The Highlander's Forbidden Bride (3 page)

R
onan kept his eye on Carissa, who ambled around the village as he helped his brothers ready for departure. Since Zia had attended his wounds once, he knew her, but not well, though what he did know had him concluding that she was a good match for Artair. However, he found Alyce a strange choice for Lachlan. It certainly wasn’t her features that he found odd, for she was a beauty. It was that Lachlan was a charmer where Alyce seemed a warrior woman and a capable one at that. Earlier, when they had discussed options, she had offered sound advice and made an accurate assumption on Carissa’s nature.

One thing the two women did have in common was that you could see in their eyes how much they loved their husbands, and his heart ached even more for the woman he had loved and Carissa had murdered.

He glared at Carissa kicking at a puppy that playfully nipped at the hem of her skirt. She was a mean woman, even to animals.

“You do know that it will be difficult to restrain
mother from coming here,” Cavan said. “Only the weather will be able to deter her, and even then I don’t believe it will stop her.”

While Ronan addressed his brother, he kept sight of Carissa from the corner of his eye as she pulled her hood up over her head, the sharp wind having grown colder. “I have missed her. Tell her to stay put, I will be home soon.”

“She never doubted you would return home.”

“She always had more confidence in me than I did,” Ronan said. “How has she fared since Father…” He couldn’t say aloud that his father was dead. It sounded much too final, and the pain of his loss continued to be a heavy burden.

“It’s been a struggle for her,” Cavan said, “though lately she’s been much better. I suppose having three daughters-in-law and four grandchildren has helped.”

Ronan could only nod, for he still couldn’t believe how much his family had changed and gained since his absence, whereas while he might have changed, he had lost far more than he had gained.

“I still feel our departure places a sole burden on you that should be shared by us all,” Cavan said. “You have suffered enough and have been away from home far too long. You should be returning home with us.”

“I’m not ready to come home yet, and you of all people should understand why.”

“I do understand.” Cavan nodded. “My wife Honora would as well, for she was the one who
had to deal with me when I returned home, though truth be told, she was the one who helped me heal.”

“I honestly don’t know…” Ronan paused and turned to look at Carissa still fighting off the puppy. “I don’t know if I can ever heal.”

Cavan rested a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Time is the only potion that will heal your wounds.”

Ronan wanted to believe that, but it was difficult. His pain and hatred were too great right now to think he would ever heal, feel whole again, let alone love again.

“I will see you soon,” Cavan said confidently.

Ronan hoped that would be so and was soon receiving hugs from his brothers that brought back happier memories, and well-wishes from his sisters-in-law.

“When the worst of winter passes, we will return for you and Carissa,” Cavan said after mounting his horse. “I am anxious for you to meet my twin sons. One is named for you.”

Ronan was struck speechless and could do nothing but stare after his family as they rode slowly away. He could not believe the honor his brother had bestowed on him, and it struck him like a fist to his gut just how much Cavan and he had been through.

The reminder had him spinning around, for he had foolishly taken his eye off Carissa and he worried…

While she ignored the puppy, he delightfully
pranced around her as she made her way to her cottage. The pup didn’t even seem perturbed when she shut the door in his face. He simply plopped down by the door as if he intended to wait for her, but a young lass came along and scooped him up, and he went without protest.

Ronan turned to see his family gone out of sight, and in a way he felt relieved. He didn’t need the distraction of their presence. He needed to focus all his attention on Carissa. He was certain she would attempt an escape, and once she stepped away from the sanctuary of the village, he intended to capture her and return her home. Where he would, only too gladly, see that she paid for her crimes. A light snow began to fall, and he decided to make Carissa aware that he was now her shadow.

He walked over to her cottage, tapped on the door, though he didn’t expect her to open it and said, “Make no mistake. Where you go, I go.” He sat on the narrow bench beneath the window, the shutters tightly closed and waited.

Ronan winced as he stretched awake, his neck a bit painful from the odd angle of his head when he had fallen asleep. With barely any sleep last night, he should have known he would doze off, but he supposed he had dozed feeling safer that he sat right outside her door.

Then he realized what had woken him, and shaking his cloak, now covered with more than a dusting of snow, he stood and scooped up the
puppy, who had returned to scratch at the cottage door.

“Why bother when she’s not interested,” he asked the little pup, and got a lick on the nose.

“Damn,” he said, suddenly realizing his foolish mistake, and plopped the pup on the ground. Then, without knocking, he opened the door and rushed in.

The pup scurried past him and into the outstretched arms of the woman who bent down to scoop him up.

“Where is she?” he asked the woman who was basically around the same size as Carissa.

“I do not know,” she said pleasantly.

Ronan turned and stormed out of the cottage. There was only one person who would know the truth. He headed with angry strides to Bethane’s cottage.

The door opened before he touched the handle.

“I was just coming to see if you would care to join me for the noon meal,” Bethane said with her usual glowing smile.

“Where is she?” he demanded, wanting answers not pleasantries.

“Come in out of the cold. You need some warmth and nourishment.” She stepped aside for him to enter.

Her words held wisdom, since he realized he had slept far longer than he had thought, and his empty stomach was reacting to the delicious scents drifting from her cottage. Reluctantly, he entered.

“Eat, and we will talk,” Bethane offered as she slipped his cloak off his shoulders and draped it over the back of the rocking chair near the hearth.

Ronan didn’t argue. One thing he had learned during his capture was that when food was offered, you should eat, for you never knew when next you would.

Ronan broke off a chunk of dark bread while Bethane ladled a good portion of meat-and-barley stew into a bowl, then placed it in front of him. She filled a bowl for herself from the cauldron in the hearth and joined him at the table.

“You tricked me,” he said, pouring himself a tankard of hot cider from the pitcher on the table.

“I did nothing.”

Ronan ate another spoonful before responding. “You helped her.”

“Everyone helps each other here. I thought you realized that.”

“If they knew her as I do, they would shun her,” he said angrily.

“Most came here because they have been shunned.”

“You defend her?” Ronan asked, anger still edging his voice.

“I defend all who seek help and healing.”

“Healing?” he asked incredulously. “Carissa inflicts pain and feels none herself. She is cold and heartless and deserves not an ounce of sympathy. And if she thinks she can escape me, she’s wrong. I
will
find her.”

“I have no doubt you will.”

Ronan shook his head. “Then why bother to help her?”

“I cannot, nor would I, stop people from traveling their own paths. I did not stop you when last you were here.”

“I had to leave,” he insisted.

“You were not yet healed.”

“I had no choice.”

“I believe Carissa felt the same,” Bethane said.

“You cannot compare us,” he argued. “I left to save a life. She left to save her own. And the longer I debate this with you, the greater distance she puts from me.”

“Then you will be leaving?”

“After I gather the provisions I will need,” he said.

“Take whatever you need, but be aware that a severe winter storm approaches, and you will need shelter.”

“I would hope to find Carissa before then, but if not…there is that cottage the mercenary brought me to when first you tended me.”

Bethane nodded with a smile. “And it remains stocked with provisions, but what if Carissa isn’t traveling in that direction.”

“She would not return from where she came, there is no help for her there; therefore, she would seek a new route to take, and that path would more than likely cross with that cottage.”

“You are welcome to make use of it.”

Ronan shook his head. “Why do you help both of us?”

She laughed softly. “At my age you see the wisdom of it.”

“Then either you see deeper than most, or your eyesight isn’t what it once was.”

Bethane laughed and patted his hand. “I’m sure you will let me know which it is.”

“You do realize that once I capture Carissa, I won’t be bringing her back here.”

“I assumed as much,” she said with a gentle nod. “You will take her straight to your home?”

“Yes, and it is there she will meet her fate.”

“I daresay you will meet yours as well.”

“In a way, I suppose I will, for my journey will finally be done.”

“No, my son,” Bethane said. “It will just be starting.”

C
arissa made it to the cottage by nightfall. She was grateful for the continued snowfall, her tracks concealed as soon as she made them. She had gone out of her way to misdirect anyone following her, purposely breaking tips of tree branches and leaving snags of her wool cloak stuck to bushes. If she were lucky, no one would find her, and she could at least wait out the impending storm in peace and solitude.

The cottage was as Bethane had promised, stocked with a multitude of provisions, including firewood stacked high right outside the front door. She found the root cellar that Bethane had advised would see her through the winter if necessary, and the older woman had been right. There were several covered crocks and barrels containing food staples, including dried apples and plums and oats and barley, not to mention dried meats. Cider and ale were also in abundance, as were candles.

She gathered what she would presently need and climbed the ladder, securing the latch, then spreading the rushes back over the top. It took a
couple of hours to get settled, bringing in enough wood not only to start a fire in the hearth but to keep it going throughout the night. She also shed her extra clothing once the fire’s heat warmed the one room, placing the few garments she had in the chest beside the bed.

The quarters were sufficient, though certainly not for more than two people, and even then the single bed would be a tight squeeze. The fireplace divided the space, the bed braced against one wall, a small table and two chairs against the other, with a rocking chair in the middle facing the hearth. Six candlesticks lined the mantel, and Carissa stuck a candle in each one, though she lit only one to place on the table. The roaring fire cast sufficient light in the room, so there was no sense wasting the candles.

She yawned and rubbed the back of her neck. She was tired, not having slept the night before. That, combined with her long walk, at times over hilly terrain, had taken its toll. She also was hungry. She had not wanted to waste time to stop to eat, so instead she had sparingly munched on some of the bread and cheese Bethane had provided.

Now, her choice was food or sleep. She needed both, and not having the strength or desire to fix a hot meal, she chose once again to munch on bread and cheese after slipping into her warm wool nightshift.

She nestled in the rocking chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her. She had moved the chair close enough to be wrapped in the fire’s warmth, and for
the first time in a very long time, she felt safe.

No one knew she was here, and with a winter storm approaching, there was a good chance that she could spend a month or more, if she was lucky. She prayed for such a reprieve, if only for a short time. She had grown weary of running and hiding. She’d been doing it much too long and desperately wanted it to end.

Naturally, she wished that Carissa could just disappear, but she was finding that it wouldn’t be as easy as she had hoped. Her father’s evil legacy followed her everywhere.

Her eyes began to close, and she rested her head against the back of the rocker, the gentle sway and comforting heat lulling her into a light slumber. She didn’t fight it as she usually did, since there was no worry of anyone disturbing her sleep tonight, though still she should take precautions.

She forced her eyes open and forced herself out of the rocking chair. She unearthed her dagger from her folded clothes and placed it beneath the pillow. A smaller knife she tucked under and near the edge of the straw mattress.

It had been a ritual of hers, ingrained in her since she was young and one she wished she could abandon. She then added a good-sized log to the already roaring fire, knowing that once she crawled into bed, she would fall into a deep slumber, and she did not wish to wake to a cold room.

With a cupped hand around the candle’s flame, she carried the candlestick to the bed, placing it on top of the chest. After she was finally settled
beneath the wool blankets and gave a final glance around the room, satisfied all was well, she blew out the flame.

She was grateful that the hearth cast enough light to keep the room from total darkness. She didn’t care for the dark though she had learned to survive it. She would sleep better knowing some light would greet her whenever she woke.

With a yawn and a stretch, she snuggled contentedly beneath the blanket and was asleep in seconds.

She felt the warm, earthy breath on her face. It wasn’t a heavy breath as if someone had run or walked a great distance, but a calm, steady, almost confident breath. And a weight settled over her as if she had been covered with a dense blanket.

And darkness, so much darkness that she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Good lord, she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was clamped shut, and no amount of struggle would release it. The weight shifted over her slow and easy, and she tensed as heat seeped into her body, alarming her senses as it spread. It was no heavy blanket that covered her. It was a man. A man’s body lay over the length of her.

No! No! It couldn’t be. She was dreaming. It was nothing more than a dream, and she had to get out of the dream. She had to get out of the darkness, had to fight to wake up. She would be all right once she woke. She would be safe.

Wake up, Carissa, for God’s sake, wake up!

Her eyes flew open and fear gripped her heart.

“I’ve got you.”

Carissa stared into startling green eyes, and her heart beat wildly.

“Did you truly think that you could escape me?” Ronan asked.

Carissa wasn’t surprised at the arrogance in his smile. What warrior wouldn’t feel such arrogant pride when having bested his prey? But that self-indulgent satisfaction could also be a vulnerable spot that she could use against him. He was so sure that he had captured her, and yet she had weapons close at hand, weapons she intended to use first chance she got.

The thought that there was still a possibility to escape this man calmed her pounding heart and relaxed her wide-eyed stare, but not for long. She suddenly realized that no blanket separated them, and that he was completely naked. His big, muscled body covered all of her, every inch. Through her wool nightshift, she could feel the cords of muscles that ran down his chest to his stomach, and his thick muscled legs made her slim ones appear puny in comparison.

But it was the thick bulge of him settled between her legs that had her heart once again pounding in her chest. Not that she worried he would force himself on her. He hated her too much for that, and, besides, she’d found the Highlanders to be honorable men, unlike the barbarians, who needed no reason to take a woman.

No, her worries rested more on how big this man was in every sense of the word, in the overall
size of him, in his determination and in his convictions. A man of such tremendous strength and honor proved a difficult opponent to beat.

And beneath all that was the deep, dark secret she harbored that made every bit of this all the more difficult, but then she was who she was, and that would never change.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

Carissa couldn’t answer with his hand over her mouth.

“How can I reach my weapons?”

Her heart nearly stopped beating, while he smiled, and his green eyes filled with mirth.

“I found them,” he said with a hint of amusement.

She kept her eyes on his, intending not to show any fear, though it raced through her like an uncontrolled fire.

“There’s a question
you will
answer.”

She knew the question, and though it truly had no simple answer, that would be all she could give him. She nodded.

He moved his hand off her mouth, though his face remained close to hers.

“Why did you kill the slave who tended me?”

With her throat dry, she choked on her answer. “I had no choice.”

He jumped up and pointed an accusing finger at her. “That is no answer.”

She sat up slowly, knowing quick moves would only cause a quick reaction. “It is the only answer I have for you.”

Ronan shook his head. “No, there is more, and you
refuse
to tell me.”

She wished he would don at least his leggings, for his disregard of his nakedness made him appear even more of a formidable foe. But if she should suggest that he cover himself, he would surely view it as a sign of weakness. She had to pretend that his sculpted body awash with muscles disturbed her not in the least.

“I will have an answer from you even if it is before you take your last breath.”

“How did you find me?” she asked, knowing her best defense was to ignore his threats though privately take them seriously.

He walked over to the hearth and grabbed his leggings. She thought he would get dressed, but he simply ran his hands over them and returned them to the back of the rocking chair, where his other garments were obviously set to dry.

“Let’s say you led me on quite a chase,” he said.

“Not a long enough one,” she said, wishing she could reach out and pull the blanket across her, but that would indicate vulnerability, and she would dare not let him see that.

She stood and hastily braided her hair as she walked across the room.

He quickly blocked her path, his shadow looming large over her petite size.

It was hard for her not to admire the warrior he was; forged and branded in battle, he had earned it all, and that she had to respect. Though it went deeper than that, so much deeper.

She called on the cold nature she’d developed to serve her as it always had and had earned her the reputation of being heartless.

She tossed her chin up and slammed her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you’re foolish enough to believe that I would make an escape in my nightshift in the dead of night, and in the snow?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

“I’m not stupid, I’m parched.” She stepped around him and emptied part of the water bucket she had filled earlier from the rain barrel outside into a small cauldron and set it to bubble in the hearth.

She was glad for the distraction, glad for a moment to gather her thoughts and assess her situation. And it was a difficult one. Ronan Sinclare had her in his clutches, and he would do whatever was necessary to see that she remained his captive.

As she prepared the leaves, she asked without thinking, “Would you like some?” As soon as her uncharacteristically thoughtful offer had spilled from her lips, she wished she could retract it. But his caustic response set her at ease.

“It could be poison.”

“No poison, just a gentle brew.” She filled a tankard and steeped the leaves, and when it was ready, she blew softly to chase the rising steam from the top and carefully sipped the hot drink.

He walked over to her and snatched the tankard from her grasp. Some of the hot liquid sloshed over the side onto his hand, but he didn’t even flinch. He took the tankard and walked over to sit in the rocking chair.

She fixed herself another, then took a chair from the table and placed it near the hearth, though not near him. She sat and enjoyed the pleasant taste, realizing that the drink was stilling her inner shivers.

He turned his head and stared at her for several moments, the firelight making his green eyes glow like fiery emeralds.

“You don’t fear me, do you?” he asked.

“Not the least.”

“You should.”

She almost shuddered with fear, his voice was so calm and empty. She couldn’t help but recall how kindly he had spoken to the slave. She had never had a man speak kindly to her, and it had been at those moments that she had envied the slave he had grown to love.

She gathered her courage, and said, “Fear is a foe I conquered many years ago.”

“I am a foe you will never conquer.”

“Is that a challenge, Ronan?”

“It’s a promise,” he said.

“Then I needn’t worry, for you aren’t good at keeping promises.”

She knew her words would pierce his heart like a dagger dug deep, for he knew full well the promise she referred to, and the consequences the slave suffered because he had failed to keep it. Surprisingly, his only reaction was the clenching of his jaw…until he stood and walked over to her.

He leaned down, his face a hairbreadth away from hers. “Then I give you
my word.
You, Carissa,
daughter of Mordrac the Barbarian, will die by my hand.”

Carissa purposely grew a wickedly cruel smile as she brought her lips closer to his. “You, Ronan of the clan Sinclare, will never have that pleasure.”

He took a step away and commanded sternly. “Go to bed.”

She had no problem obeying his order. It would put some distance between them, and though she doubted that she would sleep, she would have time to determine how she would escape him.

She didn’t count on him following her, and she worried that his intention was to join her in bed. Wanting to keep control of the situation, she made a quick decision and swerved around so suddenly that he had to grab hold of her to prevent them both from tumbling down on the bed together.

With the situation to her advantage, she smiled, and said, “Your body looks fit for pleasure, so why not come to bed with me?”

He shoved her away, and she stumbled back, falling onto the bed.

“If you were the last woman alive, I would not touch you.”

The malice in his voice made her want to cringe, but instead she shrugged indifferently. “A pity. I would have enjoyed the size of you between my legs tonight.”

Disgust wrinkled his face and filled her to near choking, though she laughed. She couldn’t let him know the truth. God forbid he learned the truth; the consequences were unimaginable.

“Get in bed and lie close to the wall,” he ordered. “I don’t want your body touching mine.”

Relieved, she immediately obeyed his dictate and scrunched herself as close to the wall as possible.

He got in bed after her and slipped beneath the blanket. Even though he kept to the edge, their bodies remained dangerously close. Any movement, and they would touch.

This was a moment where many women might find tears stinging their eyes, but Carissa hadn’t cried since she was six years old. Her father had taught her not to cry, and she had learned the lesson well.