Return of the Rogue (6 page)

A
few days later, after a brief bout with fever, Lachlan incessantly complained about being confined to his bed until Addie could no longer bear to listen and freed him, though not before issuing strict warnings as to what he could and could not do.

Honora kept her laughter to herself as she listened to Addie’s commands, knowing full well that Lachlan would adhere to none of them. But satisfied that his leg seemed to be healing nicely, she didn’t worry over it.

“And do you have anything to add?” Lachlan asked, drawing Honora out of her musing.

She smiled. “Keep the bandage clean and the stitches dry and you should fair well.”

“I like her list better than yours, Mother,” Lachlan said with a laugh.

“Then make certain you adhere to it,” Addie cautioned and shook her finger at her son. “Or else.”

Lachlan laughed louder. “Or else what?”

“Or you answer to me,” Cavan said without an ounce of laughter or a pinch of a smile.

Lachlan’s laughter turned to a grin. “A challenge you are certain to lose.”

“I doubt it, but you are welcome to try.” Cavan walked over to Honora and held out his hand. “Come, wife, I have need of you.”

After briefly hesitating, Honora placed her hand in his. She wanted to ask him what need he spoke of, but another part of her didn’t want to hear the answer. She thought to inform him that she had duties to tend to, but duty to her husband usurped all other matters. In truth, she knew she had no choice but to tend to his need, whatever it might be. His warm fingers closed strongly around her cool ones as if he didn’t intend to let her go.

She was surprised when they stopped in the great hall and he retrieved her green wool cloak that sat on the end of one of the tables and handed it to her without explanation. Honora slipped it on, assuming he intended for them to go outdoors, but instead he directed her to the staircase and they climbed the stairs to the battlements.

He preceded her along the walkway and stopped to glance out over the land that stretched far out before them, Honora halting beside him to enjoy the view.

“I had hoped to take you for a walk across the moors today, in appreciation for all you have done for my brother,” Cavan said, and pointed to a cloud-infested sky. “But the impending weather prohibits such an excursion.”

“That is very thoughtful, thank you.”

He turned to look at her, and she was caught by the gentleness in his handsome features. Gone was the harshness in his dark eyes and the squint of doubt lines that always fanned them. His mouth was visibly relaxed as if he could actually smile if he tried, and his strong chin, while still strong, didn’t jut out as if prepared to suffer a blow. This tender soul, she could get to know.

Unfortunately, he disappeared in a flash, and she wondering if perhaps it was wishful thinking that had her believing she saw kindness in him.

“You served me well, wife.”

“It is my duty,” she said, and looked out across the barren moors that surrounded the keep.

“Vast emptiness,” he said, his own glance following hers.

“Vast peacefulness,” she corrected. “There is nothing there to obscure its beauty or hide from you. It leaves itself open, vulnerable, and invites you to do the same.”

“It is not good to be vulnerable,” he snapped.

“We are all vulnerable one way or another.”

“Only if we allow it,” he said. “You have a choice to be strong or weak.”

“Strength comes in different ways,” Honora argued gently, for she felt as if she defended herself. She knew he thought her meek, unable and perhaps unwilling to defend herself, but she had managed to protect herself since she was young with the only weapon she had—her wits. And while it wasn’t as lethal as a sword, it had allowed her to survive.

Cavan nodded slowly. “You’re right about that.”

He turned silent and stared out over the land, and she wondered over his thoughts. He barely spoke with her. This outing had surprised her; even the few words he’d spoken to her were unexpected. Before, it seemed he had meant to ignore her and keep his distance, and recalling as much, she told herself that his behavior now must reflect merely gratitude, nothing more.

A strong chilled wind whipped around them and she shivered, hugging the wool cloak to her, while he stood unperturbed and in only his plaid, his shirt, and his sandals.

“You are cold,” he said, and hugged her against him, snuggling her in the crook of his shoulder so she rested alongside the length of him.

His heat instantly assaulted her, slipping beneath her blue blouse and brown skirt until it settled into her flesh, and she almost sighed with the pleasure of it. It ran along every inch and depth of her, setting her skin to tingle and spark and ignite a heat of her own.

Thunder rumbled overhead, but she paid it no heed, simply settled her face to his chest and drank in the scent of him. She didn’t know what it was about the smell of him, earth and pine and male, that attracted her; she only knew that she relished his distinct aroma.

She rubbed her cheek against his shirt and inhaled.

Abruptly, she was jerked away from him and held at arm’s length while his dark eyes glared accus
ingly at her. She had no idea what she might have done to upset him, but he was clearly upset. His jaw jutted out, his lips locked tight, and his dark eyes were unforgiving.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, hoping to correct whatever mistake she had made.

“For what?” he asked in a growl-like rumble that frightened her.

She stuttered, not knowing how to answer, for she could make no sense of his sudden anger.

Her hesitation seemed to further agitate him. “Can you not speak up for yourself?”

Honora closed her eyes for a moment, envisioned the kindness she had seen in his eyes and held the vision firm, for she could speak easily to that man. After a moment she opened them again. “I did not know I needed to defend myself. I had simply felt safe in your arms.”

His expression softened for such a brief moment that Honora wondered if it was her imagination.

Cavan shoved her away from him. “Don’t!”

She took another step back and stared at him, bewildered.

He spewed a frustrated grunt and ran anxious fingers through his hair. “Don’t feel safe with me,” he explained.

She shook her head. “But you are my husband.”

He lunged at her and she hurriedly backed away, though not quick enough, for he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to him. “I warned you once many years ago to watch where you stepped, and still you have not learned.”

Honora turned her head and saw that she would have fallen off the battlement to certain death had he not saved her, though in her defense, she whispered, “You charged at me.”

“There is no excuse for not watching where you step.”

He was right. She had foolishly thought herself safe with him, and simply because for a single moment she thought she’d seen kindness in him. She thought she could trust him. In truth, she could trust no one. She had been alone in this world since her mother’s death and had to accept it and continue to protect herself with her wits, as she’d been doing for so very long now.

With a breath of strength that rose up from deep inside her, she said, “This time, I will remember. May I be dismissed?”

“No,” he snapped. “I brought you here so you could escape the confines of the keep and your duties. I will leave and you will stay.”

She licked her lips, her mouth having gone dry, as it always did when she attempted to defend herself. “What if I—”

“Stop!”

Honora’s eyes widened at his stern command. What had she done now?

“Don’t lick your lips.”

She offered an explanation. “They are dry.”

He offered his own. “You invite when you do that.”

“Invite?”

“A kiss.”

She gasped. “I never meant—”

“Your innocence invited.” He released her and stepped away.

Honora thought to turn and run, but she had a duty to this man and her vows, and her vows had yet to be sealed. Whether she favored the thought or not, their marriage had to be consummated.

She gathered the courage to say it and hopefully invite his response. “You are my husband.”

“A husband who doesn’t want you,” he yelled, his words magnified by the howling wind that suddenly surrounded them.

His words struck like a finely aimed arrow, and they hurt her badly. She understood this marriage was forced upon them both, but what was done was done, and neither of them could change that. They could only make the most of the situation. Obviously, he did not feel the same way.

She did not know what to do, and feared her stepfather’s response if he should learn of this. She wanted to run and hide, but where? She had no place to go. No real home. No one who truly wanted her, loved her.

Honora caught sight of the moors, which stretched out endlessly beyond the keep, and the small patch of trees where she and her mother would forage for plants and laugh together. Her mother’s unconditional love stabbed at her heart, and she didn’t pause to think, not even when the first raindrop struck her cheek. She turned and ran from her husband, down the stairs, ignoring his shouted command for her to stop, ignoring the curious eyes of all she passed
as she bolted out of the keep and headed along the moors to what seemed to her a small spot of love.

Cavan pursued her while spewing a string of oaths that kept everyone out of his way. He knew his rage made him appear a man bent on reprisal and that tongues would certainly wag about the way he chased after his wife like a madman, or more appropriately, like a barbarian, but he could not help himself.

Honora was faster than he had expected. She flew across the moors like a winged beauty. Her cloak flared out, her long dark hair blew wildly in the wind, and the rain did not hinder her rapid pace.

He saw where she was headed, the small cropping of woods that many would not enter, fearing tales of fairies and gnomes that were none too inviting. His wife was either foolish or courageous, but then, didn’t it take a fool to be courageous in the first place?

Cavan halted abruptly upon entering the woods. The place was dense with trees, bushes, and boulders, perfect hiding places for the wee people, and it was the heavy clouds and dense foliage in the woods that made it appear to be dusk. Rain trickled in a gentle rhythm over the leaves and rocks.

“Honora!” he called out, and his voice returned to him in an eerie echo.

There was no thought to leaving her there on her own to fend for herself against the creatures who inhabited the place. She was his wife, and it was his
duty to protect her. Besides, it had been his callous words that caused her to flee.

He had not meant to hurt her. He merely wanted her to keep her distance from him, for his desire for her was growing stronger by the day. He could just take her and be done with it, but then, each time he looked into her eyes he saw her innocence, her need for a loving husband, not a barbarian who needed to assuage his own animalistic need.

He didn’t want to leave her with scars, as had been done to him. She was his wife and deserved more; whether he could ever give her that, he wasn’t sure. It was too early to tell.

Cavan made his way carefully past trees gnarled with age, branches that bowed in the wind to him, and whispers that had to be the wind whistling through the trees. Or was it a voice traveling upon the wind?

He decided to follow the voice and see where it led, and he wasn’t surprised when it took him straight to his wife. She sat on a smooth rock as if talking with someone, and he paused in the shadows to see if he could catch sight of anyone or anything. When he saw no one about, he listened to what she was saying.

“I don’t know what to do with him. He is my husband and I have a duty, but he does not like me. I think sometimes he hates me.”

Her words pierced his chest like a sharp sword. He could never hate her. She was too good, too honorable, too pure.

Honora sighed. “He thinks me—”

She stopped and abruptly stood, looking frantically around her.

It seemed that she had somehow sensed him, or had something alerted her to his presence? He wished that she had finished what she was saying, wanting to know what she thought he thought of her.

“Watch where you step,” she called out.

“Why?” he asked, taking cautious steps.

Honora turned toward the sound of his voice. “The vines can trap your feet.”

Cavan heeded her warning and proceeded carefully, eventually entering the secluded clearing where she stood. He didn’t want her to know he’d been listening, and so, though curious, didn’t ask who she had been speaking with.

“These woods are not safe,” he said.

She looked affronted. “These woods are safer than anyplace I know.”

Her words slapped him hard. On the battlements she’d told him that she felt safe in his arms, and now she let him know it was here she felt the safest. But then, why should he expect otherwise after what he’d said to her? And why did her words disturb him?

He stepped closer to her and was caught by the beauty of her violet eyes. But it wasn’t only beauty that shined in them. There was also a loving, peaceful tenderness he longed to taste. “You should not have run away from me and made me give chase.”

“You need not have chased me.”

He reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her mouth and his thumb brushed her lips. “I must see you safe. You are my wife.”

He ran his thumb across her moist full lips over and over until he felt his loins grow hard and ache. Then a growl rumbled deep inside him and surfaced slowly until it burst forth and he grabbed Honora around the waist and yanked her hard against him to claim a kiss.

T
he first taste of her told him he was in trouble and to stop, to go no further, to end it now, while he was still capable of sound reason. He ignored the silent warnings. How couldn’t he? Honora did not deny him; she responded with innocence and gentleness, which only served to excite him more.

He silently warned himself not to draw her close to him, not to let their bodies touch; just enjoy the kiss, the pure taste of her. How she wound up in his arms, flush against him, he wasn’t certain, nor did he care. His only thought was their lingering kiss and not the rush of passion to his loins, though he did acknowledge the strange feeling of utter contentment that snuck over him and laid claim.

Her slim tongue mated more easily with his as she relaxed in his arms, and his own pace slowed until their kiss turned to savoring each other, like fine food or wine one wished the palate to appreciate.

It took a forceful rush of wind to nearly rip them apart. Cavan wrapped his arms firmly around his wife as she buried her face in his chest and her long
dark hair wiped at his face. He felt her shiver and wondered over its cause, the wind or his kiss?

When the wind died down, she glanced up at him, and he saw desire in her lovely eyes. He could take her here and now on the hard, cold ground, just as he’d seen the barbarians do to their women without thought or caring, just plain lust, plain fornication.

He shook the vivid images from his head and silently cursed himself. He had yet to shed the filth the barbarians had imprinted on him and he wondered if he would ever feel worthy enough to be the husband his wife deserved or the honorable clan leader his people expected.

Cavan gently set her away from him. “We must return to the keep before the weather worsens.”

Honora stood speechless, staring at him.

She was obviously trying to make sense of their recent exchange, and while he could offer an explanation and set her mind at ease, he found himself unable or perhaps unwilling to confide in her. How could he expect her, an innocent, to understand his fear, when he himself was struggling to understand it?

“I am your wife,” she said, as if the reminder might help him.

“You need not remind me.” He didn’t mean to sound caustic, though perhaps it was best for them both. She would keep her distance, and he would need to keep his until he felt ready, certain that he could be a good husband to her.

He held out his hand. “Let us return to the keep.”

“I need no help,” she said, and made her way past him.

“But I do,” he whispered, and followed.

Honora fell into an easy routine, taking breakfast early and alone before anyone in the keep woke for the day. Weather permitting, she would then walk the moor or retire to the sewing chamber and tend to her stitching.

It had been a couple of weeks since her husband kissed her, and the kiss had lingered long in her memory. Surprisingly, she’d enjoyed it more than she had expected. He was strong yet gentle with her, and she felt unfamiliar stirrings she wished to explore.

Her husband, however, had not kissed her again since that day, purposely avoided her, and worst of all, continued to sleep on the hard floor in front of the fireplace. She didn’t know what to do or even who to speak with about it. She had thought to confide in Addie, but then, she was Cavan’s mother and would advise patience, as she had before.

Honora wished her mother were alive. She would have then discussed the matter with her, and her mother would have suggested and advised her, and offered her comfort. But there was no one to offer her comfort; she was alone.

“I have come to seek the company of my little sister.”

Honora jumped at the sound of Lachlan’s voice and turned to see him close the sewing room door behind him.

She greeted him with a smile as he sat in the chair to her right and stretched his long legs out in front of the hearth.

Lachlan was a ruggedly handsome man, like most of the Sinclare men, but possessed considerable charm that made him appear all the more handsome. Honora often thought it was the twinkle in his brown eyes and the sinfully playfulsmile he constantly wore that made him so appealing to women.

“Is my brother a good husband?”

His direct and unexpected query startled her.

Lachlan shrugged. “You two don’t spend much time together, and soon tongues will begin to wag, and you know what happens when gossip gets started.”

She did; truth somehow got distorted when gossip reigned. She chose her words carefully for she did not feel comfortable discussing her husband with his brother. “Cavan is busy with plans to find Ronan.”

“You mean his obsession to find Ronan.”

Honora was quick to defend her husband. “He knows what your brother suffers far better than you. How can you not expect him to be obsessed with finding Ronan?”

Lachlan nodded. “True enough. I sought you out in hopes of gaining some insight to my own brother. He is not who he once was. Cavan often laughed and joked and trusted Artair and myself, and would talk often with our father. He now seeks solitude, as do you, and I wish to understand why.”

Honora knew he was truly concerned; his playful smile had faded away. But she was at a loss as to how to help, especially since she wished to understand herself.

She shrugged and spoke the truth. “I don’t know.”

“That’s what I thought. He ignores you as much as he does us.” He shook his head. “And he angers so easily. That was something Cavan never did. He always remained calm and in control, even when others shouted and threatened. Now anger possesses him and he snaps and shouts most of the time.”

“He has suffered—”

“All warriors suffer one time or another,” Lachlan said as if affronted. “Cavan knows this and was prepared to do whatever it took to survive and escape.”

“I know nothing of being a warrior.”

“I beg to differ.”

Honora looked at Lachlan as if he were crazy. “I am no warrior.”

His smile returned. “I’ve watched the way your stepfather speaks to you and treats you. You have to be a warrior to deal with that man, and if my brother wasn’t wallowing so much in his own self-pity he’d see it for himself and know what a gem of a wife he has gotten.”

She was speechless.

Lachlan stood. “You’re a good woman, Honora. any man would be proud to have you as his wife. Hopefully someday my foolish brother will realize
it.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud to call you sister.”

Honora sat stunned. She had never considered herself a warrior or would have known that Lachlan gave any thought to her, other than being his brother’s wife. He had been grateful for her help in healing him and they had shared a few interesting conversations when she tended him, but she did not realize that she’d made any impression on him.

She felt a twinge of guilt for seeking continued solitude. It was a way of protecting herself against her stepfather; if he didn’t see her, he couldn’t hurt her. She supposed she thought the same of her situation with Cavan. If she kept out of his sight, she need not concern herself with their marriage.

However, she was no longer a child who could run and hide. She was a grown woman who needed to be mindful of her duties. And what of gossip? It was sure to start if Cavan and she remained distant from one another. What then?

She shivered with the thought of her father finding out. She’d have far more to fear from him than from anyone else. While she didn’t consider or believe herself a warrior, she did possess survival instincts. She needed Cavan to be a husband to her, and the only way she could achieve that was by being a wife to him.

No matter how daunting the task seemed or how much she preferred to seek the comfort of solitude, she had to make sure she survived, and the only way to be certain of that was to make sure her marriage was secure.

Honora placed her sewing in the basket beside her chair, stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her green wool skirt, adjusted the ties on her blouse, ran her fingers through her long dark hair, and then went in search of her husband.

Cavan pounded the table with his fist. The sturdy wood didn’t creak or budge, nor did his father, who sat opposite him. He had always admired his father’s ability to remain calm and unwavering in confrontations, though today was different. Today he wanted his father to capitulate and allow him free reign in the search for Ronan.

It was only he and his father in the solar, and he wanted it that way. He didn’t need his brothers’ interference or their opinions. None of them understood, none of them knew or could imagine the horrors Ronan was probably suffering, and if his brother had succumbed to his injuries and torture, then he wanted his body brought home for a proper burial.

“With enough men and my leadership, I can attack Mordrac and seize his land—”

His father interrupted with a firm “No.”

“Afraid,” Cavan said accusingly, and instantly regretted it. His father was an honorable man who taught his sons that fear was not to be feared, but to be embraced and used as a weapon against the enemy.

His father reflected the barb with a knowing nod and a reasonable explanation. “An attack on Mordrac would take sizable troops and time and leave
our land and people vulnerable. It is not a wise choice, though a difficult one since I too want Ronan home.”

“It can be done—”

“But not without significant consequences that I am not willing to take,” his father said.

Cavan wanted to strike out at someone or anything, his hurt was so great. How could he have returned safely home without Ronan? He was his youngest brother and he should have looked out for him, protected him, kept him safe.

“Cavan,” his father said calmly, and motioned for his son to sit.

With a slump of defeat, Cavan sank into one of the two chairs in front of the table. He knew his father was right, but it didn’t make it any easier for him and his efforts to find his brother.

“Your brothers and I have never stopped searching for Ronan and we never will, but as clan leader I must do what is best for the clan, not only for my immediate family. You must understand this, for one day you will lead the clan and need to make decisions you don’t always favor. Besides, we discovered there is a chance that Mordrac may have sold Ronan.”

“When…how…where was he taken?”

His father held up a hand. “We only discovered the news this morning.”

Cavan shook his head. “And if I had given you a chance to speak when I burst into your solar, you would have told me.”

His father leaned forward, bracing his arms on
the table. “I can understand your need to find your brother. You above any of us know what Ronan suffers. But then you also know how important it is for us to be wise in our response. There is more at stake here than just Ronan’s life.”

Cavan didn’t want to listen to what his father told him, but understood it completely. Their enemy could very well be using Ronan as a weapon against them, expecting the Sinclares to charge recklessly into battle, especially now with his own return home. If plans weren’t carefully followed, endless lives could be lost, not to mention land holdings.

“Artair has men out now verifying the news and seeing if we can discover where Ronan was taken,” his father said. “His men are good. Give them time and they will have an answer soon enough.”

“It is hard to sit and do nothing,” Cavan admitted.

“Take time to heal and be with your wife. When the time comes—and it will—to rescue Ronan, you will ride with your brothers and free him. Now go and see your mother, and look happy before she drives me crazy with worry over you.”

Cavan laughed. “You are the leader. Order her to stop—”

His father laughed even louder. “Order your mother?”

Cavan winced. “I should know better. I will go speak with her and ease her concerns.”

“And what of your wife?”

Cavan’s smile vanished and his body grew visibly rigid.

“Cavan!” his father snapped.

He reluctantly met his father’s eyes.

“Tell me you have sealed your marriage vows.”

Cavan remained silent and continued to hold his father’s questioning stare.

His father stood with a start. “You are the next laird of the Clan Sinclare. You have a responsibility, and that includes producing an heir. I know you did not choose Honora for a wife, and for that I am sorry, but she is your wife and you have a duty. I expect you to honor it.”

“Is there anything I have a choice in since my return?” Cavan asked.

“You will lead this clan, and as I’ve cautioned, make difficult choices. That is all there is to it.”

Cavan laughed caustically. “That simple?”

His father folded his arms over his chest, looking like the formidable clan leader. “It is never simple, and never think it is, and do not make the mistake of not making a friend of your wife, for she will be there when no one else is. She will hold your hand when needed, listen to your complaints, speak truthfully about your faults but only to you, and stand by your side when others feel you wrong. She is your partner and will always be there for you.”

Cavan shook his head. “You speak of love. There is no love between Honora and me.”

“You have not given it a chance.”

“And now I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do,” his father said.

Cavan shook his head. “No, I don’t have a choice. I have an obligation, a duty to my clan.”

“There still remains a choice, and when you realize that, then you will be ready to lead this clan.”

“A riddle for me to solve, Father?”

“An easy decision for a wise leader.”

Cavan walked to the door and swung it open before turning back around to his father. “Perhaps,” he said, “I’m not a wise leader.”