The Highlander's Forbidden Bride Read online

  “I would have rescued her,” Ronan said.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she chided. “There was no way possible for you to have rescued her.”

  “I would have,” he insisted adamantly. “There was no way that I intended to leave her there. I was coming for her and nothing—not even Mordrac himself—would have stopped me.”

  She stared at him, her blue eyes wide. “You loved her that much?”

  “I did. I still do. I’ll never stop loving her.”

  “You did not know her long enough to love her,” she said.

  “I knew from when she first spoke to me,” he said remembering. “Her voice was soft and gentle and her touch kind. It didn’t take long to realize how special she was, or for my feelings to stir for her. She was easy to love. There was no pretense about her. She was who she was…a kind soul. And she tempted her own fate, sneaking me extra food and blankets and visiting with me late at night when all was quiet.”

  “I knew it,” Carissa snarled.

  “Is that why you had me sold?”

  “You should be grateful to me,” Carissa snapped. “You two could have never been.”

  “Yes, we could. All you had to do was to let her go,” he said with a touch of sadness.

  Carissa stared at him, and he thought for a brief second he saw regret, but then her blue eyes turned icy cold.

  “She was a slave.”

  “Not anymore,” he said. “She’s free.”

  “Yes,” she agreed with a nod. “Death does that.”

  They both sat silent, staring into the flames, lost in their own memories.

  Ronan finally broke the silence. “We need to move the bed.”

  “Why?”

  “The draft from the wall is too much.”

  She smiled. “You worry I will catch a chill.”

  “And die before I can kill you myself.”

  “Do you truly intend to kill me yourself?” she asked.

  He ignored her question. “Help me move the bed.”

  She shrugged. “To where?”

  “In front of the hearth.”

  “That would be wonderfully cozy.”

  Again he ignored her and walked over to the bed. She followed him.

  He looked her up and down. “I doubt you have the strength to help me.”

  “I have more strength than you know.”

  “Then prove it,” he challenged.

  And she did. Together they managed to position the bed lengthwise in front of the hearth, a perfect distance from the flames, so as not to be too warm or too cold.

  While she folded the blankets at the foot of the bed, allowing the heat to warm the bedding, he moved the chest to the end of the bed.

  “We will need to be vigilant in tending the fire,” he said. “We don’t want any sparks to jump from the hearth to the bed.”

  She plopped down on the bed with a grin. “You’re right. We best make sure no sparks ignite the bed.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t even tempt me.”

  “Pity,” she said with a pout.

  He sat in the rocker, which remained by the hearth.

  “Will you grant me a last wish before I die?”

  “That depends on the wish,” he said.

  She laughed and threw herself full length on the bed. “I want one night of making love with you, Highlander.”

  “That’s one wish that will never be granted.”

  That night they both kept their distance from each other in bed, not that Carissa could sleep, nor, due to limited space, could she toss or turn, though she felt the need. She was restless, with fitful thoughts.

  Would Ronan really have fought her father for the slave? Not that he could have gotten past her father’s men, but still, the thought that he would have even considered it made her wonder. Love certainly had helped conquer his fears.

  She recalled how frightened he had been when he was first captured, though she couldn’t blame him. Not able to see, wounded and worrying not only over his fate, but over his brother’s as well, gave him much to fear. But through that fear he had somehow found love, or had it found him?

  Who would expect love to be found in a stable pen between a Highlander and a slave? An unlikely couple in an unlikely place, and yet they had found something rare in the harshest of conditions.

  And she had no choice but to destroy it.

  He would never understand why. At times she wondered herself. Had she made the right choice, but then hadn’t love made the choice for her? Just as much as he had wanted to rescue and protect Hope, she had wanted to protect him, and still did.

  She carefully turned on her side so as not to disturb Ronan. He slept soundly, and all she wanted to do was look upon him. The firelight danced across his face, and she admired his features. There was a rugged handsomeness about him that she loved.

  It had startled and touched her heart to discover that he had felt the same as she when they had first met. Just as he had known she was special, she had known the same of him. He was unlike any man she had met. He showed his fear, and yet he was brave. He was kind to her and ever so gentle, and she had never known either.

  And there had been something about the way he touched her that had stilled her heart and stirred her soul. She had never known the desire for a man until Ronan, and she had never tasted love until Ronan.

  With him, she allowed her true nature to surface without fear. As he had mentioned, no pretense, he knew her and loved her for who she truly was.

  The problem was that she had played her part well, so very well that no one would believe she was anyone other than Carissa.

  Certainly, Ronan would never believe that the kindhearted slave he loved was actually the coldhearted Carissa.

  If she could have cried at that moment, she would have, but no tears came. What was done was done, and she couldn’t undo it. Even though she wanted with all her heart to shake him awake and tell him she was Hope, the woman he loved.

  She almost laughed aloud. How foolish it sounded to her own ears. He would think her desperate or crazy, but never would he believe her. In saving him, she had lost him, and it broke her heart.

  How was she ever going to get through this sequestered time with him? The more she heard of his love for Hope, the more her heart ached. And the more she slept beside him without being able to reach out and touch him, the more she ached. The more she spent each waking and sleeping moment with him, the more she knew that, when they separated, the ache would turn unbearable.

  She had no doubt that she would escape him. She had a friend, one person other than Ronan who knew her true nature, but then he had spent his childhood with her. He had seen why she had become callous, and he had kept her secret, and she, in turn, had seen him safe just as she had with Ronan.

  He would help her, she had no doubt, and she would return to what she knew. But for now she would deal with Ronan. She would pretend as she had always done. She would play the heartless Carissa while all the time her heart was breaking.

  Chapter 11

  Days passed in similar fashion while the snow continued to fall, though not as heavily. And the steady accumulation made certain they wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. You would think that they would grow tired of each other’s company since they were far from friends, but they never seemed to lack for conversation, or a good debate. And more often than not, and to Ronan’s dismay, Carissa could be found wrapped in his arms in the morning.

  Lately, Carissa had begun to ask him about his childhood, and he had to admit he enjoyed revisiting it.

  “So being the youngest of four brothers, they picked on you?” Carissa asked, as they sat in front of the hearth after supper.

  “They tried”—he smiled—“but I outwitted them most of the time.”

  “You played them against each other,” she said with a laugh.

  Ronan chuckled. “They were so gullible. It was easy, except for Cavan. He allowed me to have my fun, but he was well aware of wh
at I was up to.”

  “You admire him.”

  “And I respect him.” He frowned. “He nearly gave his life for me and lived through a year of hell because of me.”

  “Not because of you,” she corrected, “for you.”

  His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

  “My father thought him a fool for turning back to try to save you when it was obvious the battle was lost and you captured. And yet Cavan rode into certain capture or possibly death to try to save you.”

  “My fault,” he said, with an angry pound to his chest. “I called out to him like a coward.”

  “You cried out to a brother who had never failed you, and so you believed was your only hope. And he, as a loving brother, returned for you, not because of you, not because you called out, but for you…his youngest brother, who he could not, or would not, leave behind.”

  “He should have left me.”

  “Would you have left him?” she asked.

  “Never,” Ronan said without thinking.

  “See,” Carissa boasted, “you both think the same and therefore would react the same. You and Cavan are more similar than either of you realize, and far different from your other brothers.”

  The realization made Ronan wonder if Cavan carried as much guilt around with him as he himself did? He had dreaded, but also ached to reunite with his family. All this time he believed he had failed Cavan. When he had come upon his brothers at the entrance to the village Black, joy and terror had gripped him.

  What did he say to Cavan? How would Cavan react to his return? And again he believed he had taken the coward’s way out. He had simply walked past them without letting them know who he was. And what had Cavan done when Artair asked the logical question of why he hadn’t announced himself immediately? Not only had Cavan made a plausible excuse for him, he had let him know that he was leaving Carissa’s fate in Ronan’s hands.

  Cavan had even let him know that they would talk later, and Ronan wished his brother was here right now, for there was much that had to be said between them.

  “You would think that since you and Cavan are so much alike, that Artair and Lachlan would be similar.” Carissa shook her head. “But they seem nothing alike.”

  That brought a grin to Ronan’s face. “That’s for certain. Artair relies on his pragmatic nature, while Lachlan on his charm.” He laughed. “And Cavan always knew exactly how to handle each of them.”

  “Just like you.”

  “That’s because I watched my big brother and learned.”

  “As Cavan does with people,” she said. “He watches, studies them. You can see it in the way his dark eyes survey everything around him. By the way, I noticed that your three brothers have brown eyes while you have green.”

  “I get the distinguishing color from my mother,” he said.

  “If her eyes are anything like yours, they must be beautiful.”

  “My mother is beautiful, but she taught me that true beauty comes from a loving nature. And I discovered how true her words were.”

  “Are you telling me I’m not beautiful?” she asked with a sharp tongue.

  “If beauty were judged solely on features, you would certainly be claimed a beauty. But if you believe as I do, that beauty comes from a good, decent soul, then I’m afraid it would be hard to look upon you.”

  Carissa simply shrugged. “It’s what I expected to hear from you though talking about surface beauty, I’d have to say that your brother Artair is the handsomest of the lot of you Sinclare men.”

  “So say all the women, though Lachlan would disagree,” Ronan said. “But what of you? Not one sibling to torment or tease or rescue you?”

  “I always believed that, with my father’s salacious appetite, he had to have sired many bastards, though he laid claim to none. I was the only legitimate child born of his loins, though…”

  Ronan watched as if a mask slipped off her face, her eyes softening and her tongue along with it.

  “There was a young boy…we grew close like siblings.”

  “What happened to him?

  The mask returned so swiftly that Ronan wondered if he had seen the change in her at all.

  “He was sent away.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged again. “He was no longer of any use to my father.”

  Ronan noticed that Carissa often shrugged as if indifferent to the matter, but for a moment he thought he had caught a glint of hurt in her eyes when she spoke of the young boy. Could it be possible that she wasn’t as coldhearted as he believed?

  “You must have missed him?”

  “I got over it fast enough,” she said.

  Her dismissive response convinced Ronan that her heart was as cold as ever.

  Conversation dwindled after that, Ronan lost in his thoughts and Carissa in hers. He wished the storm would abate so that they could depart. It was difficult sharing close quarters with his enemy, especially finding her in his arms each morning when he woke.

  He had thought with the bed in front of the hearth there would be sufficient heat to keep them apart. But not so, they seemed to drift together, heat or no heat, and that troubled him. He tried logic as Artair would do, telling himself that the bed was narrow and therefore it would seem only reasonable that they would sleep close. But it wasn’t closely they slept. They slept wrapped in each other’s arms, almost as if they feared being parted.

  Every morning he woke and found his arms wrapped tightly around her and her snuggled close against him, he grew more annoyed. And his agitation continued to grow when he felt a punch to his gut as if warning him not to let her go.

  He was going mad, completely insane with the thought that he would have any desire at all for a woman who had caused him so much suffering.

  Tonight, he told himself, tonight he would keep his distance from her, no matter what it took.

  Carissa hugged the edge of the bed, facing the hearth and watching the steady yet awkward dance of the flames. It was one of those moments she knew that tears could normally fall, but not a drop slipped from her eyes.

  She had trained herself too well not to shed a tear, though she often wished that old Ula’s words would come true. That one day she would cry tears of joy. She would love not only to cry, but to feel joy without the sense of impending doom.

  But why hope? It had never done her any good. Actually, anytime she had hoped, it seemed she suffered the consequences.

  Her father had warned her time and again never to trust, especially anyone who claimed himself a friend. But her heart had thought differently, and she had dared to make friends with a slave boy when she was young. Dykar became like a brother to her and she a sister to him. They had made certain no one knew of their friendship, for her father would certainly have punished her, and in all likelihood he would have killed Dykar. They played in the woods, sturdy branches being trusty swords and imaginary games helping them to learn to track and plot against an enemy.

  While they had been stolen times, they had also been memorable and had made her life that more bearable…until Dykar, like any brother, started to become more protective of her.

  He hadn’t been able to stomach the way her father treated her, especially when Mordrac raised his hand to her. Carissa knew it was only a matter of time before Dykar couldn’t stand it any longer, and to Carissa’s horror it happened. Six years ago, when she was fourteen and Dykar had just turned eighteen, he had spoken up in Carissa’s defense.

  Her father had grown furious and ordered Dykar to be whipped at sunrise and left on the post to die. Carissa could never have allowed that to happen to the young man she loved like a brother. So she helped him escape. Dykar had begged her to come with him, but she had refused and for good reason.

  Mordrac would have searched heaven and hell to retrieve his daughter, and find her he would have, and then have brutally killed the man with whom she had dared to run off. However, if she remained and convinced her father that Dykar wasn’t worth the tro
uble, and she was glad he was gone, then Dykar had a good chance of surviving.

  He reluctantly departed, and while her heart broke, she shed not a tear. She could not let her father see how much Dykar’s absence hurt her. And so she returned to being Mordrac’s daughter, steeling her heart and losing all hope…until Ronan.

  She almost laughed. He thought Carissa beautiful and ugly at the same time. Her father would have been proud of her, for he wanted everyone to see her beauty yet fear her as they did him, since he certainly had no soul.

  Carissa believed that she must have gotten her kindness from her mother. She often wondered if her mother had simply died because she could not live with Mordrac’s cruelty and in death finally found peace. At least she could take comfort in knowing that when she met death, she would be reunited with her mother in the afterlife.

  She had thought her father’s death a fitting punishment, and she felt no sorrow when she had learned of it. She had believed it inevitable. He couldn’t have inflicted that much suffering on so many and think he wouldn’t reap the consequences.

  From what she had learned, Cavan hadn’t wasted a moment in condemning Mordrac to death for his crimes, and that made her admire the Highlander even more. But it was the fact that he had carried out his own edict that made her respect him. Cavan had no other man soil his hands on the task, but rather he had, in front of all to see, ended Mordrac’s terrifying reign.

  Oddly enough, she believed her father probably also admired and respected Cavan for that, for he had not died at the hands of a mere warrior but at the hands of a leader of men.

  Fear suddenly gripped her, and she turned to face the man she loved and the man who intended to take her life.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t stop a shred of hope from surfacing. Maybe, just maybe, the heavens would finally smile down on her, and Ronan would see her for who she truly was, the woman he loved. And they would live happily ever after.