“I’m going to wed you so our children have the right of legitimacy.”

“But what if we don’t have children?”

“Since I plan to have you first of the morrow—repeatedly—and every morrow after, ’tis a very safe assumption.”

“But what if you don’t like me?” Gwen argued. “What if you think I’m hideous once you see my entire face?”

Greylen laughed. “You’re beautiful, and I do like you.”

“What about…” Gwen bit her bottom lip before she continued. “About…well, Sara seems to think I have a slight problem with my temper,” she said in a rush.

“Slight? Slight?” he repeated. “Love, ’tis no slight problem you have. Your affliction’s quite severe.”

“It’s not that bad,” she muttered defensively.

“Not bad?” He laughed. “You’ve the temper of a wild boar…stuck in a mud trap…starved for days…about to die.”

By the time he finished, she was laughing so hard, her face was buried in her hands.

“Tell me your family name, Gwen?” he asked when they became quiet again.

“Reynolds,” she supplied quickly. Gwen waited for Greylen to say something. He didn’t. Finally, she reached out to him. “Are we in the twilight zone again, Greylen? Greylen?”

“’Tis a good name, Gwen. On the morrow, however ’twill be no more. Father Michael will join us. And you will truly be mine.”

“Greylen?”

“Aye, Gwen.”

“Do you promise?” She hadn’t meant it to come out as a plea. And regretted the words the moment she’d breathed them.

“Ah, Gwen.” He sighed, gathering her closer. “I solemnly promise to wed you on the morrow. And I vow to make you so completely mine you’ll not lose your glow for days. And I never break my word.”

Gwen felt a slow, lazy smile cross her lips, she knew exactly what he implied. She laid her head against his chest and ran her fingers down his arm when she felt something wet around his biceps.

“Greylen, what’s this?” she asked.

“I suffered a wound.”

“You suffered a wound?” she repeated. “What in the hell does that mean?”

She sensed him smiling at her words.

“I don’t stutter, love, nor do I speak in riddles. And good God your mouth’s atrocious.”

“Whatever, Greylen,” Gwen said dismissively. “I swear the drugs your mother’s been giving me have affected my judgment.”

“Aye, Lady Madelyn can be quite high-handed where her potions are concerned,” he quickly agreed. Then as if another thought crossed his mind, “Think you that’s the problem?” He sounded like he was relieved by the possibility.

“What problem?”

“Your mouth?”

“If it helps you sleep at night, then yes, I’m sure that’s the problem. Now, will you get the supplies Anna’s been using for me? This needs to be re-dressed.”

“You’re serious?”

“I don’t stutter, Greylen, nor do I speak in riddles,” she mimicked.

Greylen sighed as he stepped from the bed. Gwen was standing when he returned. “Get back in bed, Gwen, I’ll change the dressing myself.”

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest and started tapping her foot. “I’ll re-dress your wound, Greylen. I need to make sure it hasn’t swelled. Tell me how it happened.”