It wasn’t the most romantic of proposals yet it set her heart aflutter. Eithne gulped.
“I will need to change my gown,” she said.
“Princess, I didn’t mean now.”
“Oh. Forget it then,” she snapped, and had to ask herself why.
“I have no intention of doing so. In fact, letting you out of my sight is not an option either.” Xander took her hand. “Come with me to Beeveland,” he coaxed.
“Now? Why?”
“Not now. Once the affairs of Ormond are sorted.”
“I fear that will never happen. Still, it would be good to get away and probably best for Genevieve if we do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, hastily.
That crush on one of the Danes, blurted out impulsively after an excess of good local mead, needed nipping in the bud in her opinion. Halfdan was leaving anyway. She hadn’t meant to let the cat out of the bag, but Xander was nothing if not persistent in his questioning.
“Genevieve has no sense of propriety,” he fumed.
That was rich coming from him, a self-styled conqueror and enslaver. Eith
