“I am going to marry you, you know,” he announced in the same tone he might’ve used to proclaim the state of the weather. But beneath it was a tough note of steel, a steadiness of purpose that was not to be questioned. “You shall be Lady Falconer. There is no use fighting it, Maeve.” “You have no right to determine my future, and I’ll fight you ’til the day I die.” “No. You’ll fight me until you learn to trust me. And trust me you will, as God is my witness.”
