"No, it was an honest admission. They think I'm odd, too. Do you care so much what others think of you, Christina?"

She shook her head. "Only you, Lyon. I care what you think."

He showed her how pleased he was to hear her admission by kissing her.

"I also care what you think," Lyon whispered. "Will my shoes be lining the steps outside again?"

"The old ways are familiar to me," Christina explained. "I was so angry with you. It was all I could think to do to make you realize how unhappy you'd made me."

"Thank God you didn't try to leave me."

"Try?"

"You know I'd chase you down and drag you back where you belong."

"Yes, I knew you would. You are a warrior, after all."

Lyon moved Christina to his side, determined to finish their conversation before making love to her again. Her hand moved to his thigh. It was a distraction. Lyon captured both her hands and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Christina? Did you ever love another man? Was there someone back home who captured your heart?"

Her head was tucked under his chin. Christina smiled, knowing Lyon couldn't see her reaction. He'd tensed against her after he'd asked the question. He hadn't been able to keep the worry out of his voice.

He was letting her see his vulnerability. "When I was very young, I thought I'd grow up and marry White Eagle. Then, when I was seven summers or so, I put those silly thoughts aside. He was my brother, after all."

"Was there anyone else?"

"No. Father wouldn't let any of the warriors walk with me. He knew I had to return to the whites. My destiny had already been decided."

"Who decided your destiny?" Lyon asked.

"The dream."

Christina waited for his next question, but after a minute or two, when she realized he wasn't going to ask her to explain, she decided to tell him anyway.

She wanted him to understand.

The story of the shaman's journey to the top of the mountain to seek his vision captured Lyon 's full attention.

The dream made him smile. "If your mother hadn't called you a lioness, would the shaman ever have-"

"He would have sorted it all out," Christina interrupted. "I had white-blond hair and blue eyes, just like the lion in his dream. Yes, he would have sorted it out. Do you understand now how confused I was when Sir Reynolds called you Lyon? I knew in that moment that I had found my mate."

The logical part of Lyon 's mind saw all the flaws in the dream, the superstitions of the rituals. Yet he easily pushed reason aside. He didn't care if it didn't make sense. "I knew in that moment, too, that you'd belong to me."

"Both of us fought it, didn't we, Lyon?"

"That we did, love."

Christina laughed. "You never stood a fair chance, husband. Your fate had already been decided."

Lyon nodded. "Now it's your turn to ask me questions. Would you like me to tell you about Lettie?"

Christina tried to look up at Lyon, but he wouldn't let her move. "Do you want to tell me about her?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

"Yes, I do. Now ask me your questions," he commanded, his voice soft.

"Did you love her?"

"Not in the same way I love you. I was never… content. I was too young for marriage. I realize that now."

"What was she like?"

"The complete opposite of you," Lyon answered. "Lettie enjoyed the social whirl of the ton. She hated this house, the countryside. Lettie loved intrigue. I was working with Richards then. The war was coming, and I was away from home quite a lot. My brother, James, escorted Lettie to various events. While I was away, he took her to his bed."

Her indrawn breath told him she understood. Lyon had wanted to tell Christina about his first wife so that she would see how much he trusted her. Yet now that the telling had begun, the anger he'd held inside him for so long began to fade. That realization surprised him. His explanation wasn't hesitant now. "Lettie died in childbirth. The babe also. It wasn't my child, Christina. James was the father. I remember how I sat next to my wife, trying to give her comfort. God, she was in terrible pain. I pray you'll never have to endure it. Lettie wasn't aware that I was there. She kept screaming for her lover."

Christina felt like weeping. The pain of his brother's betrayal must have been unbearable. She didn't understand. How could a wife shame her husband in such a way?

She hugged Lyon but decided against offering him additional sympathy. He was a proud man. "Were you and your brother close to each other before his betrayal?" she asked.

"No."

Christina scooted away from Lyon so she could see his expression. His gaze showed only his puzzlement over her question. Lettie's sin no longer affected him, she decided.

"You never gave Lettie your heart," she announced. "It's your brother you've yet to forgive, isn't it, Lyon?"

He was amazed by her perception. "Were you close to James?" she asked again.

"No. We were very competitive when we were younger. I grew out of that nonsense, but my brother obviously didn't."

"I wonder if James wasn't like Lancelot," she whispered, "from the story of Camelot."

"And Lettie was my Guinevere?" he asked, his smile gentle.

"Perhaps," Christina answered. "Would it make his deception easier to bear if you believed it wasn't a deliberate sin?"

"It wouldn't be the truth. James wasn't Lancelot. My brother took what he wanted, when he wanted it, regardless of the consequences. He never really grew up," Lyon ended.

She ignored the harshness in his voice. "Perhaps your mama wouldn't let him," she said.

"Speaking of my mother," Lyon began with a sigh, "you have a plan to keep her here?"

"I do."

"Hell. How long?"

"Quit frowning. She'll stay with us until she wishes to leave. Of course, we have to make her want to stay first," she qualified. "I have a plan to help her, Lyon. Together we'll draw her back into the family. Your mama feels responsible for your brother's death."

"Why do you say that?" Lyon asked.

"She kept him tied to her skirts," Christina answered. "Diana said your mother protected both of you from your father's cruel temper."

"How could Diana know? She was only a baby when Father died."

"Aunt Harriett told her," Christina explained. "I questioned both your sister and your aunt, Lyon. I wanted to know all about your mama so that I could help her."

"How long will this take? I don't have the patience to sit through meals listening to her talk of James."

"We aren't going to let her speak of James," Christina said. "Your mama's very determined." She kissed Lyon on his chin, then said, "But I'm far more determined. Do I have your complete support in this undertaking?"

"Will you be taking her out into the wilderness to find a place for her to die?" he asked. He chuckled over the picture of Christina dragging his mother outdoors before adding, "Diana's worried you really will do just that."

Christina sighed in exasperation. "Your sister is very naive. I was only bluffing. Would you like for me to explain my plans for your mama?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'd rather be surprised," Lyon answered. "I just thought of another question to ask you."

"That doesn't surprise me. You're full of questions."

He ignored her rebuke and her disgruntled expression. "Do you realize you sometimes lapse into speaking French? Especially when you're upset. Is that the language your family spoke?"

Twin dimples appeared in her cheeks. Lyon thought she looked like an angel. She wasn't acting much like one, however, for her hand suddenly reached down to capture his arousal.

Lyon groaned, then pulled her hand away. "Answer me first," he commanded in a husky voice.

She let him see her disappointment before she answered him. "Father captured Mr. Deavenrue to teach me the language of the whites. If Mother had been allowed to speak to the man, she would have told him that I was going to return to England. Father didn't think that was significant. He didn't understand that there were different white languages. Deavenrue told me later, when we became friends, that he was very frightened of my father. I remember being amused by that fact," she added. "It was an unkind reaction, but I was only ten or eleven then, so I can excuse my attitude. Deavenrue was very young, too. He taught me the language of the whites… his whites."