Greylen answered, “Aye,” at her request and felt her tighten her arms around his neck as he stepped away from the bed. He carried her to the chair by the fireplace and sat with her there.

“I didn’t mean on your lap,” she said, poking a finger against his chest.

Greylen wrapped his hand around hers, stopping her actions. “Are you always this obstinate?”

“No,” she offered with a sigh, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Thank God,” he muttered.

“I’m usually much worse,” she muttered back.

Greylen shook his head, cursing under his breath. She was nothing like he’d expected. Yet as different as she was, Gwendolyn was perfect for him. She’d not be intimidated or fearful of his power. She had her own strength and he admired her for it. He still couldn’t believe she was here. He’d slept the night with her, and had she not been wounded, he would have made love to her.

He could still feel her body as she pressed herself against him last night. Her hands as they brushed through his hair, and the way she’d tugged upon it demanding that he kiss her. She’d been so responsive when he did, it took all of his control to end it. Her tears still bothered him, though, but he’d question her later. For now, he had other matters he wished to have answers to.

“How did you come to be in the water, Gwendolyn?” He felt her shudder and tightened his hold.

“I lost control of my truck. The storm wiped out the road,” she whispered.

The term was foreign to him. He had no idea its meaning. “And your injuries, how did you come by them?”

“The airbags caused the burns on my face and the broken glass from the window caused my lacerations,” she explained. “Did you save me last night, Greylen?”

“Aye,” he answered in a grave tone. ’Twas something he wished to forget.

“Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?”

“You’re at Seagrave Castle, Gwendolyn.”

“I can’t stay here, Greylen. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I really do, but I should go.”

“You will stay here, Gwendolyn. I’d not allow you anywhere else.”

“It’s not up to you.”

“Aye, Gwendolyn, ’tis. You belong here.” She muttered a “ha” in response, as if the words were not to be believed. “Where would you go?” Had she someone? he wondered.

“Back to the inn, or to a hospital or clinic, maybe,” she whispered.

“Who would care for you?” he demanded, still not satisfied with his need to know and clearly unsettled by a feeling of uncertainty.

“I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Is there someone—?” He couldn’t finish. The possibility infuriated him now.

“No.” She made a laugh-like sound. “But I need to call Sara.”

He relaxed his hold as her explanation soothed him. “Who’s Sara?”

“A friend. She’ll be worried, and I’m sure the couple who run the inn will wonder where I am. Will you dial the numbers for me?” she asked. “We’ll have to look up the number of the inn. Well, you’ll have to, but I can tell you Sara’s.”