But Caroline knew that no matter what vows she uttered that day, she belonged to herself.

You are safe, Arabella. No matter what we have lost, no matter what once passed between us, you will always be safe with me.

He had not spoken of love, but Caroline was sure she felt it in the desperation of his touch, that she heard it in the longing of his voice.

She wanted to go to him; she wanted to hold him whether he loved her or not.

Empty of all but pain, she fought the rising need to weep.

Another woman seemed to have taken over her body, and yet she had never felt more completely herself. And it was not wine this time, or mead, for she had not taken a drop. This night she was drunk on her love for him and on the fact that, for this night, he was hers.

I did not know what desire was until I saw you," she said to him.

She saw his honor war with his desire. She fought on the side of his desire, for it matched her own.

Arabella pulled back a little so that she might look up at him again. This time her eyes were clear. They bore no tears and held no fear. Only her love shone on him, reflected in the ghost of a smile that touched her lips.

This moment was what he had waited for all his life. This moment was why he had not died in Spain, or Italy, or Belgium. He had lived so that he might one day stand with her like this.