embarrassed.
Hazel’s heart began to thump loudly in her chest.
There was nothing mischievous, nothing teasing, in Tam’s eyes. His gaze was intent and hungry. He wants to bed me .
Muscles she didn’t even know she had clenched in her womb, in her belly.
She saw Tam draw in a deep breath, saw him struggle to master himself—and then he breathed out, a long exhalation, and he was the Tam she knew again. The alarming intensity was gone from his eyes.
He pushed to his feet and crossed to the creek, crouched, and washed his hands. Hazel watched, soberly. What Herculean effort had that taken him?
Tam stood, wiped his hands on his tunic, and turned back to her.
Hazel stood, too. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly.
“Don’t be.” Tam’s smile was easy, cheerful. He slung an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick, friendly hug and a kiss on the brow, and released her. “Let’s get that fire going. I’m so hungry I could eat poor Marigold, and that would be distressing for both her and me.”
Hazel huffed a laugh. Her awkwardness vanished. It was one of the things she loved most about Tam: the way he made her laugh.
She turned to follow him—and came to a halt, rerunning her last thought in her head: One of the things she loved most about Tam.
One of the things she loved about him.
Hazel stared at Tam as he crouched at his packsaddle and rummaged for the tinderbox.
Do I love this man?
----
DARKNESS FELL. THEY ate sitting on either side of the fire—half a loaf of bread and the last of the cold meat. Hazel tried to eat slowly, to not wolf her food down. She glanced at Tam. Firelight and shadows flickered over his face.
Have I fallen in love with you, Tam No-Name?
The emotion that she felt for Tam wasn’t infatuation, breathless and dizzying. It was deeper and more solid than that, a sense of rightness, deep in her bones. This man is right for me. Being with him makes me happy .
It didn’t matter that Tam was poor. She’d been poor all her life. She knew how to forage for food in the woods, how to stretch a meal from one night to three, knew how to patch and re-patch clothes, and re-patch them yet again.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know his full name, or how he earned his keep. Thatcher, weaver, swineherd . . . it was unimportant. What mattered was Tam himself. And Tam himself was someone she had come to love, someone she wanted to be with, not just for two days, but for ever .
Hazel rested her gaze on him, on the bones and hollows of his face. A lively, merry, intelligent face. A face that was a pleasure to look at.
Except that Tam didn’t look merry, right now. He was chewing slowly, deep in thought, more serious than she’d yet seen him.
Recognition teased at her. The high-bridged nose, the serious frown . . . Where had she seen that before?
Tam looked up and caught her watching him. The impact of his gaze made Hazel slightly breathless. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
Tam’s frown didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened.
“What?”
Tam put down his slice of bread. His expression, the way he drew in his breath . . . He looked like a man preparing to jump off a cliff.
“What?” Hazel said again, alarmed.
“Hazel . . . will you marry me?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HAZEL HAD BEEN proposed to before, but never so unexpectedly. She gaped at Tam for a moment, her mouth open in shock. “You want to marry me ?” Her voice rose on the last word.
“Yes.”
Her heart seemed to have climbed up her throat, where it sat beating rapidly. Hazel swallowed and managed to say, “Why?”
“Why?” Tam half-laughed, and shook his head. “Hazel, you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. You’re . . . You’re faithful and true-hearted and courageous. You’re not meek and timid, and you’re definitely not boring. You’re strong-minded. You take risks. You’ve got spirit . You’re stubborn and fierce and brave and determined and . . . and being
Hazel’s heart began to thump loudly in her chest.
There was nothing mischievous, nothing teasing, in Tam’s eyes. His gaze was intent and hungry. He wants to bed me .
Muscles she didn’t even know she had clenched in her womb, in her belly.
She saw Tam draw in a deep breath, saw him struggle to master himself—and then he breathed out, a long exhalation, and he was the Tam she knew again. The alarming intensity was gone from his eyes.
He pushed to his feet and crossed to the creek, crouched, and washed his hands. Hazel watched, soberly. What Herculean effort had that taken him?
Tam stood, wiped his hands on his tunic, and turned back to her.
Hazel stood, too. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly.
“Don’t be.” Tam’s smile was easy, cheerful. He slung an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick, friendly hug and a kiss on the brow, and released her. “Let’s get that fire going. I’m so hungry I could eat poor Marigold, and that would be distressing for both her and me.”
Hazel huffed a laugh. Her awkwardness vanished. It was one of the things she loved most about Tam: the way he made her laugh.
She turned to follow him—and came to a halt, rerunning her last thought in her head: One of the things she loved most about Tam.
One of the things she loved about him.
Hazel stared at Tam as he crouched at his packsaddle and rummaged for the tinderbox.
Do I love this man?
----
DARKNESS FELL. THEY ate sitting on either side of the fire—half a loaf of bread and the last of the cold meat. Hazel tried to eat slowly, to not wolf her food down. She glanced at Tam. Firelight and shadows flickered over his face.
Have I fallen in love with you, Tam No-Name?
The emotion that she felt for Tam wasn’t infatuation, breathless and dizzying. It was deeper and more solid than that, a sense of rightness, deep in her bones. This man is right for me. Being with him makes me happy .
It didn’t matter that Tam was poor. She’d been poor all her life. She knew how to forage for food in the woods, how to stretch a meal from one night to three, knew how to patch and re-patch clothes, and re-patch them yet again.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know his full name, or how he earned his keep. Thatcher, weaver, swineherd . . . it was unimportant. What mattered was Tam himself. And Tam himself was someone she had come to love, someone she wanted to be with, not just for two days, but for ever .
Hazel rested her gaze on him, on the bones and hollows of his face. A lively, merry, intelligent face. A face that was a pleasure to look at.
Except that Tam didn’t look merry, right now. He was chewing slowly, deep in thought, more serious than she’d yet seen him.
Recognition teased at her. The high-bridged nose, the serious frown . . . Where had she seen that before?
Tam looked up and caught her watching him. The impact of his gaze made Hazel slightly breathless. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
Tam’s frown didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened.
“What?”
Tam put down his slice of bread. His expression, the way he drew in his breath . . . He looked like a man preparing to jump off a cliff.
“What?” Hazel said again, alarmed.
“Hazel . . . will you marry me?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HAZEL HAD BEEN proposed to before, but never so unexpectedly. She gaped at Tam for a moment, her mouth open in shock. “You want to marry me ?” Her voice rose on the last word.
“Yes.”
Her heart seemed to have climbed up her throat, where it sat beating rapidly. Hazel swallowed and managed to say, “Why?”
“Why?” Tam half-laughed, and shook his head. “Hazel, you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. You’re . . . You’re faithful and true-hearted and courageous. You’re not meek and timid, and you’re definitely not boring. You’re strong-minded. You take risks. You’ve got spirit . You’re stubborn and fierce and brave and determined and . . . and being
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