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thought that his own mother had undoubtedly been taken against her will and then abandoned to bear his father's bastard alone had instilled in him the desire to never repeat his father's mistake.
    And so he had waited, hoping to prove Détra's fears unfounded. But he could wait no longer. If word of his failure to consummate his marriage got out, not only would he be the laughingstock of the whole kingdom, but his control over Windermere Castle would also be in serious jeopardy.
    Hunter could afford neither of them.
    He gently turned Détra around and took her stiff body into his arms, keeping the chill of the morning away with his body heat. He sought her mouth and kissed her but she kept her lips tightly sealed to his seeking tongue. He lifted from her. "If you but allow me to hold you," he said.
    In response she pushed further away from him, as if that were possible, seeing that she already slept on the far edge of the bed.
    "I am not William, Détra," Hunter reasoned with mounting frustration. "Surely you must see that. We can no longer be obliging to your fears."
    In silence Détra rolled out of the bed and rose, dragging the coverlet with her. The bed curtains fell behind her departing form.
    His lady wife's prompt assumption she could turn her back on him and not fulfill her marital duty to him annoyed Hunter anew. Was there more to Détra ' s reluctance than what she had led him to believe? Had his idealized image of her veiled his mind to the truth of her heart?
    But what could that truth be if not what she had told him?
    Hunter jerked to his feet to stand naked before her. She held the coverlet tight over the chemise she always wore to bed, covering her body to his gaze. Lightning flashed outside the window and fell in incandescent streaks upon her, but for the first time, her beauty failed to move him. She stood before him like a statue— a beautiful, unattainable, lifeless form of a woman.
    Before his lady wife's tearful revelation a week past, Hunter had mourned her detachment toward him but had not understood; then he surmised her manners were in truth an unfortunate outcome of her difficult former marriage. Détra was not a woman to laugh easily, to appreciate a jest or converse naturally. Efficient in the care of the castle and its inhabitants, she had time for naught e l se but her duties and obligations.
    With the exception of her marital duty to him, which she skirted with great mastery.
    "We can no longer avoid this matter," Hunter said.
    " If you take me against my will, and there is no doubt you can for your strength is greater than mine, then you are no better than William."
    Blood rose to his face. "I need not use my strength against a woman, for I have every right to your compliance. You were given to me by king, our marriage blessed by God and made legal by men. You are mine, Lady Détra."
    "Neither you, nor the king, not even God have ever considered my wishes at al l ." There was such bitterness in her voice, such stubbornness in the way she defiantly pointed her chin at him, that Hunter began doubting every word she had ever spoken to him. "What about my choices?" she cried suddenly.
    She spoke of choices as if he had been given many in his life. What choice had his heart those many years ago when he first caught sight of her beautiful face? What choice had he in having been born a bastard of unknown sire?
    Had he reached higher than he should have when he wedded Détra? Hoped more than he deserved? Wanted more than fate was willing to give him?
    And yet, when the opportunity arose, he took it, and, by God, he would offer no apologies for having done so. A woman's lot in life was to be wedded for gain of land, power or protection, and not always to her benefit. And yet, though he had gained land and power through her, he had vowed to protect and care for her. And he intended to do so. He wished to go even further. He wished to offer her his heart, in which she seemed not interested at