The Highlander's Forbidden Bride Page 2

  Ronan nodded. “I want the final say, Cavan.”

  Cavan braced his hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “You have it.” He then turned to Bethane. “Bring us Carissa.”

  Her response rang through the village like a clanging bell. “No!”

  Chapter 3

  Carissa watched the heated exchange that followed Bethane’s resounding no. The wooden shutters in Bethane’s cottage sat ajar just enough for her to easily view the whole scene, and the close proximity allowed her to hear every word.

  She had hoped that no one would learn of her taking refuge here and, for a while at least, she would have some peace. Since she had never known peace, she had been foolish to think she ever would.

  “Carissa will pay for the pain she has caused the Sinclares!”

  She cringed at Cavan’s command, for she knew he had been relentless in his search for her and would not rest until she met the same fate as her father though she questioned if she could meet death as bravely as he had. Though Mordrac the Barbarian had been her father, she wasn’t truly her father’s daughter. She had not the cruelty in her that he had though she had made certain that others believed that she did. She had realized at a very young age that if she showed any empathy or sympathy, her father would make her suffer dearly for it. So out of necessity, she learned how to portray a cold, harsh exterior, not only to protect herself but also those she cared about.

  She shook her head. There was no point in dwelling on the past. Her concern now was survival, and she wasn’t certain how she would do that when the Sinclares intended to see her dead, especially Ronan Sinclare.

  He hated her, and with good reason. She had tormented him after his capture, but he would never understand why, and she would not bother to explain. He would never believe her anyway, so there was no reason even to try.

  Her fate had been sealed twenty years ago, the day she had been born daughter to Mordrac. It had taken time to accept her lot in life, but she had, and now she had the consequences to deal with—Ronan Sinclare being one of them.

  There was one, however, who knew her well and would certainly come to her rescue, but it would jeopardize his life, and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t put anyone else in such a dire position. She had done enough harm by coming here to the village Black. And she would need to correct her mistake, though how, she wasn’t certain. She only knew that she couldn’t remain here, for her presence would continue to bring strife to the village.

  “I will not leave without her!”

  Carissa knew without seeing who had spoken so vehemently. Ronan hated her with the intensity of one who loves. For what truly was hatred but the complete opposite of love?

  What other way did she have to judge love? She had never truly known it. Her mother had died before she could have any memories of her, and the succession of slaves who raised her did so from, fear of her father. And when once she showed that she cared for a puppy…

  She shuddered, recalling her father’s cruelty, and chased away the heartbreaking memory.

  She had to concentrate on her present predicament and find a solution, and as soon as possible. She did not wish to bring trouble to Bethane. The woman had been nothing but kind to her.

  Carissa heard Bethane once again express her position with firm kindness.

  “This is a place of sanctuary, and Carissa is welcome here for as long as she wishes to stay.”

  Carissa had to smile at Bethane’s next remark.

  “If you seek sanctuary here, you are welcome.”

  “We have come to visit.”

  From what Carissa had learned about the Sinclare brothers, that would be Artair who answered so wisely. He was by nature the most practical.

  “You are welcome,” Bethane said, “though I assume your visit will be brief. The snow will soon fall in earnest, and I am sure you do not wish to be stuck here. After all, your children wait eagerly for your return.”

  Children. Just the thought made Carissa sigh. She so wanted children of her own. She hugged herself thinking how she would give constant hugs to her children and love them unconditionally and protect them. Lord, but she would give her life to protect them.

  Artair spoke and once again with reason. “Bethane is right. Once a heavy snow begins, we won’t be able to return home.”

  A tall woman with a long blond braid draped over her chest spoke, though she directed her response to the man beside her. Since all the other brothers were accounted for, Carissa assumed that he must be Lachlan and she his wife.

  “I’d like to get home to Roark before then.”

  Zia was of the same mind. “I want to be able to play with Blythe in the snow.”

  Bethane turned to Cavan. “And what of your twin boys? I’m sure Honora would want you there before the deep winter sets in.”

  Family. Something she had longed for but never had. The Sinclares didn’t know how lucky they were, and if they were wise, they would forget about her and return home and cherish what they had.

  She shook her head slowly, doubting that would happen. The Sinclare brothers were Highland warriors and were duty-bound to protect their clan. Her father had declared war on them, and her elimination would finally settle what he had begun.

  “This matter must be settled first,” Cavan said with conviction.

  “Cavan is right,” Ronan said with just as much fervor.

  Carissa shut her eyes for a moment, wishing all of this would go away, and she would be free. Free of hatred. Free of being hunted. Free to be who she truly was.

  Her eyes drifted open, her wish drifting away unanswered as so many wishes before. This was her destiny, and she could not escape it. It was only a matter of time before the Sinclares captured her, and she would face the same fate as her father.

  “Let us speak with Carissa, Bethane,” Cavan said. “Perhaps we could come to an agreement.”

  Carissa quickly grabbed her deep blue, wool cloak from the peg by the door and swung it around her shoulders. That wasn’t Bethane’s question to answer, it was hers. With a stoic tilt of her chin, she opened the door and marched outside and straight to the Sinclares.

  “And what agreement would that be Cavan Sinclare? My death at your hands?”

  If looks could kill, she would have been dead many times over. Zia was the only one who offered a smile.

  Ronan marched straight for her. “No! Death by my hands.”

  Carissa stood her ground without a shudder or a tremble, though any other would have probably quaked and begged in his formidable presence. He towered over her. But what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in her attitude.

  “So the laird Sinclare feels it beneath him to deal with a woman and gives the chore to his baby brother?”

  Carissa could almost feel the fury in Ronan’s glaring green eyes. And the way he clinched his fists at his sides, she wondered if he imagined squeezing the life from her.

  “You will pay for what you have done,” Ronan said through gritted teeth.

  She stretched herself up and placed her face just inches from his. “You have neither the strength nor the stomach for it, Highlander.”

  Ronan plastered his face to hers, and his warm, earthy breath fanned her face and sent gooseflesh rushing over her skin.

  “I have something much more—hatred. My hatred for you knows no bounds and you will—I promise—die by my hands.”

  “Enough,” Bethane ordered firmly. “There will be no violence here.”

  Zia stepped to her grandmother’s side. “She is right. This village has always been a safe haven for those who seek it.”

  “And it will continue to be,” Bethane said. “Carissa will be protected if she chooses to remain here.”

  “Then I choose to remain here as well,” Ronan said.

  Although his face no longer melded with hers, he stood close enough for their arms to brush. It was as if he was letting her know he would stick to her side until he got his way.

  Carissa sent a different mess
age when she slowly and with purposeful strides put distance between them.

  Cavan stepped forward and looked directly at Carissa. “You know we will not give up. Your kind will not be able to remain here for long. It is a place of goodness and caring, and there isn’t a barbarian alive who possesses those qualities. Sooner or later, this haven will become a prison to you, and you will leave. We will be waiting. Face your fate now and get it over with, for it is inevitable.”

  “You think highly of yourself, Highlander,” Carissa said with the coldness that was all too familiar to her. “Do you think that it was you who found me?” She laughed. “I’ve avoided capture how long now?” She grinned. “Two years, isn’t it?” She sneered, and her tone was condescending. “Truly, Highlander, you are pathetic.”

  Ronan took a quick step toward her, but Cavan swung his arm out, stopping him.

  “Are you telling me that you intended for us to know you were here?” Cavan asked.

  “Finally, a shred of intelligence.”

  This time Lachlan moved forward, but Cavan halted him with a firm nod.

  “Why?” Artair asked.

  Carissa admired Artair. He sought explanations before decisive action. “I wanted the Sinclare brothers to know that I’d bested them, that they couldn’t find me, though I could have them at my beck and call.” She grinned again. “Imagine. One female barbarian outwits four Highlanders.”

  Fury raged in every one of their eyes, and rightly so. She had gravely insulted them, and she had done so with nothing but lies. She had planned a brief stay here in the village before moving on and, hopefully, shedding her identity and finding a new life along the way. She had been insane to think that she could run from her past; her legacy never failed to follow her.

  “But your plan is flawed,” Artair said. “We may be here by your choice, but how do you avoid inevitable capture?”

  Carissa laughed and tossed her head up, her soft blond waves bouncing before landing with a gentle caress around her lovely face. The movement was intentional, for she had learned that it never failed to grab a man’s attention and muddle his thoughts, most times giving her a chance to conjure a suitable response.

  To her surprise, though truly she should have realized, it failed with only one Sinclare…Ronan. His intense glare had remained the same while his brothers looked stunned.

  She avoided a direct answer by tossing the query back at Artair. “How can you think that relevant when I managed to get all four of you here in one place?”

  Artair nodded. “This is true, but given that, you would also have made provisions to avoid capture.”

  “Provisions that are doomed to fail,” Ronan said emphatically.

  “We shall see,” she challenged, though knowing it wasn’t the wisest response. But they had to think her confident, or else she truly would be doomed.

  “Enough,” Bethane said, ending the exchange to Carissa’s relief. “The air grows cold with the impending snow. A light one I would say, though soon to be followed by a heavy snowfall that will surely strand you all here. I suggest you eat a hearty supper, get a good night’s sleep, and be on your way at dawn.”

  Cavan looked ready to protest, but Bethane stilled him with a quick raise of her hand. “That is the way of it, Cavan. I gave the respect due you when on your land; I ask the same of you.”

  Cavan nodded though it was obvious he wasn’t happy.

  Zia intervened, trying to herd everyone to Bethane’s cottage. “We all need food and rest.”

  Cavan and Ronan were the most reluctant, while Lachlan, his wife Alyce, and Artair seemed agreeable, but then they knew that the two brothers needed time together, or perhaps they both feared Carissa’s being out of their sight.

  Carissa turned to walk away, but Ronan’s sharp words stopped her.

  “Where do you go?”

  “That doesn’t concern you,” she answered just as sharply.

  He stomped over to stand directly in front of her, though he actually towered over her. “Everything about you concerns me.”

  “Afraid I’ll slip away from you?” she challenged.

  “I promise—you’ll never get away from me again,” Ronan said.

  “We’ll see about that,” Carissa said, and turned away, strolling off as if she had not a care in the world though her heart ached; but not a single tear pooled in her eyes.

  Ronan stepped forward to follow her, but Bethane stepped around him and joined Carissa, hooking arms with her.

  “Let the women be and come join your family,” Cavan said. “We have missed you, and there is much for us to discuss.”

  Carissa waited several minutes before she dared turned to look and see Ronan enter Bethane’s cottage with Cavan. Her relief was so great that her legs might have given way if not for Bethane’s supporting arm.

  The two women entered Zia’s old cottage and, while Carissa sat at the table before the hearth, Bethane prepared a soothing brew for them both.

  Carissa hugged the hot tankard in her hands, hoping it would chase away the chill that went deep down to her very bones.

  “You put on a good act,” Bethane said, joining her at the table and pushing a board with thick sliced dark bread toward Carissa.

  Carissa smiled, though it was a sad smile, one that barely reached her slim lips. “I appreciate your concern that I eat, but my appetite has yet to return. And as far as my act is concerned? I have no choice.”

  “Perhaps if you trust—”

  “No,” Carissa said, shaking her head adamantly. “I can trust no one, not ever.”

  “Not true,” Bethane encouraged.

  Carissa sighed. “Who do you suggest I trust?”

  Bethane smiled. “Your heart.”

  Chapter 4

  Ronan sat hunched beneath evergreen branches, watching the cottage where Carissa slept. Snow fell, lightly dusting his wool cloak, and thick cloud covering kept the waning moon from shedding any light. It didn’t matter. Ronan had learned to acclimate himself to any weather or circumstance, and that skill had proved a useful tool in surviving, and helped him to believe that one day he’d return home.

  Now, though he was reunited with his family, he still felt he hadn’t returned home. He felt a stranger among his brothers and even more uneasy with their wives, not to mention that there were nieces and nephews he had yet to meet. Then there was the death of his father during his absence. He had never gotten to see him again, and that was a painful wound that would take a long time healing. As difficult as it was for him, he could only imagine how difficult it must have been for his mother. They had been a loving, devoted couple, and he wondered if his mother could truly manage without her husband.

  No, this certainly was not the family he had left; but then he wasn’t the same man. And after spending only a brief time with his family, he wondered even more about his own identity.

  The soft crunch of snow had him stilling his thoughts and listening more closely to the sound. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the footfalls were not animal, but human. He positioned himself, knife in hand, as the steps got closer.

  His knife was at the man’s throat, ready to slit it if he made one move, though he dropped his hand fast enough as soon as he recognized Artair.

  Artair rubbed his throat. “I am grateful you are more skillful with a knife than I last remember.”

  “Necessity,” Ronan said, and returned to his perch beneath the evergreen branches.

  Artair joined him. “You thought someone here would do you harm?”

  “You never know.”

  “But this is a sanctuary, a place of peace.”

  Ronan gave a gruff laugh. “There is no place of peace.”

  “The people here believe so.”

  “They foolishly trust,” Ronan said.

  “Perhaps they have faith.”

  “Faith is an ally I have yet to trust,” Ronan said.

  “Do you trust me?” Artair asked.

  “You are my brother.�
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  “That goes without question, but do you trust me?”

  “That goes without question as well,” Ronan said.

  “I can’t imagine what you and Cavan have suffered,” Artair admitted sadly. “I can’t imagine returning home after being away from those you love for so long. But what I do know is that I am your brother and will always be here for you.”

  “You always were the understanding one,” Ronan said, with a smile that barely reached his lips.

  Artair grinned. “See, some things never change.”

  Oddly enough, the thought made Ronan feel better.

  “Do you plan on remaining here all night?” Artair asked.

  “You were the one who pointed out that Carissa had to have a plan of escape,” Ronan reminded. “And I plan on being there and foiling it.”

  “It’s cold, snowing, and with little moonlight to guide, I doubt she would foolishly attempt an escape tonight.”

  “You don’t know Carissa as well as I do,” Ronan reminded. “She is one that can never, ever be trusted. Her word means nothing and worst of all—“He had to pause, for painful memories flooded his mind. “Worst of all,” he repeated firmly, “she has no heart.”

  Artair grasped Ronan’s shoulder. “Then, my brother, we will see that she follows her father to his grave.”

  Carissa paced in front of the hearth unable to sleep, but then she required little sleep. She had been taught to be alert to sounds, and so she slept lightly and very little, always feeling the need to be ready at a moment’s notice. And now that was more important than ever. She had to make an escape and that would not be easy with Ronan, no doubt, being her shadow.

  He had to be out there right now, hiding in wait for her. She was not foolish, but then he would also know that, and that was why it would be that much harder to get away.

  She stopped pacing and sunk onto a chair at the table. Bethane’s words kept returning to her, but there was no way she could trust her heart, especially now, for it was so badly broken. She sometimes wondered if she truly had the strength to continue. Would it be better to meet her fate? A fate the Sinclares claimed was inevitable and perhaps justifiably so.