Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. “Anna!” she repeated. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. It was not so uncommon back in the Hebrides for men to take several wives and additional lovers. All right really. I do not love you. He glanced up. If he recovers he may not accuse her. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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