Love Me Forever Read online

  She concentrated on his strong voice, and his confident touch comforted her. “I am Brianna.” She made no mention of her clan, for she knew not of his clan distinction, and there was much friction amongst Highland clans.

  “A gentle name,” he said and stroked her face.

  She kept her eyes closed, gaining the courage to look upon him. It was not that she thought him horrendous, though his fresh scars made him appear so. It was that she felt for his plight. He had suffered horribly, and the scars that remained attested to his horrific ordeal.

  “It is kind of you to look after me.” Her pain was slowly ebbing and she breathed more easily, though she would not surrender the comforting strength of his hand.

  “I do not mind. You need me.”

  She instantly responded, “Aye, I do, though I do not mean to be a burden.”

  “I do not think of you as a burden and I tend you most willingly.”

  She was relieved to hear his truthful words. “I am grateful for you, but I must ask of the two men who were with me.”

  A moment of silence preceded his answer. “I am sorry; they did not survive.”

  She felt a sense of sorrow for her companions. They were good men and free of family so there was no particular person who would mourn their loss, though the clan would. All members of the clan were considered family and all mourned a passing.

  “They were good men.”

  “Then they will be missed.”

  “Aye, they will,” she said softly and offered a silent prayer for their souls.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his hand remaining firmly locked with hers.

  She thought a moment, for food had not been a thought and she simply felt too weak even to consider attempting to eat. “Nay, I have not the strength.”

  “The very reason you should eat something, to regain your strength.”

  She sighed softly, knowing a deep breath would only bring her pain, and before she could respond he spoke.

  “The broth I have made would suit you well.”

  Brianna knew she could not lift even a simple spoon, and her disappointment was evident when she repeated, “I have not the strength.”

  “I will feed you, you need not worry.”

  A single tear trickled from her eye. The idea that she was completely dependent on this stranger upset her. She had no choice but to rely on his kindness and to trust him. She realized that trust was the most difficult for her. She had not been able to trust her husband; how was she ever to trust this man she did not know?

  With a gentle swipe of his finger he removed the single teardrop from her cheek. “You need not fear me. I mean you no harm, Brianna. I will care for you as long as is necessary. Trust me.”

  She had shut her eyes and listened to the soothing lilt of his voice. If she had not known his features, she would have thought of them as gentle, a smooth complexion, tender eyes, soft lips. This vision of such a man she could trust, but the man who stood over her possessed no gentle features.

  Her eyes drifted open. He looked down at her with an intense dark green eye; his other eye was too badly swollen shut for him to open. The color reminded her of the forest in the winter, cold and empty yet content in its solitude. His hair was long, a burnished brown, as though fire and light mixed with the color of the earth, and it looked to be well tended, for it shined with a silky radiance.

  One braid hung down on the right side of his head, a brown leather strip entwined in the strands. His lip swelled from the severe spilt and made it impossible to determine the true shape of his mouth. And one look at his body left no doubt that he was a warrior. He wore a dark shirt over a broad and heavily muscled chest. His plaid was of dark colors and wrapped snugly around a narrow waist; below that she could not see, for he leaned over the edge of the bed, blocking the rest of him from her view.

  “Now that you have looked me over, will you trust me?”

  “Have I a choice?” Brianna asked, feeling justified in blatantly taking stock of him.

  His hand gently pushed a stray strand of hair off her face. “Nay, Brianna, you have no choice but to trust me.”

  An unexpected cough seized her and she cried out as pain stabbed at her chest. Without thought she squeezed at his hand that held firm to hers, and his other hand instantly reached out to gently cup her face and force her to rest her glance on him.

  “Look at me and breathe calmly,” he ordered in a tone that he must have used to command men in battle, for she immediately obeyed him without question.

  “Calmly,” he repeated when she fought the breath that followed. “If you struggle you will only worsen the pain and bring yourself more discomfort. Ease your breathing.”

  She followed his words and took short shallow breaths and realized the pain lessened, though her hold on his hand remained firm.

  “Time and rest will heal your bruises.”

  She nodded slowly, knowing he was right.

  “I will get you some broth and you will eat.”

  “A command?” she asked with effort, the pain not having completely subsided.

  “If it is necessary.”

  His response warned her that he was a man accustomed to having his command obeyed, and being that she had no choice at the moment; she wisely chose to defer to him.

  For now.

  “Nay, I will eat what I can.”

  “It is good that you try, but first I must raise you up more on the pillows so that you may eat more comfortably.”

  Her eyes rounded, the thought of pain filling her with dread, and he understood. “I will move you as gently as possible.”

  He did not wait for her to respond or object. He removed his hand from hers and slipped his arm beneath the wool blanket.

  Her eyes grew even wider.

  He offered an explanation. “I had no choice but to remove your clothes. They were torn and dirty. And I needed to see how severe your injuries were. I could carry only you and thought to return later for your chest, but I have been reluctant to leave you alone.”

  She said not a word but gave him a brief nod, letting him know she understood.

  “Relax,” he said softly, his hand slipping slowly beneath her back. “I will not hurt you.”

  The strength in his arm was remarkable, for he moved her with the gentlest of touches, his other hand pushing the pillows beneath her back and head so that she lay reclined. She suffered only the slightest discomfort and paid it no heed, for her new position eased her aching body.

  “That feels much better,” she said, sending him a brief smile. “Thank you, you are most kind.”

  He stared at her a moment with an intensity that could frighten; she, however, slowly raised her hand to gently touch his swollen hp. “I wish I had the basket of herbs my sister-in-law Moira had sent along with me. I have something that would help relieve your swelling.”

  He eased his hand out from beneath her back and adjusted the blanket around her. It had slipped down when he had moved her and near exposed her naked breasts. But then he had already seen all of her, and that thought disturbed her. What had he thought of her body? Every time her husband had made love to her, he had told her that her body was undesirable. He had made her flaws known and had made it known how inadequate a lover she was. But what did that matter now? This man was not interested in her in such an intimate way.

  “Something troubles you?” he asked, his confident voice assuring her he could ease any concern.

  She stared at him, uncertain how to respond.

  He seemed to understand her hesitation. ‘Trust me. I will not hurt you.”

  She continued to stare at him, wondering over the battle that had caused such vicious scars. He had fought hard and suffered. She wondered if the battle had been victorious or if he had suffered defeat and if his scars would always remind him of that day. And she wondered why he had chosen to reside here in this cottage alone. Why had he not returned to his clan?

  With so many questions and not one answer, sh
e wondered how she could trust this stranger. The answer was simple, for it had repeated in her head too often.

  She had no choice.

  He understood by the resigned look on her face. “I will get the broth.”

  She watched him walk off. If he suffered any other injuries, they could not be detected, for he moved with strength and confidence. It seemed his face had taken the brunt of the battle, and she could only imagine the horror of it all.

  Her eyes grew heavy as she watched him ladle the broth into a bowl from the black pot over the open flames, and try as she might she could not force them to remain open. She thought to rest them for a few moments, just a few, but as soon as they closed, she slipped into a restful slumber.

  Royce returned with bowl in hand to find her sound asleep. He had not the heart to wake her. She needed as much rest as possible, and while the food would help aid in her recovery, he could always feed her later when she woke.

  He returned the bowl to the table and then returned to the bed, adjusting the covers over her to make certain she stayed warm. He had come upon the coach by accident. He had not planned to take that trail when out hunting for food, but now he was glad he had. It had been obvious that the two men had been thrown from the coach and died on impact.

  He had been surprised to see that anyone inside the coach had survived. When he had discovered her body, he had thought for certain that she had suffered fatal wounds. She had not, though her body was badly bruised and her pain considerable.

  He had not realized the extent of her bruising until he began to undress her and the faint purple marks began to surface, and they would only grow worse over the next day before they subsided and began to heal.

  He could not help but notice her beauty. Her long dark hair fell in a riot of curls down her back and around her face. It mattered not how many times he would push them off her face, the stubborn curls would return with a bounce and determination—much like her personality, he realized. Her features were soft, her complexion a creamy pale, and her eyes were a vivid blue that put the color of the sky to shame.

  She stood a bare three or four inches over five feet and she possessed a body that captured the eye and melted the heart. She was stunning. She had full breasts, with large rosy nipples and a narrow waist that gave way to curving hips. Her skin was soft and silky, the type he could touch forever and never grow tired of.

  He had not, of course, touched her intimately. She was injured and required aid, and he tended her in such a manner, keeping his thoughts from straying, though not always successfully. He had been too long without a woman. He had never found it difficult to find a willing woman, and being he lacked a wife, women were his to enjoy.

  Of course, if he had such a beauty as Brianna as a wife, he would look no more; she would forever be in his bed.

  He ran a careful hand over the scars on his face and shook his head slowly. How would women see him now? Would they scream in fright as Brianna had? Would they turn away in disgust where before they eagerly joined with him?

  The battle he had fought had been victorious and a necessity, but he had suffered greatly, losing many men and leaving him with horrendous memories and scars that would never truly heal.

  He had decided to heal alone. He needed this time of solitude, this time away from his clan… this time to think. He had not counted on a companion and one that required tending. He had his own wounds to heal and there were many. How would he ever help another when he had difficulty helping himself?

  It did not really matter. She needed him. She was helpless, alone, and dependent on him for her care. Why that had made him feel good he could not say. He only knew he wished to protect and care for her. Perhaps in caring for her he cared for himself, and they would heal together.

  She stirred and came out of her sleep, his name on her lips. “Royce?”

  “I am here,” he said softly and took her hand.

  She grasped on to him. “You are not a dream.”

  He kept the smile from his swollen lip. She actually thought him a dream and not a nightmare. She did possess a courageous heart.

  “Nay, I am not a dream. I am real.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  He wondered if she had meant to voice her question, for it was filled with doubt.

  He leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “Aye, Brianna, you can trust me with your deepest darkest secrets. I will never betray your trust. Never.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he whispered and brushed a tender kiss across her cheek.

  She sighed contentedly and turned, tucking herself against his chest.

  She was warm and soft, and though he had wished for solitude, he suddenly ached for the nearness of her. He stretched out beside her and wrapped a gentle arm around her, and for the first time in days he fell into a restful slumber.

  Chapter Three

  Royce slowly spooned the broth into Brianna’s mouth. With the first delicious taste she realized she was hungry, and she eagerly waited for each spoonful. He was patient with her, taking his time, not forcing her to hurry.

  She had not expected that of him; he was, after all, a warrior. She did not think patience was a warrior’s trait. They seemed ever ready to charge into battle thinking little of the consequences. She was discovering that he was a far different warrior than most.

  ‘Tell me when you have had enough,” he said.

  She kept steady eyes on him where he sat beside her on the bed with bowl in hand. His ravaged face was familiar to her now, and she did not think to look away in horror.

  “It is good.”

  Royce tried to smile, but his mending lips allowed but a brief curve before the pain forced compliance. “It is a simple broth and will help you to gain strength.”

  “You need to gain strength as well,” she said, acknowledging that she was not the only one who required healing.

  “We can mend together.”

  “But I can do nothing to help you mend.”

  He heard the disappointment in her voice and was surprised that even in her painful state she gave his wounds concern. “You provide me with companionship.”

  “A companion who must have constant care.”

  “Enjoy my attention, for I am not known for it.”

  She caught the gleam in his dark green eyes and realized he teased her. She smiled before accepting another spoonful of broth.

  A sudden gust of wind whipped around outside the small cottage and was followed by a clap of thunder. Raindrops fell hard after that, and soon the steady downpour took on a soothing rhythm as darkness covered the land.

  She relaxed and found it easy to ask him, “What are you known for?”

  He could not help but grin and suffered the price. His swollen lip throbbed with pain and he winced.

  “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

  “I am but reminded that pride is a sin.”

  She laughed softly. ‘Tell me of this pride.”

  The gleam in his eye remained. “I think it wiser that I do not.”

  She took no offense to his refusal. She understood that he teased her, though she was also aware that he did not volunteer information on himself. Was he guarding secrets? Was he reluctant to trust her?

  She yawned, fatigue creeping up on her.

  ‘Try to rest.” He stood; the bowl he held near empty.

  “You like giving orders.”

  It was as if she understood his way and thought nothing of it; perhaps she was familiar to obeying, and then the thought struck him. Was she wed? She had traveled alone with but two men to guard her. Was she going to join a husband or had she been promised and yet to wed?

  His immediate response was to ask—and yet he held his tongue. In time he would learn all about her—the inclement weather would see to that, making the roads difficult to travel and covering their tracks so there would be no trail to follow.

  She would belong to him if only for a while, and he would see that
she was well tended, well protected. This need to protect her haunted him. She appeared fragile, but he did not assume she was delicate. There was courage and a tenacity about her that sparked strength in her. She was by no means a weak woman.

  He returned to the side of the bed and spoke bluntly though gently. “I need to examine your bruises and see how they fare.”

  Her eyes rounded, her fatigue faded, and she tensed, a look of fright crossing her face.

  He ran a tender hand over her warm cheek. “You need not fear me.”

  Fear of him was not on her mind. Fear of being naked and vulnerable in front of him weighed heavily on her mind. But those were her fears to contend with and caused by a selfish husband, and presently she should be more concerned about her injuries than being naked in front of a man. But old habits could not help but haunt her, and she saw no way out of her dilemma. She had no choice but to allow him to tend her, no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel.

  She did attempt, however, to put off the inevitable. “I am tired.”

  “It will take but a moment.” He reached for the edge of the blanket.

  “I am very tired,” she said with an urgent fright.

  Royce sat down beside her on the bed and brushed a stubborn strand of hair off her cheek. When it would not remain where he placed it, he tucked it gently behind her ear. ‘Tell me, Brianna, are you wed?”

  “I am a widow.”

  Was that relief he felt? “Then you have known a man.”

  “Only my husband.”

  He heard disappointment in her voice, not sadness but disappointment. Did she not mourn her husband? He would find out more in time. “Then you have felt a man’s touch and mine will not be foreign to you. I may not be your husband, but I am a man concerned for your wellbeing and only wish to see to your care.”

  She believed him. Though he was a stranger and a warrior who probably wielded a sword more deftly than a gentle hand, still she believed him.

  He recognized the resignation in her eyes, and he slowly slipped the blanket down to rest at her waist. He kept his look impersonal, though he could not help but admire the swell of her full breasts as his fingers gently probed the bruises on her ribs. His fingertips unintentionally brushed beneath her breasts, just a faint skim across her soft flesh.