To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1) Read online

  He captured her lips in a kiss before his name completely slipped from her mouth. It was a hungry kiss, one he had ached for, one that would give him the sustenance he needed, if only briefly, for he could not trust himself to take more. She returned it in kind, her need as great as his and her passion fueled his.

  He went down with her on the bed, stretching out partially over her and his hand ran down the side of her, enjoying how his hand drifted along her valleys and curves and wishing it was flesh he was touching rather than her garments.

  All thought and sound reason fled Espy as his powerful kiss took command, his tongue slipping into her mouth, urging her, teasing her to respond. When his hand drifted to cup her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple, she responded instinctively, pressing her body against his.

  Her eyes flew open when he broke the kiss so suddenly that a chill sent her body quivering. He stared at her and she was not quite sure what she saw in his eyes… regret, hate? No, there was no mistaking it. That was passion that flared so brightly.

  He shook his head, almost as if he was trying to shake his feelings away and failing to do so. His whisper seemed to direct his words more at himself than her. “This cannot be.”

  He turned and fled the room, his words making Espy see reason. He was right. This could not be. He did not love her or even care for her. She was no more than his healer and she would be a fool to believe there could be any more than that between them.

  The problem was that his kisses, his touch, had stirred something inside her that she feared would not settle so easily. It would demand more and she worried she would surrender to it. More than that, she worried that her heart, she had guarded so closely, had opened to this man she had once feared.

  Chapter 13

  Espy sat at the table in the healing cottage, taking stock of what herbs and plants she had. She needed to forage in the woods to replenish her dwindling supply and also get started on her garden soon. Thankfully her ankle had healed remarkably well, but then it had been a minor sprain, since the incident at the MacVarish keep a week ago. She had applied a fresh comfrey wrap repeatedly to her ankle and had kept off it as much as possible. The swelling was completely gone and the pain was minimal.

  Not so for the pain that her heart had sustained that day. Craven had kept his distance from her, including having her ride alone on their return journey. She had admonished herself over and over again for being so foolish and losing her senses. There could be nothing between them not now, not ever.

  Espy continued her task. thankful for the light that poured through the open doorway and through the window. It was a beautiful day, the sun strong, though it could be gone soon enough, the weather always unpredictable. She continued making mental notes of what she would need to collect when the light from the open door suddenly vanished and she shook her head, disappointed that clouds had arrived early, until she saw sunlight still flooded through the window.

  Only one man was large enough to block the sunlight from entering the cottage—Craven.

  Espy raised her head to see the breadth of him filling the open doorway and cradling his left hand against his chest, a blood-soaked cloth wrapped around it. She hurried to her feet and over to him, her hand gently going to rest at his bent elbow and with a gentle tug eased him into the cottage.

  “What happened?” she asked, directing him to a chair at the table.

  “An accident.”

  He offered no more and she asked for no further detail at the moment. She carefully unwound the bloody cloth from his hand and saw that it was a minor puncture wound to the palm that had caused all the bleeding.

  “The tip of a knife?” she asked.

  Craven nodded.

  “Clean or dirty?”

  Craven scrunched his brow.

  “Was the blade clean or dirty?” she clarified.

  “I was too busy keeping it from stabbing at my face to notice.”

  “Who would dare take a blade to you?” she asked not able to keep concern from her voice.

  “Morta, who will be shocked to find out the problems he caused and who he injured while in a drunken stupor.”

  Espy nodded, having seen her share of injuries caused by drunkenness. It was odd that the brew that caused such injuries also helped heal some of them. She snatched an empty bucket off the floor and had Craven hold his hand over it, then grabbed a small cask from the ones lined up beneath the window and poured some of the contents over the wound.

  Most people howled or at least flinched when usige beata was used on an open wound, Craven did not budge or make a sound. She set to cleaning his hand, gently washing the blood off each of his fingers. She worked gently and slowly so as not to cause him pain. Or was it because she enjoyed touching him, seeing up close the fine lines and tiny scars that marked his long fingers? Fingers that had almost squeezed the life from her, fingers that had touched her with tenderness, and fingers that had touched her with the briefest of intimacy and stirred her heart.

  Her delicate caresses aroused Craven and he almost yanked his hand away from her… almost. His wound needed tending or so he told himself. He had wanted Dylan to tend it, but he had refused, telling him that was why the clan had a healer, and it was Espy he needed to see. He did need to see her, but not as a healer.

  Since that night at the MacVarish keep, Espy had haunted his every waking moment and had even managed to chase his nightmares away. Now he dreamed of Espy, kissing her, touching her, stripping her naked and…

  “Are you almost done?” he asked, thinking it would be wise of him to get out of there as fast as possible before he did something foolish, something he should not do.

  “I need only to wrap it,” she said and dropped the soiled cloth into the bucket of water and placed it beside the door. She grabbed a clean cloth from the stack on the chest and began to wrap his hand. “This cloth will need to be changed every few days.”

  He stood abruptly when she finished tying the bandage, his chair almost tumbling over.

  Espy stayed as she was, no fear running through her as it once did in his presence. Now it was desire that plagued her when near him and though she fought against it, it was useless to deny it. However, it was wise to remind herself that there could never be anything between them.

  He warned himself not to do it, but how did he ignore her soft touch even when it was only meant to heal. Or was she healing more than his wound… was she healing his heart? The next thing he knew he had her in his arms and his lips were on hers.

  His kiss was filled with such a powerful passion that Espy quivered straight down to her toes. As much as she wanted to throw her arms around him, lose herself in his kiss, she warned herself against it. He did not care for her, he never would.

  She let herself enjoy the taste of him, let passion tease her senses, let the kiss burn in her memory, for it would be the last of his kisses she would ever know. With a heavy heart, she pulled her lips away from his and pushed at his chest.

  Craven stepped back, disbelief evident in his wide, dark eyes along with desire, burning so hot that she almost felt scorched by it.

  Espy gripped the sides of her skirt, fearful her hands would reach out and take hold of him. “Why do you kiss me?”

  “I want to,” he said, surprised that he admitted it so easily. “Why do you kiss me?”

  Espy spoke honestly as well. “My heart tells me to.”

  “How can your heart tell you such nonsense when I have shown you nothing but hatred?”

  She shook her head. “I have seen no hatred from you. Anger yes, at losing Aubrey, at thinking me responsible, but I wonder with what you have learned if you still think that about me. Do you? Do you believe it was my fault your wife died that day?”

  “I do not know, but I want the truth.” He should speak the truth himself, for he was thinking less and less that she was responsible, yet something in him needed to prove it, perhaps more so that others did not question it. Or was it to free him to do more than just
kiss her?

  “What do you want from me, Craven?” she asked softly.

  At one time he would have told her that he wished he had never laid eyes on her, but that was no longer true. He wished things were different. He wished Aubrey did not stand between them.

  “I want the truth,” he said, wanting to free not only her but himself.

  “Once you have it you will let me return to my grandmother so I may live out my days peacefully?” she asked, her own words upsetting her and bringing an ache to her heart.

  “You are the clan healer now, you will remain here,” he said, giving her no choice since the thought of not seeing her each day, surprisingly twisted at his heart.

  That he intended for her to remain with the clan without even asking if that was what she wished to do angered her. Anger was something Espy always tried to avoid. She had learned through the years that it rarely benefitted anyone and usually made matters worse.

  Yet anger sparked in her and surprisingly she gave it rein. “Then be warned, I am your healer, no more than that. You are never to kiss or touch me again.”

  “You dare dictate to me?” Craven asked with a surprising laugh.

  “I dare to protect myself.”

  He shook his head at her absurd response. “From me?” He laughed again, though wore no smile. “I have never forced a woman and never will. You responded willingly to me as you no doubt have done with other men.”

  If he had slapped her in the face, he could not have hurt her more. She raised her chin along with her pride. “You are right. I decide who will touch me and you are not one of them.”

  Craven’s temper soared like a fast rising sun, heating every part of him and he barely held it back as he spoke. “You have reminded me why I hesitate in going any further than a kiss with you. I do not care to rut with a woman who has entertained countless men.” He turned and stormed out of the cottage.

  Espy dropped down on a chair, her legs too weak to hold her, and her stomach churning.

  “Espy?”

  She raised her head to see Britt peeking in from around the side of the open door, then casting a cautious glance at Craven’s retreating back a distance away.

  “Please, come in, Britt,” Espy offered.

  Britt turned to Espy, then turned her head away again to see that Craven was no longer in sight before finally entering the cottage, her sleeping bairn cradled in her arms. “He is gone. Are you all right?”

  “I am well,” Espy said or so she told herself as she had done time and time again when hurt had been difficult to bear. “Please, sit.” She hurried to clean off the table.

  “That was not fair of him,” Britt said.

  “You heard? Did others?” she asked and went to rush to the door to see for herself.

  Britt reached out and grabbed her hand. “No one else is about. I was the only one who heard.”

  Espy sat, fighting the urge to cry.

  “Why ever did you return here?”

  “I know how foolish it must seem to most, but what I faced here was far less dangerous than what I faced out there.” Espy stared at the table a moment, then shook her head slowly. “Aubrey’s death plagued me. She had been doing fine and to all of a sudden bleed as profusely as she did—” She shook her head again. “It was as if something burst inside her and all her blood spilled out.”

  Britt nodded. “I thought the same myself. I had never seen anything like it. Even where there is bleeding during a birth, it was nothing to what I saw happen to Aubrey. Do you think those herbs she took caused her death?”

  “I believe there is a good chance they did.”

  “Dylan received word today that Laird Eason of the Clan MacLagan has granted permission for his physician Edward MacPeters, the one who tended Aubrey, to journey here and speak with Craven. He should arrive any day.”

  Espy smiled, though it faded quickly. “I do hope Craven will allow me to speak with him.”

  “Craven wants the truth as much as you do. It has been a difficult year not only for him, but for the whole clan.”

  “You have been in my thoughts often this past year. I feared that you would suffer for having helped me,” Espy said.

  “If I had not been Dylan’s wife, I may have suffered, but he protected me from Craven’s wrath. He even threatened to leave the clan if Craven intended to punish me.”

  “If I remember correctly, Craven and Dylan have been longtime friends,” Espy said.

  “They are, though their friendship has suffered some over the past year and it is a shame, since they are more like brothers. It was Craven losing his brother that brought Dylan and him closer together.”

  “Craven had a brother?’ Espy asked.

  Britt nodded. “And a sister.”

  The news surprised Espy. “I do not recall him having siblings.”

  “Craven was about eight years when his brother was born and his sister followed less than two years later. He was protective of them both, always watching out for them. A fever hit the clan one winter. It took both children. Four years later his mother succumbed from injuries she suffered in a riding accident. After that there was unrest amongst some of the clans and Craven’s da sent him off to fight and keep the clan safe. When he returned the clan and his da barely recognized him. He had gone from a young man to a fierce warrior. His da died soon after he returned home... peaceful in his sleep. Many in the clan believe that when his da laid eyes upon him, he knew his son was ready to lead the clan.”

  “I did not realize that he had lost his whole family,” Espy said. “I do recall my grandmother mentioning the fever striking the clan and that far too many children and old ones were lost. Craven has known deep sorrow. No wonder he grieved so hard when Aubrey died. It must have been like losing his family all over again.”

  “I never thought of it like that,” Britt said.

  “It was good he had Dylan’s friendship… a brother of sorts to standby him.” Espy shook her head, feeling the guilt. “Not so when Aubrey died.”

  “True, but their friendship has begun to heal. I see they are returning to their old ways, spending more time together, talking more, and I think Craven being there when Andrew was born made a difference as well. And it’s all due to your return.” Britt shook her finger, stopping Espy from speaking. “It is true. Much has changed since Craven brought you to the keep. You must see it yourself; people smiling, laughter returning, children running in play, repairs—long needed—being made, thanks to Craven finally emerging from his grief and beginning to live once again. That is all thanks to you.”

  Espy sighed. “It is not my doing. He hates me.”

  Britt’s son began to stir in her arms and she rocked him gently. “Perhaps or perhaps your return has given him a reason to live once again.”

  “Aye, to finally seek his revenge,” Espy said with a heavy sadness falling over her heart.

  The wee bairn began to cry.

  Espy held her arms out to Britt to free the woman so she could adjust her blouse to feed him. There was nothing that could bring a smile to one’s face like that of a newborn held in one’s arms.

  “Andrew, meet Auntie Espy,” Britt said.

  Espy’s smile grew. Having no siblings and believing she would never find a man to love and wed her, especially now with the scar, she never thought she would be anyone’s auntie, let alone a mum.

  “It is kind of you to have Andrew know me as his auntie,” she said in appreciation.

  “He would not be here if it were not for you and either would I,” Britt said.

  Espy handed the squirming Andrew to Britt and he latched onto her nipple as soon as she placed his tiny mouth at it.

  “Believe me when I tell you how very grateful not only my son and I are, but not a day has gone by that Dylan has not been thankful and praises your skills. I have meant to come and see you before this, but Dylan advised me to wait. He told me how busy you have been tending to the ill and needy. Mina told me how you asked her to look aft
er me and let you know that all was well with me. It is good to know we have such a kind and generous healer among us, and I pray you did not suffer much yourself this past year you have been gone, but your scar tells me differently,” Britt said.

  “It is the past and that is where it shall remain. Now I will fix us a brew of chamomile and we will talk of more pleasant things,” Espy said, though it was difficult for her to keep her thoughts from straying to Craven and all that he had lost. No wonder he had grieved so long and hard for Aubrey. He had been about to have a family again and once again it had been snatched away from him.

  “Why do you hide and sulk?” Dylan asked, joining Craven at the table buried in the shadows in the far corner of the Great Hall.

  “I do neither,” Craven said and picked up the pitcher of ale to refill his tankard and discovered it empty. He tossed it across the room.

  “Do you not get tired of throwing those pitchers?” Dylan asked.

  “It is better than throwing a punch and leaving a friend with a broken jaw or black eye that would remain closed for several days.”

  “On that we agree, but why are you angry?” Dylan answered for him. “You are angry because you find Espy appealing.”

  “I hate her more than I have ever hated,” Craven said annoyed that his friend had seen what he hoped others had not. He did not hate her. Hate was far from what he was feeling for Espy.

  Dylan rested his hand on his back. “No, my friend, you do not, for we both have seen what deep hatred can do to a man, to a friend, and it is not something either of us want. Besides, what happened to Aubrey may not be Espy’s fault, and I know you well enough to know you want the one responsible to suffer and not an innocent person.”

  “It is time for all this to end, to finally lay everything to rest along with Aubrey.”

  “It will be soon enough… the physician is on his way. When Espy’s innocence is proven, then take her to your bed and be done with it. Surely, she expects no more from you. After all, she is well-traveled for a woman, from what I hear, and has been on her own even before this year. No doubt she has more experience than most women when it comes to bedding a man, which should prove satisfying for you. Unless you are looking for something else.”