The Highlander's Forbidden Bride (7 page)

R
onan woke alone in bed, pleased that he didn’t find Carissa in his arms. Then realizing she wasn’t in bed, he bolted up to look around the single room. She was nowhere. He jumped out of bed and dressed quickly.

He didn’t know if he was the fool for thinking she wouldn’t attempt an escape, or she was the fool for even thinking she could survive such horrid weather. He mumbled several oaths as he pulled on his boots and just as he was about to grab his cloak and rush out the door, it opened.

He took firm hold of it, the wind trying to force entrance as Carissa stumbled in with a large cauldron of snow. After shutting the door, he grabbed the cauldron from her, setting it in the hearth.

“It’s brutal out there,” she said, her teeth chattering as she unsuccessfully tried to untie her cloak.

Ronan was appalled to see how red and cramped her hands were and he quickly offered his assistance and undid her ties. He hung her cloak on the peg by the door, then returned to take her hands gently in his.

They felt like ice, and she cringed when he touched them.

“You should not have gone out there,” he scolded, and hurried her to sit in the rocking chair in front of the hearth. He then continued to gently rub warmth back into her hands.

“I wish to wash myself from head to toe,” she said, her teeth still chattering.

His tone continued to scold, though not sharply. “You should have waited for me to wake.”

She smiled. “Since you snored heavily, I didn’t expect you to wake anytime soon.”

“I snore?” he asked, surprised, while concentrating on her fingers. They were long and slim for one so petite, and though the cold had taken a harsh bite, her flesh warmed to his touch and slowly grew silky soft.

“Not all the time,” she said.

Gently and methodically, he worked on the stiff joints, massaging heat back into each individual finger. Speech lapsed between them while he continued to rub and stroke her delicate flesh.

It heated further with every stroke, and the more soft and pliable her flesh became, the more he wanted to continue to touch her. He even extended his massage up along her arm, slipping his fingers under the sleeve of her blouse and kneading the supple flesh to further chase the chill.

He moved his body in closer, and as his fingers moved past her breast, he slowed, allowing the sides of them to brush dangerously close. Though her soft wool blouse prevented him from feeling
her plush breasts, just the thought of them hardened his loins.

He turned his head, not realizing how close their faces were, and was startled by the surging passion in her blue eyes, and the plumpness of her moist lips. And for a moment, a sheer moment of utter madness, he was tempted to kiss her.

The sudden realization was like a sharp slap in the face and he sprang off his haunches to stand a distance away from her, saying, “Let the flames do the rest.”

“The flames will only heat me more,” she said with a sultry passion that had his loins growing tauter with desire.

He silently told himself that the problem was simply that he had gone too long without a woman. He needed to release his pent-up passion and be done with it. But he’d be damned if he was going to release it between the legs of the woman responsible for Hope’s death.

“I could satisfy you.”

Her whispery voice conjured up images of her rising naked over him and riding him until he burst with pleasure.

He shook away the tempting pictures and gathered his wits. “I have no doubt you could since you obviously inherited your father’s salacious appetite.”

“Then why not taste?” she offered.

“I believe it would be too
bitter
to my liking.”

She laughed. “Or perhaps the taste would be so
intoxicating
you could not get enough of it.”

“I knew such an intoxicating taste once, and I relished it.” He shook his head. “And never will I know it again, for I will never love anyone as I love Hope.”

They both turned silent for a time until Carissa finally stood.

“While the snow melts and heats the water, I’ll prepare the morning meal, then I intend to wash myself from head to toe, so if you prefer not to see me naked, I suggest you find something to keep you distracted.”

Ronan moved out of her way, brushing quickly past her to take refuge in the rocking chair. She was challenging him, and it galled him to wonder if it was one challenge he’d have a hard time winning.

Breakfast was a silent affair and over much too soon for Ronan’s liking. There truly wasn’t anything that would keep him distracted. He couldn’t go and collect extra logs from the stack outside without causing a chill while she washed. He was left with one option, and he took it.

As Carissa readied a spot close to the hearth, Ronan took the rocking chair and turned it around and sat with his back to her, waiting for a stinging comment from her.

“A wise move, Highlander,” she said with a hint of a laugh. “But don’t expect the same of me. I’ll take great pleasure in watching you.”

Damn, if she hadn’t backed him into another corner. He couldn’t very well go without washing.
Just hearing the cloth scrub against her flesh had him itching to take a cloth to his own skin. And he fought to keep that thought in mind, trying to avoid any image of her nakedness from invading his senses.

He’d find a way to wash up without her sitting there staring at him.

She was petite like Hope
.

Where had that thought come from? But now that it had popped into his head, he couldn’t get rid of it. Carissa was as petite as Hope. Thinking on it, he realized that their fingers were similar, long and slim. But their voices were not at all alike. Hope’s was soft, more like a whisper, where Carissa’s was bold and her tone direct.

He shut his eyes, the darkness bringing back memories of his time with Hope. He had never looked upon her, his eyes swollen shut and healing slow. But he felt as if he’d know her when he saw her, though he never had the chance. Now, thinking on it, he recalled how soft and wavy Hope’s hair was, and long. He had loved running his fingers through the thick, silky strands, the waves bouncing down along his arm and making his flesh tingle.

And then there were her lips, plump to the touch and taste, much like Carissa’s. The thought startled his eyes open. He didn’t like the comparisons he was making. The two women were not at all alike.

But there were similarities, and why had he only just noticed them?

Them.
That was the key, there was more than one.

He shook his head. But there were also differences. One difference was their voices, another was…

He thought…this was nonsense. Complete nonsense.

Carissa and Hope were two different people. Hope was kind and caring. Carissa was coldhearted and selfish. But both were masks that could easily be worn.

Was he mad? Thinking the two women could be one?

Impossible!

His mind was playing tricks on him. Being stuck here with Carissa was causing crazy thoughts. He missed Hope, ached for her, and in his pain, his mind played tricks on him. Hope had been real, and she had loved him as he loved her. He would have never fallen in love with his enemy. Carissa would never have been able to hide her harsh nature. He would have known.

He closed his eyes again and rested his head back, recalling the stolen moments he had spent with Hope. He most loved the nights she would come to him and lie beside him, their fingers entwined—long, slim fingers.

“Damn,” he mumbled and sprang out of the rocker, almost upsetting it as he turned and, too late, realized his mistake.

She was stark naked, the firelight dancing off her damp skin. Wisps of her long, blond hair escaped
the comb that tried to hold the chaotic waves, falling along her slim neck and framing her face. Her face was flushed from the heat of the fire, or perhaps more from the passion he saw spark in her eyes. That she was exquisite was undeniable, that he was tempted to take her was undeniable, that he would…
never
.

He marched right past her, his hands fisted tightly at his sides to keep him from reaching out and snatching her into his arms. He clamped his mouth shut, for fear he would be too tempted to taste her nipples, which taunted him with their round, hard peaks. And he kept his eyes averted from the curvaceous lines that he was certain promised paradise on earth, or more likely endless damnation.

Instead, he swiped his cloak from the peg, and said. “You had best get dressed. It’s going to get mighty cold in here as I bring in stacks of firewood.”

He shut the door hard behind him and stood a moment, grateful for the sharp wind that bit at his face. He needed his ardor cooled, and he wouldn’t stop refurbishing the woodpile in the cottage until he was doused like a cold campfire.

Carissa hurried into a clean linen shift and donned a dark green, wool skirt and blouse. She dug out knitted black stockings from her bundle of clothes and pulled them on. She was sitting on a chair by the fire combing her hair when he entered.

He didn’t glance her way. He took the chopped wood over to the spot where the bed had once been and stacked the wood on top of the pile that was already there. Then he turned and marched out the door, again not casting a glance in her direction.

Her hands trembled slightly as she arranged her hair up on her head, forcing one comb to hold all the thick waves in place. She didn’t bother with the few that escaped, fearing if he returned, he would see her hands trembling.

Staying true to Carissa’s audacious nature, she had purposely goaded him about watching her wash though she hoped he wouldn’t, and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to.

She truly wished to keep him at a distance, especially after he had so gently tended her iced fingers. He had touched her with such tenderness and came so near to kissing her that she realized he could be dangerously close to discovering the truth.

He might not have seen Hope with clear vision, but with his every touch he had become familiar with her, and those loving touches could not easily be forgotten. And then what would happen if he discovered Hope was none other than Carissa?

She shook her head, not wanting to think of the consequences. He would certainly believe she had tricked him. He would never accept that she was more like Hope than Carissa. He had too much hate invested in Carissa to think otherwise.

The door swung open again, and Ronan kicked it shut so hard behind him that it trembled. She
remained sitting on the chair by the hearth. Now was not the time for chatter. She much preferred silent observation.

He stacked the wood with more force than necessary, and this time as he strode past her, he didn’t take his eyes off her. He glared at her as if he were looking through her. However, Carissa would never shrink away in fear.

No, she’d boldly speak her mind, so she tossed her chin up, and said, “It looks like you regret not accepting my offer.”

His nostrils flared, and he looked ready to pounce on her, though certainly not with passion. Instead, he stormed out of the cottage. The door once again trembled as he slammed it shut, and she shuddered.

She had been foolish. She had hungered for his gentle touch and surrendered to it. He and Hope had laced fingers so often, that there was a chance he would recall her familiar touch. And yet she had dismissed it without a thought.

If she wanted to survive this ordeal and eventually escape, she would have to be more diligent. And she would need to make certain that Carissa remained dominant. She couldn’t allow Ronan even a brief moment of doubt.

He was back in no time, again stacking the wood with more force than needed.

“Angry with yourself,” she shot at him as he hurried past her.

“No,” he nearly shouted. “With you.”

She laughed. “Because I tempt you?”

“Who are you?” he demanded as he approached her.

She bolted off the chair. “You know very well who I am.”

He tore off his cloak and flung it on the bed, then ran a rough hand through his hair as if he wanted to tear it out. He turned his head away, and Carissa knew that he was trying to temper his anger.

What disturbed her even more was that his present reaction was a good indication of how he would feel if he learned the truth about her. He would not be happy to discover Hope alive. He would think Carissa an even-more-deceitful woman. He would never believe the truth.

He turned to glare at her, his anger abated, though his eyes still heated. “You are a deceitful and selfish woman, who I will never trust.”

“You mean who you
fear
,” she corrected smugly.

He moved closer to loom menacingly over her. “I never feared you, hated, yes, but never did I fear you.”

She didn’t shrink away from his attempted intimidation. With a prideful stretch and her shoulders squared and calling on all the courage she possessed, she looked him straight in the eyes. “And you have good reason to, for it was a pleasure squeezing the last breath of life out of the woman you loved.”

R
onan was dangerously close to doing to her precisely what she had done to Hope, but he controlled himself. Perhaps it was because that shred of doubt that had suddenly risen to torment him lingered in the back of his mind. And he had to settle it before he did anything else.

“In time, Carissa, you will pay for all you’ve done to me and my family.”

“I’ll worry about that when”—she laughed—“or rather if it ever comes about.”

“Still confident you’ll escape me?” he asked, his own confidence and calm restored.

“I know I will,” she answered, and walked past him to turn the rocking chair around and sit.

He remained standing, feeling he had gained the upper hand somehow and suddenly wanting to discover more about this woman, who he realized was more of an enigma to him than he had suspected.

“Even if you managed such a remarkable feat,” he said, “where would you go? I don’t imagine you have many friends left in the area.”

“You think I would admit to any resources?”

“I truly can’t imagine you having any,” he said. “Your father was the last of a dying breed of vicious conquerors who had no true homeland and wanted nothing more than destruction and power. He made only enemies, no friends, and since you are his daughter, you suffer from the same foolishness.”

“I can assure you that I’m not as foolish as my father.”

“And yet here you sit,” he said with a wave of his hand toward her, “captured.”

“We’re both captives,” she corrected.

“Of a storm that continues to brew,” he finished.

She smiled. “Inside as well as outside.”

He leaned toward her. “With nothing but time on our hands, let’s discuss how you acquired the slave I called Hope.”

Warning bells sounded in Carissa’s head. Why did he suddenly wish personal information about Hope? He had asked once or twice about where she had originally come from, but she had managed to redirect the query to him and his family, which, of course, wouldn’t bode well for her now. If he discovered the truth, he would think she had been trying to garner information about the Sinclares.

“Can’t remember?” he asked accusingly when her answer took too long in coming.

“We had many slaves. I’m trying to recall when and where it was we acquired her.” She grinned for
fear of being discovered. “But shouldn’t you know that? After all, you two were in love and should know everything about each other.”

“I’m realizing that sometimes we don’t truly know a person as well as we thought.”

His response would have knocked Carissa off her feet if she hadn’t been sitting down. Something obviously had stirred a memory that sent him doubting. Damn her for being such a fool.

“Are you saying that you didn’t truly know Hope?”

“I’m saying that I want to know what
you
know about Hope.”

“What would I know about slaves?” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. “They were brought to the compound after raids, and my father decided their fate.”

“What fate did he decree for Hope?”

“To serve my needs.”

“So Hope was
your
slave,” he confirmed.

“All slaves were property of my father.” Carissa bit her tongue, for she knew as Hope she had told him that very same thing.

“But she answered to you.”

“That’s right. Hope did my bidding.”

“And out of the generosity of your heart, you had her tend the captives that were wounded?”

She laughed. “My father cared little for the wounded warriors he captured. They died or he sold them to mercenaries for a sizeable purse. You, however, were special, and I was ordered to see that you survived. So I had my slave tend you.”

“How long had Hope been your slave?”

“If I recall correctly, since she was young,” Carissa said cautiously.

Ronan nodded as if agreeing. “Hope had told me she had been a slave for as long as she could remember.”

“That was probably because there was nothing else for her to remember.”

“She never told me her age,” he said.

“It was never recorded or celebrated,” she said. “I’d say she was around eighteen or nineteen.”

“What did she look like?”

How did she describe herself? No, not Carissa, but Hope. What did Hope look like? She thought a moment then said, “She was gentle, soft-spoken, kind—”

“I mean her features, not her nature.”

“Her nature was her features,” she said, knowing that was all she could say to describe Hope.

His silence and scrunched brow reflected possible confusion or perhaps doubt. And either was better for her, for she imagined he much preferred to believe Hope real rather than think Carissa had played him for a fool.

She rested her head back on the rocker and turned to gaze at the flames, grateful for the continued silence. She didn’t want to talk about Hope any longer. She would much rather
be
Hope.

When had she begun to hide her true nature? Had she been four? Five? She couldn’t recall for sure. She only knew that her compassion infuriated her father, and so she hid it away and only took it
out when he wasn’t around. If she accidentally allowed it to show, others suffered, so she learned to wear a mask at all times.

Her father’s constant lesson had been that hate endures and love doesn’t. Therefore, hate served a better purpose than love. Her father had never once told her that he loved her. The only one who ever showed her any kind of love, which she cherished, had been Dykar.

When she first found herself falling in love with Ronan, she’d been surprised and fearful. Nothing good would come of it, only more sorrow and disappointment for her. But it had been so very easy to fall in love with him. He had been vulnerable and frightened, and yet in spite of it all, he possessed courage. And he was unselfish, a trait she had only seen in a few people. He was not only concerned for his own welfare but asked often about his brother and worried about her.

It had been so very odd to have someone care about her, worry over her, want to protect her, and to feel that his every touch had simply been remarkable. To be touched so lovingly had been even more remarkable. Never had she been touched like that in her life, and she craved for more, so much more from him, only him. That was why it had been difficult to pull away from him when he had taken her hands in his.

But her foolish mistake had cost her, and now she needed to be on guard more than ever. To her disappointment, her father had been right about something: Hate endures.

Ronan sat in the rocking chair, watching Carissa sleep. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to get in bed with her. He didn’t like what he was thinking, the possibility infuriated him. If Carissa had pretended to be the slave Hope, she had made a complete fool out of him.

And why hadn’t he ever considered it before?

Being unable to see had been traumatic and more fearful than he had ever imagined possible. He hadn’t known where he was, hadn’t known if he was alone or if someone stood silent guard over him, hadn’t known how severe his wounds, hadn’t been able to help himself at all. Hope had been God sent. She had been kind and had immediately eased his fears and concerns with thoughtful words and a gentle touch. As ridiculous the thought, he had felt safe with her. Not that she could have protected him, but her calm, reassuring presence had brought him at least a modicum of relief. And to think it possible that all along it might very well have been Carissa playing him for a fool, made him want to make her suffer even more.

He shook his head as it rested in his cupped hands. The things he had confided in her about himself and his family. He raised his head and shook it again. Could it truly be so? Or was this forced confinement driving him crazy with thoughts that were simply ridiculous?

Her nature was her features.

Carissa had been right about that, and that was
the one thought that kept him wondering. Could a woman with such a cold, uncaring heart portray a woman completely opposite in nature?

He had never once thought Hope anyone other than who she was, a good-hearted woman who he had easily fallen in love with. Why did he allow himself to doubt that now?

Hope had been just that to him…hope. Her encouraging nature had made it easier for him to believe that everything would be all right. He would survive, and he would eventually be free. Without her constant encouragement and care, he doubted he would have survived his confinement. So to question it now, to think it had all been a lie, a ruse, a trap not only infuriated him but left him feeling empty.

If Carissa proved to be Hope, then the woman he loved had never existed. Everything they had shared had never existed, and that ripped at his heart as sharply as the mighty talons of a falcon.

He sat back, sending the rocker into a soothing rhythm that began to lull him to sleep. He didn’t fight it; it let his eyes drift shut. In sleep, he would escape his doubts and never-ending thoughts…or would he?

He smelled the familiar scent of apples before he felt her touch. Gentle, so very gentle. She bathed his swollen eyes.

“You will see again, I promise.”

He reached out, eager to touch her face, and she took hold of his hand and placed it against her cool cheek. His fingers were quick to search out her lips. He loved the
feel of them and even more so after they kissed, for they would be plump with passion.

“Kiss me,” he said.

And she obliged.

Their kiss started out gentle, but it wasn’t long before it turned hungry with desire. And it wasn’t long before his loins hardened to an ache he longed to ease.

A sudden noise tore them apart.

“It’s nothing,” she assured him.

“Then kiss me again,” he said, “for I miss your lips.”

She laughed soft and easy before obliging him, and when it ended, she said, “I love you. I will always love you.”

He took hold of her hand and laced her long slim fingers with his. “Nothing in this world will make me stop loving you. My heart forever belongs to you.”

“Nothing?” she asked. “Nothing at all will stop you from loving me?”

“Nothing,” he reiterated. “A strong, unwavering love connects you and me. We are one and always will be.”

“Promise?”

“I give you my word.”

“I will hold you to it,
Highlander.”

Ronan’s eyes sprang open and he bolted straight up in the rocker.

Carissa was the only one who called him Highlander, and he looked to where she slept in the bed. Had it been his worries that produced the dream, or had he been shown the truth?

No answer came to him, but he would have one. No matter what it took he would find out the truth.