“Of course her thoughts disturb her. How could they not when she has wed a lying foe.”
“That is between Aliss and me and does not concern you,” Rogan said in a respectable tone, to Aliss’s relief.
Fiona, however, did not grant him the same consideration. “It damn well concerns me. I am her sister—”
“I am her husband.”
“Not for long.”
“That is up to Aliss—”
“Who knows what she needs to do,” Fiona finished.
“The choice remains hers and you should not forget that.”
Fiona looked ready to lunge.
“Enough!” Aliss shouted. “This day has been difficult enough without you two bickering. Rogan is right, Fiona. The choice is mine and I wish to make it without interference or opinions from anyone.”
“And so you shall,” Tarr said. “We will keep our visits infrequent and brief.”
“But—”
Aliss allowed no room for her sister’s protest. “I thank both of you for understanding.”
“What of the babe?” Fiona asked, upset. “You will not be there to deliver him?”
“Of course she will,” Rogan said adamantly. “Aliss would never abandon you in your time of need. Besides, she has looked forward to the birth, reminding me often enough she had to return in time to deliver him.”
Fiona smiled at her sister and Aliss felt swamped with guilt. Fiona was bold and she loved with a boldness that could devour a person. She had devoured Tarr that way and he loved her for it.
“We can come stay with you at Hellewyk for the birth,” Rogan suggested. “So you need not worry.”
Aliss could tell by the way Fiona looked suspiciously at Rogan that she was uncertain what to make of him. That was good, for then maybe she could change her sister’s opinion of him.
But could she herself do the same?
Would she find a way to make sense of this mess and take a chance that he did not lie about loving her?
The evening meal was finished soon enough, and Fiona yawned repeatedly until Tarr suggested to a protesting Fiona that she needed to sleep. It was not until Aliss advised her that the baby required rest that Fiona capitulated and the pair retired to a cottage that had been prepared for them.
Rogan left the cottage without a word to Aliss shortly after Tarr and Fiona had taken their leave. Aliss was glad for the solitude and packed a couple of baskets with her healing paraphernalia. She had debated about taking the clothes Rogan had given her that had belonged to his wife. He had been generous in giving them to her and she would not insult him by leaving them behind, though she would return them to him when they separated.
Separated.
She shivered at the thought; she had become attached to Rogan and his considerate ways. But had they been part of a well-executed ruse?
A yawn reminded her that the day had been long and emotionally tiring. It would be a relief to have sleep claim her body and mind. She sat on the narrow bed she had slept in when she had first arrived. She could not bring herself to climb into her husband’s bed. She did not know where his lies began and where they ended and that left her feeling vulnerable.
She now felt more than naked in front of him even though she was clothed.
“What are you doing?”
Aliss jumped at his booming accusation. “Going to sleep.”
“You are in the wrong bed.”
His glaring green eyes and his predatory stance reminded her of a wolf, and she suddenly felt intimidated. He stepped to the side, a silent demand that she seek her sleep in his bed, but she remained firm.
“I prefer to sleep here.”
“You are my wife.”
“The circumstances have changed,” she said, attempting to keep the quiver out of her voice.
“The fact that you are my wife has not.”
“It is better that I—”
“Tend to your wifely duties.”
Her chin shot up. “You intend to enforce my wifely duties? Should I cook for you, sew for you, and disregard everything and everyone except my husband?”
“I did not ask you to be someone you are not. I simply want you in my bed where you belong.”
She had enjoyed making love with him when she thought he loved her—but now? She could not share such an intimate act with him knowing he had lied. She would not feel the same.
“I would not be comfortable.”
“Why?”
She bunched the blanket between her fingers and searched frantically for an answer that would appease him while keeping her worry to herself.
“Why?” he repeated.
“There is strife between us.”
“Sleeping in separate beds will not improve that,” he said.
“Sleeping together when I doubt your love will not help, either.”