Loved By a Warrior Page 7

  “I’ve been trying to tell you that you’re paying me handsomely for services rendered, so no thanks are necessary, but you seemed far away in your musings.”

  She purposely ignored his remark about her lack of attention. She certainly didn’t want to share her thoughts with him.

  “Your kindness needn’t have been part of our agreement, and yet you treated me thoughtfully, and for that I am grateful.”

  He turned a grin on her. “How could I have treated you any other way? My mother would skin me alive if I acted improper to a lady.”

  “Your mother taught you well.”

  “She taught my brothers and me whether we liked it or not,” Reeve said with a laugh. “None of us dared disobey her, or we would feel her mighty retribution.”

  “She wielded a heavy hand?” Tara asked.

  Reeve shook his head. “Mum never raised a hand to any of us.”

  “Yet you obeyed her?”

  “She had other more wicked ways of punishing.”

  “She doesn’t sound very nice,” Tara said, not wanting to think of him as a small lad made to suffer harsh punishment.

  “Mum may be blunt and makes sure she’s heard, but one thing she isn’t and that is cruel. She’s a good person with a good heart. I think you’ll like her.”

  “You have me curious,” Tara said. “In one breath you praise her, and in another you tell me she made you suffer wicked punishments.”

  Reeve laughed. “There are far worse punishments to make a young lad suffer than to raise your hand to him.”

  “I must know. Tell me.”

  “One that had my brothers and me thinking twice was that she would cook for us.” Reeve shook his head. “Her food is barely eatable, and we would be made to eat every bit of it.” Reeve scrunched his nose in distaste.

  Tara laughed. “It truly stopped you and your brothers from doing something you shouldn’t?”

  “We would argue amongst ourselves, reminding one another how bad the last meal was we were forced to eat, and if that wasn’t enough, my father pleaded with us not to make our suffering his.”

  Tara laughed again.

  “Perhaps I could teach her to bake—”

  “No!”

  His shout made her jump.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It’s been tried, and we lost a reasonably good cook in the process. We now have a great cook, and my father and brothers will do anything to keep her.”

  “What other punishments did your mother employ?”

  Reeve rolled his eyes. “God help us, she would sing.”

  “Her singing is not pleasing?”

  “Pleasing?” He cringed and shook his head. “The dogs howl, the cats screech, and everyone runs for cover.”

  Tara couldn’t stop laughing.

  “It truly isn’t funny,” Reeve said though he grinned. “She would make us sit while she sang song after song. Then the stupid songs and her grating voice would be stuck in my head for hours, sometimes days, afterwards.”

  “Does she still find reason to sing now?’

  “Not much, but now and again she’ll break into song, and we run as far away as we can.”

  Tara’s stomach hurt she was laughing so much. When it finally subsided, she said, “Now I’m going to have to hear her sing to see if you’re simply teasing me.”

  “Please, I beg you, warn me first so that I can hurry off.”

  Tara laughed again, enjoying hearing about Reeve’s family.

  “I think we should stop shortly and give the horse and us a chance to rest,” Reeve suggested. “Then we can pick up the pace, and if all goes well, we can make it home by nightfall.”

  “I could use a stretch,” she said.

  They found a spot, tethered the horse to a pine branch, and Reeve spread his extra plaid on the snow-covered ground. Tara stretched the ache out of her back once off the horse and wished she could rub the soreness out of her backside.

  Her ankle was feeling much better, and so, without hesitation, she lowered herself to the blanket. The added pressure produced a sharp twinge in her ankle, and she almost toppled over. Luckily, Reeve caught her around the waist.

  “Too stubborn to ask for help?” he asked, bracing her weight against him.

  She almost relaxed against him, as if it was the most natural thing to do, but caught her unwise reaction and steeled herself. “Too foolish for my own good.”

  “A woman who can admit when she’s wrong, I like that,” he said, giving her waist a gentle squeeze and, with a supportive arm around her, lowered her to the blanket.

  “Truth speaks wiser than lies. It’s just that no one truly listens to it.”

  Reeve lowered himself beside her. “Perhaps lies are just easier to hear.”

  “Not to an honorable man,” she said.

  They stared at each other for a moment, and Tara had the urge to reach out and touch him as she had done once before, but, as before, she clasped her hands together, preventing herself from taking such liberties.

  However, it didn’t stop Reeve. His hand reached out, and his fingers faintly brushed along the top of her cheeks just below her eyes. “I’ve never seen such beautiful-colored eyes.”

  She yanked her face away. “No intimate touches.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She swung her head around to face him. “Don’t ever touch me like that again. Ever.”

  Reeve nodded, and they remained silent while sharing the bread Willow had packed for them.

  Tara nibbled at her share, no longer hungry. She wished that she could explain to him that it hadn’t been his gentle touch that had disturbed her. She had quite enjoyed it. It had sent a pleasant tingle through her, and she would have loved for him to have continued, dangerous though it was.

  It had been when he had mentioned the color of her eyes. It had brought back the memories of the curse. Most assumed it had originated with Rory’s death on their wedding day, and so she had been deemed a death bride, but the curse had come upon her many years before, and she would do well to remember it.

  Tara turned her head away from Reeve when his hands went to her waist to lift her to the saddle.

  “Don’t turn away from me.”

  Though his remark was stern, there was compassion in it, and so she looked at him.

  “I didn’t mean to offend, and for that I am sorry. I am, however, not sorry for letting you know that you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.”

  His heartfelt confession sent flutters through her stomach, and it was then and there she knew that she was in trouble. She truly liked this man, this Highlander warrior who had saved her and had given her a chance at a new life. And that would not do at all. She could not take the chance of seeing him harmed. She simply could not, and she had to keep reminding herself of that. Once they arrived at his home, she would need to keep her distance. She had no choice. It was the way of it plain and simple. And the truth of it pained her heart.

  They rode the remainder of the way in silence. The air turned crisper and colder as the day wore on. And when dusk looked ready to claim the land, Tara feared that they would have to camp for the night. Then, suddenly, beyond a slight rise, she saw a village.

  She grew excited to see her new home, and she wished that night wasn’t fast approaching. She wanted to see it all though she knew by the time they arrived, night would be upon them, and she would catch just a glimpse.

  No matter, though, there was tomorrow and the day after and the day after that and on and on. She would live here, isolated if she must, and have a good life. She would make it so; she had no other choice.

  The village appeared deserted when they entered, but then the temperature had dropped in the last hour, leaving the air biting cold. The villagers were surely tucked safe and warm in their cottages. They passed several and a sizeable grain storehouse, but it was too dark to distinguish anything else except the keep. It rose in a cylindrical shape at the far end of the village. Blazing torches
flanked the wooden door, and as Reeve dismounted, a young lad stepped out of the shadows and reached for the horse’s reins.

  “Take good care of her, Robbie,” Reeve said, “and I’ll see that you get extra sweets tonight.”

  The young lad, piled thick with extra clothing and a winter cap pulled down tight, grinned, a wide gap being where two front teeth should be. “I’ll rub her down and feed her well.”

  Robbie stood patiently as Reeve reached up and slipped his hands inside her cape and took hold of her waist. He lowered her gently to the ground, and Robbie led the horse away as Reeve asked, “Does your ankle pain you too much to walk?”

  She certainly had no intentions of being in his arms when first meeting his family. She intended to portray an independent, viable woman who could look after herself.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, and stepped forward.

  Her foot connected with a patch of ice, and before she knew what was happening, her feet were flying out from under her, while her hands flayed frantically in the air.

  Tara heard his laughter before she felt his arms catch her and scoop her up.

  “I’m forever saving you,” he teased, and with a slight toss, adjusted her in his arms.

  “I can walk,” she insisted, keeping her hands to herself though she would have much preferred to wrap her arms around his neck and linger in his embrace. Since, no doubt, it could very well be the last time he ever held her that way.

  “That’s debatable.” He laughed and walked up the steps to the keep.

  As much as she preferred to remain in his arms, she said, “I’d rather your family not see me this way.”

  “In my arms, or injured?” he asked in a teasing whisper.

  “Both,” she confirmed.

  His murmur of laughter tickled her ear. “But it’s the way of things.”

  Before she could argue, he opened the door and strode into a large room, trestle tables and benches scattered about with all but one being empty. The two women and three men gathered round it were busy in chatter sprinkled liberally with laughter and hadn’t heard them enter.

  “Sure, leave me to handle it all,” Reeve shouted, and they turned.

  The older, pleasantly plump woman, her curly auburn hair piled high on her head, shouted out, “You’ve gone and brought me another daughter.” She rushed toward them while the others remained where they were, the older man shaking his head, though grinning.

  “It’s another celebration we’ll be having,” the woman said when she was almost upon them.

  Tara was too stunned by the woman’s exuberance to speak, but she did cast an anxious glance to Reeve.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he whispered.

  “Tell her,” Tara whispered. “Tell her now that I am not your wife.” A shudder raced through her at the mere thought, or was that a shiver of excitement?

  “The thought that upsetting?” he asked, though without a trace of his usual teasing. He actually appeared serious.

  “No, that dangerous.”

  “And why are you carrying her?” the woman demanded once she reached them. “Is she not well?” Her face suddenly beamed with joy. “A babe! She’s with babe. Lord have mercy, it’s two grandbabies I’ll be having soon.”

  Tara turned, looked at the woman, and shouted though she hadn’t meant to. “No, I’m not with child.”

  “That’s all right, dear,” the woman consoled. “You will be soon enough.”

  Tara turned pleading eyes on Reeve.

  “Tara, meet my mother, Mara. Mum, meet my friend Tara.”

  Mara patted Tara’s arm. “It’s good to be friends first. My husband Carmag and me were friends first and we’re remained best friends ever since, though he does try my patience at times.” She looked to her son. “Why are you carrying her?”

  “She’s hurt her ankle.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Mara scolded, and gave his arm a playful slap. “Come set her down and let me have a look.”

  Tara almost feared letting go of Reeve once at the table. The men were a large lot, each one of them seeming bigger than the next, though none as tall as Reeve, but certainly wide. How the small petite woman tucked between two of them managed not to get squashed amazed Tara.

  The diminutive woman with hair as black as Tara’s and eyes as blue as shimmering sapphires moved to stand, and the man to her right instantly stood and, with a gentle grab of her waist, had her up and over the bench in a second.

  Seeing her rounded stomach, Tara assumed that she had to be Mercy, Duncan’s wife, and the man who had lovingly lifted her had to be Duncan. He was wide and thick with muscle and had fine features despite the slight crook of his nose and a scar at the right corner of his mouth. And that he loved his petite wife was obvious by his loving touch, tender smile, and reluctance to let her go. The woman eased his hands away and walked around the table to join Mara.

  Reeve confirmed it when he made fast introductions of everyone from Bryce, to Duncan and Mercy, and finally his father, Carmag. Trey wasn’t present, and when Reeve asked after him, he was informed that he wouldn’t be home for about a week.

  Tara felt awful that Mara chased her husband off the end of the bench so that she could rest Tara’s leg up on it. And she gave a shout for Reeve to take Tara’s cloak.

  “I hope you didn’t let her walk on this,” Mara said, glaring at her son.

  “I got her a horse.”

  Mara beamed. “That’s my son, doing the right thing.”

  That started a rash of ribbing among the brothers, and Tara enjoyed listening to the good-natured exchange.

  After Mara and Mercy examined her ankle, Mara announced, “Not much you can do but stay off it.”

  “That’s what Willow recommended,” Tara said.

  “You saw Willow and Old Jacob?” Mara asked of Reeve. Before he could answer, she asked, “How are they doing?”

  “They could use some help. The king’s men were tormenting him when I arrived, and he had hid Willow in the root cellar.”

  “The king has stepped up his activities in his pursuit to prevent the true king from claiming the throne,” Carmag said.

  “But the people continue to rally,” Duncan advised.

  “Tara being one of them,” Reeve said, sending her a nod. “She has offered to give the MacAlpin clan her fortune in return for her making this her home. She only asks for a cottage where she may live peaceably and safely.”

  Everyone raved about her generosity though truly it was her father’s generosity. But she intended to make no mention of it, just as Reeve hadn’t mentioned the true reason she was there.

  Tara lifted the end of her red velvet dress and tore at the hem. One by one, she withdrew purses heavy with coins and some with gems and placed them on the table, until finally there were no more, at least no more that they could see. She wasn’t foolish. If something should go wrong here, she would need money to go elsewhere, and so she kept two purses for herself.

  They all sat staring at the substantial amount, except Mara, who said, “Now that looks like a good bride price to me.”

  Chapter 9

  Tara’s eyes never failed to captivate him. At the moment, however, they were filled with utter fear, and he knew that she worried about his family discovering the truth. This was her chance to start anew, and he wanted to make certain she got the opportunity. He wanted that dumb curse dispelled once and for all.

  However, he could not lie to his family, and so he said, “Tara is a widow.”

  “Oh you poor thing,” Mara said, patting Tara’s arm.

  “She would like to start fresh.” Reeve went with the truth while omitting other facts.

  “Well, you’re welcome to make your home with the clan MacAlpin,” Mara said, and the others sang out their agreement.

  Tara smiled. “Thank you all so very much. I know this will be a good place for me.”

  “There’s a cottage not far from the keep, with a sizeable kitchen garden be
side it,” Mercy said. “I think you would like it.”

  Reeve knew Tara would prefer to be a distance from others, but for some reason he preferred she remain close to the keep. He supposed his feelings were thus because he had been protecting and saving her ever since crossing her path. Besides, who else was there to look after her?

  “There’s also old Alan’s place,” Bryce suggested. “It’s close to the keep—”

  Mara interrupted shaking her head. “It may sit close to the keep, but it sits alone, removed from the closeness of others, and it has fallen in disrepair.”

  “I’ll take it,” Tara said.

  Reeve grinned. He knew she would; it was perfect for her and for him. It was what she was hoping for, and it was close enough for him to keep a frequent eye on her.

  “Have a look at both first before you make a decision,” Mara suggested, handing Tara a tankard of hot cider.

  “Thank you, I’ll do that,” Tara said, wrapping her hands around the offered mug.

  She may have agreed with Mara’s suggestion, but Reeve knew that her mind was made up. She would choose the secluded cottage.

  “I can take care of any repairs that need doing,” Reeve offered, knowing that none of them would be going on any lengthy missions until Trey returned from his.

  “We all can give a hand,” Duncan said, and nods rippled around the table.

  “Thank you,” Tara said. “I am grateful for your generosity.”

  “It is you who have been more than generous,” Carmag said.

  And more than tired, Reeve thought, noticing how her shoulders slumped, and her head rested slightly to the side. She was exhausted and probably in pain though she would not admit it.

  “She needs sleep,” Reeve said, going around and scooping her up in his arms. “I’ll put her in my bedchamber.”

  He was surprised when she didn’t protest. She simply sighed, and, before resting her head to his shoulder, she asked, “I don’t wish to deprive you of your bed.”

  “Reeve can sleep in my sewing room,” Mara said.

  All heads turned to Mara, her sewing room a sacred sanctum that one could only enter with her permission. Reeve repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly, “Your sewing room?”