The Highlander's Forbidden Bride Read online

  She almost laughed again. How many times did she need to be hurt and disappointed before she accepted that there was no hope for her, and least of all for them?

  She almost reached out and touched his lips, the lips that had kissed her and left her wanting more. She recalled their first kiss with a smile. He hadn’t been able to see her, but that hadn’t stopped his hands from exploring her face with a tender touch.

  One night when she had sneaked to see him, he had whispered while brushing his fingers across her lips, how kissable they felt.

  “I want to kiss you,” he had said.

  “I want you to kiss me,” she had responded, and recalled the eager thudding of her heart.

  And he had. His lips replaced his fingers, and he gently captured her lips with his, and he feasted on her and she on him, the exquisite sensation spreading throughout her entire body and making her shiver down to her soul.

  She hadn’t wanted him to stop, and he hadn’t wanted to. stop. If a sound hadn’t frightened them apart, she had often wondered how far the kiss would have taken them.

  Other times and other kisses and added touches had brought them close to making love, but it was never to be, and she wished, how she wished, they could be lovers for one night, just one night.

  Lord, can’t you give me one night?

  A foolish wish that would never be answered, just like all the other foolish wishes.

  Carissa turned over and once again faced the hearth. She had to keep her distance from him and keep her mind on an escape. It could never be between them and if her father had taught her anything, he had taught her to survive.

  And survive she would, even while losing the man she loved.

  Chapter 12

  Ronan woke alone in bed, pleased that he didn’t find Carissa in his arms. Then realizing she wasn’t in bed, he bolted up to look around the single room. She was nowhere. He jumped out of bed and dressed quickly.

  He didn’t know if he was the fool for thinking she wouldn’t attempt an escape, or she was the fool for even thinking she could survive such horrid weather. He mumbled several oaths as he pulled on his boots and just as he was about to grab his cloak and rush out the door, it opened.

  He took firm hold of it, the wind trying to force entrance as Carissa stumbled in with a large cauldron of snow. After shutting the door, he grabbed the cauldron from her, setting it in the hearth.

  “It’s brutal out there,” she said, her teeth chattering as she unsuccessfully tried to untie her cloak.

  Ronan was appalled to see how red and cramped her hands were and he quickly offered his assistance and undid her ties. He hung her cloak on the peg by the door, then returned to take her hands gently in his.

  They felt like ice, and she cringed when he touched them.

  “You should not have gone out there,” he scolded, and hurried her to sit in the rocking chair in front of the hearth. He then continued to gently rub warmth back into her hands.

  “I wish to wash myself from head to toe,” she said, her teeth still chattering.

  His tone continued to scold, though not sharply. “You should have waited for me to wake.”

  She smiled. “Since you snored heavily, I didn’t expect you to wake anytime soon.”

  “I snore?” he asked, surprised, while concentrating on her fingers. They were long and slim for one so petite, and though the cold had taken a harsh bite, her flesh warmed to his touch and slowly grew silky soft.

  “Not all the time,” she said.

  Gently and methodically, he worked on the stiff joints, massaging heat back into each individual finger. Speech lapsed between them while he continued to rub and stroke her delicate flesh.

  It heated further with every stroke, and the more soft and pliable her flesh became, the more he wanted to continue to touch her. He even extended his massage up along her arm, slipping his fingers under the sleeve of her blouse and kneading the supple flesh to further chase the chill.

  He moved his body in closer, and as his fingers moved past her breast, he slowed, allowing the sides of them to brush dangerously close. Though her soft wool blouse prevented him from feeling her plush breasts, just the thought of them hardened his loins.

  He turned his head, not realizing how close their faces were, and was startled by the surging passion in her blue eyes, and the plumpness of her moist lips. And for a moment, a sheer moment of utter madness, he was tempted to kiss her.

  The sudden realization was like a sharp slap in the face and he sprang off his haunches to stand a distance away from her, saying, “Let the flames do the rest.”

  “The flames will only heat me more,” she said with a sultry passion that had his loins growing tauter with desire.

  He silently told himself that the problem was simply that he had gone too long without a woman. He needed to release his pent-up passion and be done with it. But he’d be damned if he was going to release it between the legs of the woman responsible for Hope’s death.

  “I could satisfy you.”

  Her whispery voice conjured up images of her rising naked over him and riding him until he burst with pleasure.

  He shook away the tempting pictures and gathered his wits. “I have no doubt you could since you obviously inherited your father’s salacious appetite.”

  “Then why not taste?” she offered.

  “I believe it would be too bitter to my liking.”

  She laughed. “Or perhaps the taste would be so intoxicating you could not get enough of it.”

  “I knew such an intoxicating taste once, and I relished it.” He shook his head. “And never will I know it again, for I will never love anyone as I love Hope.”

  They both turned silent for a time until Carissa finally stood.

  “While the snow melts and heats the water, I’ll prepare the morning meal, then I intend to wash myself from head to toe, so if you prefer not to see me naked, I suggest you find something to keep you distracted.”

  Ronan moved out of her way, brushing quickly past her to take refuge in the rocking chair. She was challenging him, and it galled him to wonder if it was one challenge he’d have a hard time winning.

  Breakfast was a silent affair and over much too soon for Ronan’s liking. There truly wasn’t anything that would keep him distracted. He couldn’t go and collect extra logs from the stack outside without causing a chill while she washed. He was left with one option, and he took it.

  As Carissa readied a spot close to the hearth, Ronan took the rocking chair and turned it around and sat with his back to her, waiting for a stinging comment from her.

  “A wise move, Highlander,” she said with a hint of a laugh. “But don’t expect the same of me. I’ll take great pleasure in watching you.”

  Damn, if she hadn’t backed him into another corner. He couldn’t very well go without washing. Just hearing the cloth scrub against her flesh had him itching to take a cloth to his own skin. And he fought to keep that thought in mind, trying to avoid any image of her nakedness from invading his senses.

  He’d find a way to wash up without her sitting there staring at him.

  She was petite like Hope.

  Where had that thought come from? But now that it had popped into his head, he couldn’t get rid of it. Carissa was as petite as Hope. Thinking on it, he realized that their fingers were similar, long and slim. But their voices were not at all alike. Hope’s was soft, more like a whisper, where Carissa’s was bold and her tone direct.

  He shut his eyes, the darkness bringing back memories of his time with Hope. He had never looked upon her, his eyes swollen shut and healing slow. But he felt as if he’d know her when he saw her, though he never had the chance. Now, thinking on it, he recalled how soft and wavy Hope’s hair was, and long. He had loved running his fingers through the thick, silky strands, the waves bouncing down along his arm and making his flesh tingle.

  And then there were her lips, plump to the touch and taste, much like Carissa’s. The thought startled his ey
es open. He didn’t like the comparisons he was making. The two women were not at all alike.

  But there were similarities, and why had he only just noticed them?

  Them. That was the key, there was more than one.

  He shook his head. But there were also differences. One difference was their voices, another was…

  He thought…this was nonsense. Complete nonsense.

  Carissa and Hope were two different people. Hope was kind and caring. Carissa was coldhearted and selfish. But both were masks that could easily be worn.

  Was he mad? Thinking the two women could be one?

  Impossible!

  His mind was playing tricks on him. Being stuck here with Carissa was causing crazy thoughts. He missed Hope, ached for her, and in his pain, his mind played tricks on him. Hope had been real, and she had loved him as he loved her. He would have never fallen in love with his enemy. Carissa would never have been able to hide her harsh nature. He would have known.

  He closed his eyes again and rested his head back, recalling the stolen moments he had spent with Hope. He most loved the nights she would come to him and lie beside him, their fingers entwined—long, slim fingers.

  “Damn,” he mumbled and sprang out of the rocker, almost upsetting it as he turned and, too late, realized his mistake.

  She was stark naked, the firelight dancing off her damp skin. Wisps of her long, blond hair escaped the comb that tried to hold the chaotic waves, falling along her slim neck and framing her face. Her face was flushed from the heat of the fire, or perhaps more from the passion he saw spark in her eyes. That she was exquisite was undeniable, that he was tempted to take her was undeniable, that he would…never.

  He marched right past her, his hands fisted tightly at his sides to keep him from reaching out and snatching her into his arms. He clamped his mouth shut, for fear he would be too tempted to taste her nipples, which taunted him with their round, hard peaks. And he kept his eyes averted from the curvaceous lines that he was certain promised paradise on earth, or more likely endless damnation.

  Instead, he swiped his cloak from the peg, and said. “You had best get dressed. It’s going to get mighty cold in here as I bring in stacks of firewood.”

  He shut the door hard behind him and stood a moment, grateful for the sharp wind that bit at his face. He needed his ardor cooled, and he wouldn’t stop refurbishing the woodpile in the cottage until he was doused like a cold campfire.

  Carissa hurried into a clean linen shift and donned a dark green, wool skirt and blouse. She dug out knitted black stockings from her bundle of clothes and pulled them on. She was sitting on a chair by the fire combing her hair when he entered.

  He didn’t glance her way. He took the chopped wood over to the spot where the bed had once been and stacked the wood on top of the pile that was already there. Then he turned and marched out the door, again not casting a glance in her direction.

  Her hands trembled slightly as she arranged her hair up on her head, forcing one comb to hold all the thick waves in place. She didn’t bother with the few that escaped, fearing if he returned, he would see her hands trembling.

  Staying true to Carissa’s audacious nature, she had purposely goaded him about watching her wash though she hoped he wouldn’t, and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to.

  She truly wished to keep him at a distance, especially after he had so gently tended her iced fingers. He had touched her with such tenderness and came so near to kissing her that she realized he could be dangerously close to discovering the truth.

  He might not have seen Hope with clear vision, but with his every touch he had become familiar with her, and those loving touches could not easily be forgotten. And then what would happen if he discovered Hope was none other than Carissa?

  She shook her head, not wanting to think of the consequences. He would certainly believe she had tricked him. He would never accept that she was more like Hope than Carissa. He had too much hate invested in Carissa to think otherwise.

  The door swung open again, and Ronan kicked it shut so hard behind him that it trembled. She remained sitting on the chair by the hearth. Now was not the time for chatter. She much preferred silent observation.

  He stacked the wood with more force than necessary, and this time as he strode past her, he didn’t take his eyes off her. He glared at her as if he were looking through her. However, Carissa would never shrink away in fear.

  No, she’d boldly speak her mind, so she tossed her chin up, and said, “It looks like you regret not accepting my offer.”

  His nostrils flared, and he looked ready to pounce on her, though certainly not with passion. Instead, he stormed out of the cottage. The door once again trembled as he slammed it shut, and she shuddered.

  She had been foolish. She had hungered for his gentle touch and surrendered to it. He and Hope had laced fingers so often, that there was a chance he would recall her familiar touch. And yet she had dismissed it without a thought.

  If she wanted to survive this ordeal and eventually escape, she would have to be more diligent. And she would need to make certain that Carissa remained dominant. She couldn’t allow Ronan even a brief moment of doubt.

  He was back in no time, again stacking the wood with more force than needed.

  “Angry with yourself,” she shot at him as he hurried past her.

  “No,” he nearly shouted. “With you.”

  She laughed. “Because I tempt you?”

  “Who are you?” he demanded as he approached her.

  She bolted off the chair. “You know very well who I am.”

  He tore off his cloak and flung it on the bed, then ran a rough hand through his hair as if he wanted to tear it out. He turned his head away, and Carissa knew that he was trying to temper his anger.

  What disturbed her even more was that his present reaction was a good indication of how he would feel if he learned the truth about her. He would not be happy to discover Hope alive. He would think Carissa an even-more-deceitful woman. He would never believe the truth.

  He turned to glare at her, his anger abated, though his eyes still heated. “You are a deceitful and selfish woman, who I will never trust.”

  “You mean who you fear,” she corrected smugly.

  He moved closer to loom menacingly over her. “I never feared you, hated, yes, but never did I fear you.”

  She didn’t shrink away from his attempted intimidation. With a prideful stretch and her shoulders squared and calling on all the courage she possessed, she looked him straight in the eyes. “And you have good reason to, for it was a pleasure squeezing the last breath of life out of the woman you loved.”

  Chapter 13

  Ronan was dangerously close to doing to her precisely what she had done to Hope, but he controlled himself. Perhaps it was because that shred of doubt that had suddenly risen to torment him lingered in the back of his mind. And he had to settle it before he did anything else.

  “In time, Carissa, you will pay for all you’ve done to me and my family.”

  “I’ll worry about that when”—she laughed—“or rather if it ever comes about.”

  “Still confident you’ll escape me?” he asked, his own confidence and calm restored.

  “I know I will,” she answered, and walked past him to turn the rocking chair around and sit.

  He remained standing, feeling he had gained the upper hand somehow and suddenly wanting to discover more about this woman, who he realized was more of an enigma to him than he had suspected.

  “Even if you managed such a remarkable feat,” he said, “where would you go? I don’t imagine you have many friends left in the area.”

  “You think I would admit to any resources?”

  “I truly can’t imagine you having any,” he said. “Your father was the last of a dying breed of vicious conquerors who had no true homeland and wanted nothing more than destruction and power. He made only enemies, no friends, and since you are his daughter, you suffer from the same
foolishness.”

  “I can assure you that I’m not as foolish as my father.”

  “And yet here you sit,” he said with a wave of his hand toward her, “captured.”

  “We’re both captives,” she corrected.

  “Of a storm that continues to brew,” he finished.

  She smiled. “Inside as well as outside.”

  He leaned toward her. “With nothing but time on our hands, let’s discuss how you acquired the slave I called Hope.”

  Warning bells sounded in Carissa’s head. Why did he suddenly wish personal information about Hope? He had asked once or twice about where she had originally come from, but she had managed to redirect the query to him and his family, which, of course, wouldn’t bode well for her now. If he discovered the truth, he would think she had been trying to garner information about the Sinclares.

  “Can’t remember?” he asked accusingly when her answer took too long in coming.

  “We had many slaves. I’m trying to recall when and where it was we acquired her.” She grinned for fear of being discovered. “But shouldn’t you know that? After all, you two were in love and should know everything about each other.”

  “I’m realizing that sometimes we don’t truly know a person as well as we thought.”

  His response would have knocked Carissa off her feet if she hadn’t been sitting down. Something obviously had stirred a memory that sent him doubting. Damn her for being such a fool.

  “Are you saying that you didn’t truly know Hope?”

  “I’m saying that I want to know what you know about Hope.”

  “What would I know about slaves?” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. “They were brought to the compound after raids, and my father decided their fate.”

  “What fate did he decree for Hope?”

  “To serve my needs.”

  “So Hope was your slave,” he confirmed.

  “All slaves were property of my father.” Carissa bit her tongue, for she knew as Hope she had told him that very same thing.