Hannah Howell (49 page)

“It all sounds very reasonable,” she whispered.

“Of course it does. A man doesn't elude the truth as neatly as I did without using the best of logic."

“The truth?"

“Yes, the truth.” He held her close. “I love you."

She clung to him tightly and felt an urge to cry, she was so choked with joy. He said it so calmly that she had no doubt that he meant it. It was a clear statement of fact. She was not sure that he would ever understand how much it meant to her to hear those words.

“Even when I came out of what O'Neill keeps calling my little nap, I tried to ignore it. The moment I recalled what had happened, I was terrified for you, as terrified as I had been when you were in Raoul's filthy hands."

“When did you see?” she asked hoarsely, still clinging to him as if afraid that he would prove to be an illusion and slip away, that this moment she had waited for for so long was only a dream.

“When you told me you loved me,” he answered quietly. “God, Antonie, it felt so good, so damn good. I just lay there smiling like a drunken idiot and reveled in it, savored it. That's when I finally stopped making excuses for everything I felt. There was only one rational explanation. Once I admitted it to myself, it felt right. I knew I had finally faced the real truth. It explained even the things I'd felt and done that had left me confused. I love you."

“And I love you,
querido. Por Dios,
how I love you."

“Forever."

"Sí.
Forever."

“Well, I think we ought to do something to celebrate this momentous occasion."

She looked at him and smiled slowly. “And you have an idea?"

“We-ell, you could always express your delight in our mutual affection by ravishing me."

“Ah,
querido,
what a good idea. You always have such good ideas."

“I've got years and years worth of them, love."

Dear Readers:

A Taste of Fire,
first published in 1988, holds a special place in my heart. It was my first sale as a writer and I will always remember the excitement I felt. It was published under the pseudonym Sarah Dustin, my great-grandmother's name. I had planned to give that name to my daughter. It was the only name on the list each time I got pregnant, and each time I had a boy. Naturally, it was the first name that came to mind when I needed a pseudonym.

A Taste of Fire
was also my first western. A brief trip to a friend in New Mexico planted the seed for this tale. Coming from the well-treed, well-watered land of northern Massachusetts, New Mexico was a bit of a shock, but the difference and its history quickly diverted me from my happy obsession with medieval Scotland and England. Antonie and Royal's story proved to be a lucky one for me. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

Many thanks,

Hannah D. Howell