To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1) Page 14

  “Will Lord Craven allow me to stay here since I am unable to contribute in any way to the clan?”

  “I will speak to him,” she said as she got busy preparing the brew. “I am sure he will allow it. Besides, when you get well, you can share in the chores. What is it you do, Ober?”

  “I once was a fine smithy, but,” —he held up his hands— “I have lost my strength and can no longer ply my trade.”

  Now she knew for sure he was lying to her. His hands bore no scars one usually got when doing the chore of a smithy. So who was he and what was his true reason for being here?

  Chapter 15

  Espy climbed the stairs, longing for bed. She did not care how small her bedchamber was tonight it would make no difference. She was too exhausted to care. It had been a busy day and she had been up since before dawn. It seemed as if everyone in the village needed a healer today. They were all minor ailments and three women who would deliver bairns in the next few months had come to her, asking that she tend them when their time came. Word had spread of how she had saved Doria’s son and now more women were trusting her to birth their bairns.

  James had rushed his son, Finnan, to her twice during the day, fearing something was wrong with him. Espy had patiently explained both times what he was to do and assured him again and again that the bairn would do well, especially hearing how clearer and louder his wails had become.

  She had made a point of stopping at James and Doria’s cottage when she finished at the healing cottage and was pleased to see that Doria appeared more confident while holding Finnan.

  “I am getting used to his ways,” Doria had said proudly and James had agreed with relief.

  Now all Espy wanted was her bed, but there was one more thing she needed to see to before she collapsed for the night. She had to tell Craven about Ober. She had had no chance before now and she thought it important he know. She had left Ober to sleep in the healing cottage at the end of the day until a place could be found for him.

  She had hoped to find Craven in the Great Hall, but the hall had been near empty. She had spotted Tula talking with Tass, the warrior who had helped defend her against Howe and had suffered for it, though his ribs were healing nicely. She had found out from him that Craven had recently retired to his bedchamber.

  Espy raised her hand to knock, but stilled it before it touched the wood. What if he had already fallen asleep? Tass did say he had retired to his bedchamber. Before she could talk herself out of it, she rapped at the door.

  “This better be important!” he shouted and the door flew open.

  Espy took an abrupt step back. He stood completely naked before her. She could not stop herself from taking a quick glance down the length of him, before her eyes hurried up to his face and there is where she kept them.

  That he was large all over was now confirmed.

  Craven had to admire her. She did not blush, turn her head away, or run off in fright, and she even gave him a hasty all over glance. Having come to know her some, he realized she would not dare knock on his door unless it was important.

  “What is wrong?” he asked, reaching out, snatching hold of her arm, yanking her into his bedchamber, and shutting the door.

  “I thought it important to tell you about Ober,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his face, which was not an easy task since his handsome features sent her senses stirring. Or had it been his sizeable feature that did that?

  Craven kept his smile from surfacing. She was fighting so hard not to look anywhere but his face. He found his own eyes remaining on hers. They held fatigue and she was not wearing her usual pleasant smile. Her braid had come almost completely undone, dark strands falling around her face and he almost reached out to push one errant strand behind her ear. Oddly enough he was growing accustomed to seeing her hair disheveled. It suited her. He could not understand why he found her so appealing when she was so unlike Aubrey. Yet he obviously did, his manhood stirring to life with a will of its own.

  He released her and turned away from her to sit on the bed in a way that his shaft would not be so visible. He would not let her see how she affected him, but he also would not cover himself, for then she would think the same.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  Espy hurried to speak, wanting to be done and away from him, the more her eyes rested upon him, the more her desire grew. “I do not believe Ober is who he pretends to be.”

  His brow shot up. “What do you mean?”

  “He is not a feeble and fragile old man nor is he ailing. His answers to my questions concerning his ailment were vague and he told me he was a smithy but could no longer do the work, his hands having lost their strength. Yet he has no burn scars that a smithy often gets from working with the forge and hot iron. His eyes are sharp, always watching all that goes on around him.”

  “That makes no sense. Why come here under false pretenses?”

  “I wondered the same myself.”

  It struck Craven then. “He sought you out, the healer. Is there something in your past that follows you here?”

  God, she hoped not, though kept the thought to herself. She did, however, admit, “He looks familiar somehow, but I cannot place where I may have seen him. I tended many people in the past year. I cannot remember them all.”

  “Are there any who may wish you harm?” he asked, the ramifications of his own question disturbing him.

  She answered the best way she could. “I did not stay long in one place until I reached the old healer I told you about. I spent much time with her.”

  “Why did you not stay with her?”

  Espy hesitated, turning her head away for a moment and decided to tell him a partial truth. “She died and I realized that my grandmother was growing old and I might never see her again. It was time for me to come home and be with her.”

  “And chance what I might do to you?”

  “I told you that I do not like losing to death.”

  “So you took the chance and faced it… faced me,” he said, not letting her know how much he admired her courage.

  “What other choice did I have?”

  “You tell me, since I do not think you are telling me the whole of it, and your scar proves it. How did you get it?” Her scar was like a thorn in his side. He wanted to know what had happened to her. Who had taken a blade to her and why?

  “That is not important.”

  “Too you perhaps, but I want an answer,” he demanded.

  “I will not speak of it.”

  Her sharp tone had him getting to his feet and walking toward her as he spoke. “It was not a request.”

  Espy backed away until the door hit her back and she could go no farther.

  Craven came to a stop in front of her and planted his hands against the door at either side of her head. “You will answer me.”

  Espy tossed her chin up. “I will not. It is none of your concern.”

  Craven laughed, though it was not a joyous one. “You dare defy me?”

  Espy felt as if he was devouring her, he loomed so large over her. She shut her eyes and spoke. “Please, Craven, it is a memory I cannot relive again, not even in words. It is too painful.”

  “Or is it a tale you wish to keep a secret?” he whispered.

  She felt his warm breath fan her lips and she opened her eyes as his mouth came down on hers. His kiss was bold and commanding, daring her to deny him, deny them both. She had to fight her passion that raced like a mighty fire through her, turning her nipples so hard she thought they would poke through her blouse, and turning her skin so sensitive, she feared if he touched her that she would submit to him without protest. But it was the wicked tingle that he had flared to life that settled and grew between her legs that tempted her the most.

  Espy gripped the sides of her skirt, her hands itching to touch him, feel his warm, naked flesh and explore every intimate part of him. But she had warned him not to kiss her again and the only way she could make him realize that she meant it was not
to respond.

  He pressed in close against her, his stiff manhood poking between her legs and her passion soared beyond measure. Never had she felt this way before. Never had there been a man she ached to join with.

  When his manhood probed harder against her, common sense poked along with it. He wanted her, that did not mean he cared for her. Many men had wanted only to poke her and be done with her and she had kept them all at bay. She needed to do the same with Craven even though with him she felt different. He wanted a poke, no more, and she wanted more, so much more. Something she could never have with him.

  What was it the old healer had said?

  Guard your heart and body well, for once you give it away, it belongs to another and there is no taking it back.

  She let the taste and warmth of him settle in and around her, holding it tight in her memory as she struggled to break the kiss, a heavy sadness squeezing at her heart.

  Craven stepped back, shaking his head as if breaking himself out of a daze, trying to ignore the passion he felt for her, trying to ignore how she refused to respond to him while her body sent a different message. He slowly backed away from her, his eyes locking with hers before turning his back to her, “Go. Now.”

  He heard the door open and close quietly and he stood as he was, staring at the empty bed. Espy would be there now with him on top of her, inside her, pounding against her until he released this aching need, this endless desire, this tormenting hell he was going through.

  How could he even think of coupling with her in the same bed where he had made such precious love to his wife? And how was it that he only thought of that now?

  Craven dropped down on the bed, stretching out and staring up at the ceiling. The truth was that since he had brought Espy to the keep, Aubrey occupied his thoughts less and less while Espy filled them more and more. As much as he wanted to deny it and fight it, he felt himself feeling for the healer and it annoyed him to admit to himself that a fast poke would not satisfy the ache he had for her.

  He admired her strength and bravery and the way she gave so unselfishly of herself to help those ailing and in need. She thought of others before she thought of herself. He wondered how often she had done that this past year and if it could be the reason she had gotten the scar on her face. Or had she been fighting off the unwanted demands of a man? His nostrils flared at the thought.

  If a quick poke would not do, what was it that he truly wanted from Espy?

  Everything.

  Craven went to Espy’s room when he woke. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, braiding her hair. He did not need to see the bucket of water and cloth to know she had given herself a fresh scrubbing. Her face glowed and the scent of lavender drifted around her, and it was not surprising to him that his loins tightened.

  “You will not be going to the healing cottage today. I have other plans for you,” he said.

  A servant appeared at the open door with a tray of food for Espy.

  “Espy will take her meal in the Great Hall this morning,” Craven ordered and the lass bobbed her head and hurried off.

  Espy sat stunned when he turned and left without saying another word. She wondered what plans he could have for her. Her hand went to her stomach as a nervous flutter settled there. Did he intend to punish her for denying him last night?

  She shook her head. No, he had thought she had bewitched him and wanted nothing to do with her. And that was for the better, though it had pained her some to hear him accuse her of such.

  With a sigh, she stood. There was no point in dallying. She would enjoy a good meal in the Great Hall for a change and face whatever fate he intended for her, for there was little else she could do.

  Espy took a seat by the hearth, seeing Craven in deep conversation with Dylan at the long table on the dais.

  Tula soon joined her. “Lord Craven ordered Ober moved to a cottage near the entrance to the village. I will see him settled there.”

  “It is good that he will have shelter,” Espy said, thinking that Craven had put quite a distance between Ober and the healing cottage.

  “He tells me he does not have long,” Tula said sadly.

  “He has longer than he thinks,” Espy assured her.

  A soft smile lit Tula’s face. “You are a skilled healer and I am so glad to be helping you.”

  “May I join you, ladies.”

  Espy and Tula looked up to see Tass standing near and Tula blushed, while Espy smiled at the obvious… the two were enamored with each other.

  “Aye, do join us, Tass,” Espy offered, pointing for him to sit beside Tula, her blush deepening. “How are your ribs feeling?”

  “Much better, only a little pain lingers,” Tass informed her while his eyes rested on Tula.

  Seeing the attraction, the two had for each other Espy decided something needed to be done about it. “Tula, I will not be tending the healing cottage today. Lord Craven has some things I must attend to. I would be grateful if you would see to whoever comes in need of help. You know how to tend minor wounds and such. Anything more, send word to me.” She glanced to Tass. “Please have a look at Tass and see that his injured ribs are improving as he claims.”

  Tass went to object, then stopped and turned to Tula. “I believe I am healing well, but it would be good to have someone knowledgeable confirm it for me.”

  Tula’s cheeks remained pink. “I will be only too glad to tend you.”

  “Espy!’

  The three of them jumped at Craven’s loud command of her name.

  “I leave you in capable hands, Tass,” Espy said with a smile as she stood, slipping her wool cloak off the bench to drape over her shoulders and walked around the table to meet with Craven as he came to a stop beside it.

  When he saw that she was ready, he walked off without a word and she followed, wondering what he had planned for her.

  His horse was outside the keep waiting for him along with six of his warriors. Espy grew nervous when he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her onto the horse, then mounted behind her. He said not a word as he directed the animal away from the village.

  She could not hold her tongue once the village and keep disappeared behind them. “Do we return to the Clan MacVarish to see how Owen fares?”

  “No,” he said and offered no more.

  After more silence, Espy thought to ask again, but decided it would do little good. He obviously intended to keep her ignorant of their destination and perhaps it was wiser she did not know. She had faced the unknown before and survived. She would do so again.

  Tired of the lingering silence, she said, “We have something in common.”

  “What is that?” he asked, his tone curious.

  “We both lost our parents.” She waited and when he said nothing, she continued. “My heart ached when my mum died and I was ever so grateful to still have my da, but when he died… my heart broke.” She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat to choke her. “I thought it would never heal.”

  “It finally healed?” he asked, settling his arm a bit more snugly around her.

  “I do not believe it ever did. I believe I learned to live with the loss of my mum and da. I think of them often and keep them close to my heart, though I know I will never stop missing them.”

  “I buried my grief in battles only to see endless suffering and sorrow on the battlefield. In a strange way those battles numbed me to my own sorrow. I had no time for suffering, hurt, or pain, I was too busy trying to stay alive to care about much else.”

  Espy waited when he grew silent and was glad she did since he resumed talking.

  “Aubrey changed all that by coming up to me when I was covered in grime and blood from a battle and offering me a drink, and she smiled at me.” He smiled himself at the memory. “It was like an angel had touched the beast in me and calmed him. She opened my heart that had been closed far too long.”

  “You are lucky to have known such a strong love. My da once told me that I should always rememb
er that death was part of life, but not part of living. That living was what life was truly about and I should grasp it tight and embrace it so that when death did strike those I cared about, it did not rob me of living.”

  Craven gave thought to her words. He had stopped living after Aubrey died, surrendering part of himself to death whereas Espy continued living and selflessly, helping others, facing danger, and battling death.

  Espy suddenly recognized the path they took and her stomach turned with excitement. She smiled at Craven. “You take me to see my grandmother.”

  “Aye, I do,” he said.

  She almost asked why when she bit her lip to stop the question from spilling out. She did not care. All that mattered was that she was going to see her grandmother. He surprised her again when next he spoke.

  “You can ride your horse when we return and stable him with the other animals,” Craven said.

  Espy almost hugged him. “I will be so pleased to see Trumble again and have him with me. I miss him terribly. He is a wonderful horse.” She did not say that they had been through much together, that she kept to herself.

  “I hear that you ride a kelpie,” Craven said.

  Espy satisfied his curiosity. “Trumble is no kelpie. He was born with a backward hoof and has suffered for it ever since. Anyone who sees him claims him a demon when he is no more a demon than you are.”

  Craven’s brow went up. “A beast. A demon. What is the difference?”

  “A beast can be tamed, not so a demon.”

  “A beast may appear tamed, but his brutish instincts lurk beneath the surface ready to strike at any moment,” he said.

  He was warning her and Espy would be foolish not to pay heed to it. Yet, she did not think of him as a beast. He was a warrior who had bravely faced death each time he stepped onto the battlefield and survived. He was a man who suffered and continued to mourn the loss of the woman he loved. What beast would do that?

  Espy was ready to slide off the horse when Craven brought it to a stop in front of her grandmother’s cottage, but his arm tightened around her middle.

  “Do not move,” he ordered.