Return of the Rogue (10 page)

She began to take deep breaths as if she struggled to breathe, her body heaving against him, her bottom flush to his groin and digging in with each heavy breath. She tried yanking at his arm, squirming, kicking, and with each thrust his groin hardened until finally…

In a second Cavan had her on her back on the hay strewn ground, him on top of her. Her eyes bulged in shock and her chest heaved as he remained spread over her, her wrists clamped tight in his one hand.

“Now I’ll show you the results of your inept attempt to escape.”

His hand shot down to pull her skirt up while his fingers crawled along the soft flesh between her legs, but with much difficulty he stopped himself from going any further.

“See what would be done to you,” he said through labored breath.

Her breasts heaved against him, her cheeks flushed red, her breath turned rapid, and her violet eyes begged.

“Not the way to escape,” he said through gritted teeth, fighting his passion, his need to take her there and then. She was his wife; he had every right, but no right to frighten her.

She nodded, her breathing labored, her fear palpable.

He groaned without realizing it and rested his forehead to hers. “I will kill anyone who dares lay a hand on you,” he said. “You belong to me.”

H
onora sat in the sewing room staring at the flames dancing wildly in the hearth, her arms wrapped around her, fighting a persistent chill. She didn’t recall her walk from the stable to the keep, her mind too busy with thoughts of what had just happened between Cavan and her.

She had been shocked how fast she found herself on the ground and he on top of her. And if that hadn’t stunned her enough, there was the way he had intimately touched her, but worse than that, the way she’d felt about it.

Another shiver claimed her, though she knew it was not from being cold, but from her surprising response to her husband’s touch and the knowledge that she knew he would not hurt her or force her. She knew him to be a good man. She’d known as much before she even met him, for the villagers had often spoken of his courage with respect. He had proven that with his determination to find his brother Ronan, and in the many ways he’d protected her. He even followed her into the forest so many believed was haunted with magic.

She thought it brave of him to come to her rescue, while the village gossiped over his odd behavior since his return and that he could emerge from the strange forest unaffected.

Then there was the kiss that she could not forget. She ran gentle fingers over her moist lips recalling the taste of her husband. It had made her tingle inside and out and she hadn’t wanted him to stop. She enjoyed it more than she ever imagined possible. Her hand drifted away, returning to hug herself against the continued cold.

She not only enjoyed his kiss, but now found pleasure in his touch. The thought alarmed and thrilled her and left her completely confused.

And his claim,
You belong to me and I will kill anyone who dares lay a hand on you,
fed a need in her. Finally, she belonged to someone who cared enough to protect her. She had not felt similar comfort since her mother died. She’d struggled alone to survive the brutality of her stepfather, and that would no longer be necessary. She had a husband to protect her and a family who seemed to care for her, even if it was out of duty.

This marriage was proving beneficial in so many different ways. She never thought she would be grateful to her stepfather for arranging it, but if viewing the situation with prudence, she realized her marriage was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

There was just the matter of getting her husband to see the wisdom of their union and, of course, of sealing their vows.

The door creaked opened and Honora turned to see the pudgy black pup nosing his way around inside with a peek. Spotting her, he charged as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Honora plopped cross-legged on the floor and the pup jumped, though actually tripped over her folded legs to stretch his paws up on her chest and lick at her chin, his tail wagging wildly.

“How did you ever—”

“The little fellow seemed miserable without you so I thought I’d bring him for a visit.”

Honora was surprised to see Cavan at the open door, his arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning against the door frame.

“After all, he does belong to you now.”

Her face lit with delight. “Truly? You do not mind?”

“I like the thought of someone else besides me protecting you, and someone I can trust unconditionally.”

“You will help me teach him,” she said, rather than asked, and watched the pup make a beeline for the basket of garments in need of stitching, jumping in, only to knock the basket and himself over.

Cavan walked into the room and scooped the pup from amid the strewn garments. “I think he’ll need many lessons.”

Honora smiled at the way the pup seemed to take to Cavan. He didn’t appear as frightened as before, and Cavan even seemed different toward the animal, more friendly and loving.

“As will I,” she said bravely. “I did not fair well with the first lesson.”

Cavan dumped the pup gently in Honora’s lap and lowered himself beside her on the floor, his knee raised and his arm braced over it. Her breath near caught, for the firelight captured the rugged angles and lines of his handsome face perfectly.

“What matters is that you tried,” he insisted.

“I also learned a valuable lesson,” she said softly, favoring the deep richness of his dark eyes. There was not only strength in the dark depths, but integrity, and dare she acknowledge a spark of passion?

“What lesson is that?”

“Think before I leap,” she said with a gentle smile.

“A wise tactic for any warrior.”

“Lachlan thinks me a warrior,” she said, petting the pup, who had curled up contentedly in the hollow of her lap.

“Lachlan is perceptive, especially when it comes to women.”

“He chases after them all,” she said with a giggle.

“You noticed.”

Honora rolled her eyes. “You would have to be blind not to see, though I think the women favor Artair, for he is very handsome.”

“You think my brother handsome?” he asked tartly.

The sting of his accusation surprised her. “I voice what everyone believes and is obvious.”

He grinned, though she believed grudgingly. “You are right. I suppose I am jealous.”

He startled her, and she was quick to ask. “Whatever for?”

“You think Artair handsome. What of me?”

She smiled softly and lowered her glance. “I like the look of you.”

He lifted her chin gently with his one finger. “Truly?”

“Yes. There is much your features tell me.”

His finger drifted off her. “What do my features tell you?”

She bravely scooted closer to him and reached out to tenderly trace the fine lines at the corner of his eyes. “These faint lines tell me of the wisdom you put into your thoughts and decisions.” Her finger traveled ever so lightly to his chin. “Your chin juts just enough to let me know you can be stubborn.”

His eyes danced with merriment though he said nothing.

Her finger casually traced his lips. “The faint fan lines circling your mouth tell me that you have not spoken often in anger, but rather hold tight to your words and give thought before you speak.” She returned to his eyes, her finger caressing beneath each one. “The color of your eyes brightens and darkens with your moods.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And with your passion.” She quickly ran her finger to his scar and with a feather-light touch traced the length of it. “This scar speaks of your strength and courage.” She wanted to cringe, imagining the pain he must have suffered, but she would not ask, not remind him of such a horrifying experience. Her finger hurried to run down along
his nose. “And this?” She tapped the tip. “Tells me nothing.”

She laughed as she moved away from him, though her heart beat wildly in her chest and rippling heat replaced shivering chill. Lord, but she wanted to kiss him, taste him once again, though she hadn’t when she first started touching him. She’d simply intended to answer his question. She had not thought her innocent demonstration would strike such passion in her.

Had it in him?

The thought spread her smile and she took a good look at him. He sat stock still, not moving an inch, simply staring at her, though his chest looked to heave a bit more heavily, unless her eyes played tricks. Or it was wishful thinking?

“Have I answered you satisfactorily?” she asked, breaking the awkward silence.

He nodded, and she thought he didn’t intend to speak, but he did. “You examine me with more thought than I imagined.”

“How else will I learn about my husband?”

“You wish to know more of me?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are my husband. We will share much together through the years. I would prefer to be friends rather than foes.”

“You expect the same from me?”

Honora was relieved that he asked inquisitively, not accusingly, as if she had no right to expect that of him.

“I hoped…” She paused, wondering if it was right of her to express her hopes or whether she
should simply accept the way things were. After all, her marriage had been arranged. She was expected to be a good wife and do her duty, but that didn’t mean she and Cavan couldn’t be friends. “I hoped you would want the same.”

He appeared to weigh her words, almost wonder over them, as if he hadn’t given their marriage the same thought and the idea required savoring.

Honora focused on the pup. They had befriended each other so easily, but then, there were no expectations between them, simply friendship.

“We are husband and wife,” he said, as if that clarified it.

“That does not make us friends. You had not wished to wed me.”

“But now you are my wife.”

“So you have no choice but to be my friend?” she asked.

“We have no choice but to be husband and wife.”

“But we have a choice to be friends.” If nothing else, that choice could be a beginning for them both, a beginning of a good friendship, and if nothing else, at least they would have that between them.

“This is important to you?”

What chance did they have if he couldn’t even bring himself to be her friend? Did he resent her that much? She could understand his reluctance and even his anger, returning home to find himself wed to a woman not of his choosing. And while he had no choice but to accept what had been done, he had a choice of how to live with it, with her.

“Is it not to you?”

“As I said, we are husband and wife, and will remain so. What does friendship matter?”

She thought to debate the issue with him, but what good would it do if he had no interest in being friends? It was enough to him that she was his wife; that status apparently covered it all.

Why did she bother to look for more from him? He would provide for her and protect her because it was his duty. Friendship she would need to find elsewhere.

Honora lifted and cradled the sleeping pup to her breast. “He will be my friend.”

Cavan scowled to a stand. “I should return him to his mother so he can feed.”

“I will take him.”

“No,” Cavan snapped. “Do your stitching, I will see to the pup.”

“I would prefer to take him myself,” she said, moving out of reach of his helping hand as she struggled to stand with the pup.

Cavan stepped forward, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her up. She stumbled against him and he held her firm, never disturbing the sleeping pup.

“The weather has turned cold—”

“A little cold will not bother me,” she said, and moved away from him.

Why she debated the point with him, she couldn’t say. She should simply let him take the pup to his mother to feed, and yet she argued, wanting to tend to the task herself. Or was it that she wanted to do as she pleased, not as she was told?

An odd thought since she had always without question done what she’d been told. This time, however, she felt protective of the pup and wished to look after him herself.

“Need I order you to remain here?” he asked sternly.

The pup woke and yawned, his tail wagging as soon as he looked at Honora.

“The pup is my responsibility,” she insisted more firmly than intended.

“Not if I say otherwise.”

“You go back on your word?” she challenged, her chin up, along with her temper.

He appeared so affronted by her accusation that she was surprised he hadn’t stumbled from the blow.

“I do not renege on my word.”

“Good, then I will see to
my
pup
myself
.”

“He is your pup but I will—”

“Leave his care to me,” she finished, and headed for the door.

“Stop!”

Honora obeyed, though she swerved around to face him with a stern posture and sharp words. “Tell me, husband, do you wish me to give you children?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

“Will you expect me to protect and care for them?”

“What game do you play with me? Of course I expect you to be a good mother.”

“But the question truly is, do you trust me to be
one? After all, you truly do not know me and we truly are not friends.”

She walked out the door, stopped and returned to stand in the doorway, Cavan looking stunned.

“By the way, the pup’s name is Champion, for he truly is my champion, since I have no doubt he will love me unconditionally, as I will him. He is my best friend.”

She left, tears brimming in her eyes, hugging Champion to her breasts as he licked wildly at her chin.

“I will love you, always and always, Champion, have no doubt about that and I will protect you always. You, dear Champion, are my only friend.”

C
avan played with Champion in the stable while waiting for his wife. The pup was rambunctious, not afraid but determined. He would serve Honora well. Cavan shook his head, still confused by what had transpired yesterday in the sewing room. He had seen a side of Honora that his wife had never revealed to him, and while her defiance stunned him, he’d also admired it. Beneath the mousy exterior she presented to everyone lurked the makings of a courageous woman.

It had even surprised him when she suggested they become friends. She all but admitted she wanted more from their marriage than just an arrangement. However, he worried whether he could give her what she wanted. A friend was always there for you, always reached out to help, to protect, and he had failed to do that with Ronan, his own brother.

How could he befriend his wife and then fail her? The disturbing thought nagged at him as badly as the memories of Ronan’s capture.

“I brought food for us to enjoy after our lesson
is finished,” Honora said, placing the basket high enough away from a sniffing, tail wagging pup and the other pups that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, chasing the scrumptious scent.

Cavan forced a smile aside. He would not have her seeing how pleased he was with her actions and her appearance. She wore a simple brown skirt and tan blouse, her cloak discarded along with the basket. Her long shiny black hair fell straight over her shoulders like a silky mantle framing her lovely features. She was a beauty, though not in the classic sense, since she was distinct, set apart from others, which made her beauty all the more potent.

She eagerly plopped on the hay-strewn ground to greet Champion, and the pup went wild. It was obvious that they had formed an attachment, and Cavan was hit with a twinge of envy. He silently admonished his foolishness and reached down to yank Honora to her feet.

The pup protested with a cry, and Honora scooped him up to comfort him with a hug and a kiss. “I will play with you when we are done, and I have a special treat for you and the other pups.” She returned him to the ground, patted his rump, and gave him a little shove toward the pups in play.

“You will spoil him,” Cavan snapped.

To his surprise, she simply laughed and nodded.

“Yes, I will spoil him, but then I love him and have the right to spoil him if I wish.”

Damn, if her words didn’t twist like a knife in his gut. She would rain love all over the animal with touches, kisses, and special treatment, and the pup
would blossom and grow even more protective of her.

But then wouldn’t she do the same for a husband she loved?

Another twist to the gut for him.

“What is my lesson today?”

He realized his lesson for the day, and it was a hard one to swallow, though a simple one to follow.
Love your wife and she will love you.

He shook the thought from his head.

“Not sure?” she asked with a smile that struck like a well-aimed arrow.

“Extracting yourself from a binding hold.”

“You mean a hold like you had me in yesterday?” she asked, her violet eyes sparkling with excitement. “I can actually break free from such a bind?”

“With courage and determination you can.”

“You mean I can’t be afraid to take the chance.”

Cavan nodded. “Hesitation can cost dearly…”

He often wondered if it had cost Ronan’s capture.

“I would claim I would not hesitate—” She shook her head. “—but I cannot for circumstances may be the deciding factor.”

He stared at her as if she’d startled a realization in him and made him wonder if that was what happened with Ronan. Had his love for his brother caused him to react differently?

“You must know that yourself from all the battles you have fought,” Honora said. “No battle, no decision, is ever truly the same. There must always be a deciding factor that precludes your decisions, even if it is at a moment’s time.”

“You would make a wise warrior.”

“Really?” she asked, her smile wide.

“I speak truthfully.”

“I am honored you should think that of me.”

He reached out his hand. “Let’s continue to shape you into a warrior.”

She brushed his hand away. “No, you must grab me as you did before, so I feel that rush of fright and work through it, knowing it will try to interfere and I must not let it.”

There she went, surprising him again, and he reached out with a ferocious growl that had the pups running for cover. He snatched and spun his wife around in his arms until her back was firmly planted against him.

“I can feel you tremble,” he whispered in her ear.

“You frightened me as I requested.”

“That fright is what will immobilize you, and your captor’s most likely filthy breath against your face will add to your fear.”

“Your breath is pleasant,” she said softly.

“Think of it otherwise,” he challenged, doing the same since her breath was sweet and her moist lips inviting.

He almost laughed as she scrunched her nose as if hit by a putrid odor. “What do I do to get away?” she asked anxiously.

“First try to remain out of arm’s reach of any attacker. Second, if he grabs you, try to yank yourself free. Give a hard tug, for it will surprise him and give you time to escape, or at least put distance between you and him. If you find yourself in the
position you are in now, your first attempt must be to break free and immobilize him.”

She nodded, letting him know she understood.

“You bring your heel down on his foot as hard as possible; not merely his toes, but up high. At the same time, jab your elbow into his gut, which should set you free or loose enough to swerve around and slam him in the nose with the heel of your hand. You must do this quickly without thought, just motion and then run. Do not wait around to see the results of your assault. Victory can only be yours if you escape.”

“I can do this,” she assured him.

“Show me.”

She turned her head, her lips grazing his cheek. “I will hurt you.”

She already had, and much more than if she’d sent her elbow to his stomach. She had sparked his passion, and damn if he could contain it. “I will prevent each strike. I wish to see the force with which you deliver them.”

“Promise you will not let me hurt you?”

He didn’t want to offend her by telling her he’d have her on her back as fast as he had yesterday. That would have defeated the purpose of the lesson. He appeased her, and her sincere concern for him simply fueled his passion. “I promise.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek before turning her face away from him. “Good, then I can be determined.”

He barely had time to yank his foot away from her sharp attack, his cheek tingling and sending
heat out to the rest of his body. He moved just in time to avoid her elbow and jolted his head back, quickly raising his hand to suffer the blow of her swing.

She stepped away from him with a huge smile. “How did I do?”

He grabbed her around the waist and dragged her up against him, his lips near touching hers. “You didn’t run.”

Too late he realized she didn’t tremble, and by then the heel of her foot came down on his and he released her from the sheer shock of her unexpected attack. She was gone in a flash. Where? He hadn’t seen.

He applauded her success while hobbling over to a bale of straw to sit. “Very good. You passed the lesson.”

Honora bowed playfully after emerging from the shadows of a nearby stall. “Thank you.”

She startled him when she hurried over and plopped down in front of him to examine his foot. “I am sorry, but I wanted to see if I could actually do it and—” She hesitated. “—make you proud of me.” She tugged off the soft leather boot he wore and winced at the red mark. “I hurt you. My actions were foolish.”

“They were those of a worthy warrior. I am proud of you.”

“Truly?’ she asked.

“Truly. And as for my foot? The little pain I suffer is worth it for I now know my wife will not hesitate in protecting herself.”

“I am eager for you to teach me more,” she said, examining his reddened flesh with a tender touch.

Her cool fingers felt good against the welt that emerged on his instep. He didn’t want her to stop touching him. He closed his eyes as her cool hand settled over his foot and magically turned the heat to a tingle. The strange sensation crawled along his skin until it reached his groin, and he knew that was where he wished her hand had settled.

His eyes sprung open, startled, when he felt a tongue lick his toes, and he wasn’t at all surprised to see it was Champion.

“We should eat,” he said, grabbing his boot to put on after nudging the puppy off him.

“Then we will resume the lessons?” Honora asked, spreading her cloak on the ground and retrieving the basket.

“You are an eager pupil.” Cavan took the basket from her and assisted her to sit, then plopped down opposite her while she spread out the food.

“I never imagined that I would enjoy combat.”

“What I teach you is far from combat. Battle gives no time for thought or reason, or fear. One charges in and lashes out until nothing is left standing around you.”

He recalled how he had stood that day on the battlefield surrounded by enemy, knowing he had lost the battle, and with a good chance of losing his life. It had been when he heard his brother Ronan screaming for help, and when he looked, his blood had turned cold. Ronan lay on the ground covered in blood and crying out in pain. Raising his sword,
he attempted to cut a path to his brother’s side. If they were to die they would die together. Then he was felled by a sword and landed inches from his brother. Their hands had reached out, their fingers barely touching when they were both dragged away, never to see each other again.

“You are right,” Honora said, interrupting his thoughts. “I probably would not fare well in combat, but it is good to know I could protect myself if necessary.”

Cavan grabbed hold of her chin. “Did your stepfather beat you daily?”

She paled and moved away from him, wrapping protective arms around her middle as the pup seemingly scurried to comfort her. Cavan had his answer without her speaking a word, and he cursed beneath his breath for the abuse and fear she’d had to endure.

She scooped the persistent pup up, nuzzled her face with his, his tiny pink tongue licking her with kisses, then she took a small sack and opened it, spreading the tiny bits of meat for the pup to enjoy. The other pups scampered over to get their fair share, stumbling over each other to get to the food.

He reached for a chunk of brown bread and waited patiently for an answer.

She handed him a hunk of cheese and sliced an apple, sharing the pieces with him before she spoke.

“He beat me often enough.”

“You don’t wish to speak of it?” he challenged.

“What is there to speak of? Calum has a heavy hand and that is the way of it.”

“He need not hit you,” Cavan argued.

“Right or wrong, it is the way of some men, and women can do no more than survive.”

“I will not raise a hand to you.”

“I know,” she said, handing him another slice of apple.

He was surprised by her stanch reply. What was it that made her know, not doubt, that he would never raise a hand against her?

“How can you be so sure?” he asked.

“You are an honorable man.”

Cavan dusted his hands roughly. “Don’t be so sure.”

“But I am,” she insisted.

“You do not know me well enough to make such an assumption,” he argued.

“It is not an assumption. It is fact.”

“How so?” he asked, perplexed.

“You took my father to task for raising his hand to me. If you did not find his action objectionable, you would have ignored him.”

“You forget you are my wife,” he reminded.

“And as such I am afforded protection,” she said. “Only an honorable man would react as you did.”

A vision of Ronan, their fingers almost grasping, a look of sheer terror in his young eyes, pleading for his older brother to help him, to save him, assaulted Cavan like a slap in the face, and he quickly turned his head away. “I am not an honorable man.”

“Do not deny the truth.”

“You do not know what you say—” He raised his hand, warding off her response. “I will hear no more.”

“Why do you refuse to listen and accept the truth?”

He pinned her with an angry glare. “Why do you speak when I order silence?”

She lowered her head. “Forgive me. I thought we had entered into a fair discussion.”

Her accurate accusation caused him to relent with a partial grin. “We did.”

She raised her head with a smile. “A fair answer then for a fair question?”

First he had to catch his breath. Her smile, the way her violet eyes lit with joy, her moist pink lips, and her chin thrust just enough in the air to appear victorious, all of it did him in. For a moment he got a peek at who she struggled to become, a woman strong enough to say what she thought without repercussions, and oddly enough, he had been the means that allowed her to take steps toward that strength. It made him feel good that he could give her that.

“Why do you refuse to believe yourself an honorable man?” she asked.

Did he confide in his wife? Did he tell her what haunted him? Did he confess his guilt? He had confided in no one the details of his and Ronan’s capture. How he had failed to protect his brother, and how he would never forgive himself.

The confession came with a sense of relief. “I should have saved my brother.”

“You tried.”

He glared at her. “How do you know I did?”

“Because that is what an honorable man would do. I’m sure circumstances prevented you from saving him.”

Cavan stretched his hand out and held it palm up, staring at his fingers. “I almost had him. He was in my grasp.” He closed his hand.

“You were separated?” Honora asked.

Cavan nodded. “He was wounded. I don’t know how badly but there was much blood. We were ripped away from each other and I tried to find out where he was taken.” He shook his head. “It took months to discover that he was not in the same village as me, and I was never able to find out his location. It was as if he just disappeared, and I feared that he had died of his injuries until one day a slave whispered in my ear that my brother lived.”