted the
marriage, Sybil would find a way to punish Abigail much more severely than with a single
beating. Her only chance at seeing Emily again lay in marriage to this man.
Who might hate the English but did not hate her. "I will marry you."
He nodded as if it had never been in question. No doubt in his mind, it hadn't. He
seemed the type of man to get what he wanted and who allowed nothing to stand in the
way.
"The Sinclairs do not beat women, but we do kill traitors."
As her mind translated Talorc's words, Abigail felt herself flinch. "I will never betray
your clan."
"You give me your word?"
"On my soul." Hiding her affliction was not a betrayal of his people. Indeed, from
their lack of welcome to her sister, Abigail was certain the Sinclairs would be only too
happy to be rid of her once her defect was revealed. But she would never put the clan at
risk or reveal Talorc's secrets, as her mother sometimes did her stepfather's in gossip and
in search of admiration from her peers.
He scoured Abigail's gaze as carefully as she had his. Finally, satisfaction
gleamed in his amazing blue eyes. "Your mother deserves death for what she did to what
is mine."
He was completely serious. He was not posturing. This was no idle threat to
impress the English with his might. He meant it.
She shook her head, glad her muscles no longer ached with the slightest