The Highlander's Forbidden Bride Page 9

  “But she answered to you.”

  “That’s right. Hope did my bidding.”

  “And out of the generosity of your heart, you had her tend the captives that were wounded?”

  She laughed. “My father cared little for the wounded warriors he captured. They died or he sold them to mercenaries for a sizeable purse. You, however, were special, and I was ordered to see that you survived. So I had my slave tend you.”

  “How long had Hope been your slave?”

  “If I recall correctly, since she was young,” Carissa said cautiously.

  Ronan nodded as if agreeing. “Hope had told me she had been a slave for as long as she could remember.”

  “That was probably because there was nothing else for her to remember.”

  “She never told me her age,” he said.

  “It was never recorded or celebrated,” she said. “I’d say she was around eighteen or nineteen.”

  “What did she look like?”

  How did she describe herself? No, not Carissa, but Hope. What did Hope look like? She thought a moment then said, “She was gentle, soft-spoken, kind—”

  “I mean her features, not her nature.”

  “Her nature was her features,” she said, knowing that was all she could say to describe Hope.

  His silence and scrunched brow reflected possible confusion or perhaps doubt. And either was better for her, for she imagined he much preferred to believe Hope real rather than think Carissa had played him for a fool.

  She rested her head back on the rocker and turned to gaze at the flames, grateful for the continued silence. She didn’t want to talk about Hope any longer. She would much rather be Hope.

  When had she begun to hide her true nature? Had she been four? Five? She couldn’t recall for sure. She only knew that her compassion infuriated her father, and so she hid it away and only took it out when he wasn’t around. If she accidentally allowed it to show, others suffered, so she learned to wear a mask at all times.

  Her father’s constant lesson had been that hate endures and love doesn’t. Therefore, hate served a better purpose than love. Her father had never once told her that he loved her. The only one who ever showed her any kind of love, which she cherished, had been Dykar.

  When she first found herself falling in love with Ronan, she’d been surprised and fearful. Nothing good would come of it, only more sorrow and disappointment for her. But it had been so very easy to fall in love with him. He had been vulnerable and frightened, and yet in spite of it all, he possessed courage. And he was unselfish, a trait she had only seen in a few people. He was not only concerned for his own welfare but asked often about his brother and worried about her.

  It had been so very odd to have someone care about her, worry over her, want to protect her, and to feel that his every touch had simply been remarkable. To be touched so lovingly had been even more remarkable. Never had she been touched like that in her life, and she craved for more, so much more from him, only him. That was why it had been difficult to pull away from him when he had taken her hands in his.

  But her foolish mistake had cost her, and now she needed to be on guard more than ever. To her disappointment, her father had been right about something: Hate endures.

  Ronan sat in the rocking chair, watching Carissa sleep. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to get in bed with her. He didn’t like what he was thinking, the possibility infuriated him. If Carissa had pretended to be the slave Hope, she had made a complete fool out of him.

  And why hadn’t he ever considered it before?

  Being unable to see had been traumatic and more fearful than he had ever imagined possible. He hadn’t known where he was, hadn’t known if he was alone or if someone stood silent guard over him, hadn’t known how severe his wounds, hadn’t been able to help himself at all. Hope had been God sent. She had been kind and had immediately eased his fears and concerns with thoughtful words and a gentle touch. As ridiculous the thought, he had felt safe with her. Not that she could have protected him, but her calm, reassuring presence had brought him at least a modicum of relief. And to think it possible that all along it might very well have been Carissa playing him for a fool, made him want to make her suffer even more.

  He shook his head as it rested in his cupped hands. The things he had confided in her about himself and his family. He raised his head and shook it again. Could it truly be so? Or was this forced confinement driving him crazy with thoughts that were simply ridiculous?

  Her nature was her features.

  Carissa had been right about that, and that was the one thought that kept him wondering. Could a woman with such a cold, uncaring heart portray a woman completely opposite in nature?

  He had never once thought Hope anyone other than who she was, a good-hearted woman who he had easily fallen in love with. Why did he allow himself to doubt that now?

  Hope had been just that to him…hope. Her encouraging nature had made it easier for him to believe that everything would be all right. He would survive, and he would eventually be free. Without her constant encouragement and care, he doubted he would have survived his confinement. So to question it now, to think it had all been a lie, a ruse, a trap not only infuriated him but left him feeling empty.

  If Carissa proved to be Hope, then the woman he loved had never existed. Everything they had shared had never existed, and that ripped at his heart as sharply as the mighty talons of a falcon.

  He sat back, sending the rocker into a soothing rhythm that began to lull him to sleep. He didn’t fight it; it let his eyes drift shut. In sleep, he would escape his doubts and never-ending thoughts…or would he?

  He smelled the familiar scent of apples before he felt her touch. Gentle, so very gentle. She bathed his swollen eyes.

  “You will see again, I promise.”

  He reached out, eager to touch her face, and she took hold of his hand and placed it against her cool cheek. His fingers were quick to search out her lips. He loved the feel of them and even more so after they kissed, for they would be plump with passion.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  And she obliged.

  Their kiss started out gentle, but it wasn’t long before it turned hungry with desire. And it wasn’t long before his loins hardened to an ache he longed to ease.

  A sudden noise tore them apart.

  “It’s nothing,” she assured him.

  “Then kiss me again,” he said, “for I miss your lips.”

  She laughed soft and easy before obliging him, and when it ended, she said, “I love you. I will always love you.”

  He took hold of her hand and laced her long slim fingers with his. “Nothing in this world will make me stop loving you. My heart forever belongs to you.”

  “Nothing?” she asked. “Nothing at all will stop you from loving me?”

  “Nothing,” he reiterated. “A strong, unwavering love connects you and me. We are one and always will be.”

  “Promise?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “I will hold you to it, Highlander.”

  Ronan’s eyes sprang open and he bolted straight up in the rocker.

  Carissa was the only one who called him Highlander, and he looked to where she slept in the bed. Had it been his worries that produced the dream, or had he been shown the truth?

  No answer came to him, but he would have one. No matter what it took he would find out the truth.

  Chapter 14

  The storm ended abruptly, just stopped as if someone had turned off a spigot. The gray clouds remained, but they didn’t portend more snow, merely dreary winter days.

  Carissa sat sharing the morning meal with Ronan. He had informed her of the change in the weather.

  “I’m going to scout the area and see if it’s feasible for us to leave here soon,” he said, finishing the last of his porridge.

  She nodded, knowing there was no point in disagreeing with him. And knowing she couldn’t prevent him from forcing her to
go with him. She had thought to make her own escape but knew that wasn’t a wise choice, and she had realized just this morning that Bethane would no doubt send word to Dykar of her departure from the safety of the village Black.

  Over the years, Dykar and Bethane had become friends, and he would often bring his wounded warriors to her. Once he discovered that she had left and was on her own, he would look for her and, no doubt, Bethane had told him exactly where she could be found. With the weather clear, she knew Dykar would be coming for her. Her only course of action was to try to remain at the cottage until he arrived.

  “While I scout, I’ll also see about hunting fresh game for tonight,” he said.

  “I could make a fine stew if you’re lucky in your hunt.”

  He shook his head. “It still amazes me that you are an exceptional cook.”

  She smiled. It pleased her to hear him acknowledge it. She never had the opportunity to prepare meals for anyone. This forced confinement had provided her the chance, and she was grateful for having the opportunity to do something she actually enjoyed. Miraculously, she seemed to have all the ingredients she needed to prepare decent meals, and she had Bethane to thank for that. Evidently, she had made certain the cottage had been stacked with necessary provisions. The older woman probably had envisioned such a scenario as her own, a person stranded by a winter storm and needing shelter, and so she had prepared the cottage. Carissa often wished she had Bethane’s awareness.

  “You will miss my cooking?” she finally asked.

  “No need for me to,” he said. “You’ll be held at the Sinclare keep, and while awaiting your fate, your hands will prove useful in the kitchen.”

  Her smile widened. “I look forward to it.”

  Her easy compliance seemed to annoy him, for he bristled and hurried to snatch his cloak off the peg. “I’ll be close by.”

  “Afraid I’ll attempt an escape?”

  He flung his cloak around his shoulders as he turned to face her. “You wouldn’t get very far. I’d find you in no time.”

  “That confident are you?”

  “That determined to see you pay,” he said, and was out the door.

  Having heard the threat from him all too often, she barely paid heed to it. She knew her situation was precarious and needed no reminders. But ironically, this is where her father’s teachings helped. He had taught her no matter what the circumstance, never panic. Keep a clear head and never doubt yourself, and always keep a forward momentum, never, ever look back.

  Her heart disagreed. It continued to hope. It wanted to prove her father wrong about love. Her heart wanted to show that love not only endured, but conquered hate. Her father certainly would have laughed at her, told she was foolish. Furthermore, he would have punished her for believing such nonsense.

  But her father wasn’t here. She was free of his tyrannical rule, free to believe as she chose, free to hope.

  The thought lightened her burden, and she busied herself clearing the table. She was going to make bread. The whole process provided her with a peaceful calm she cherished. Ula had taught her that baking was an important skill and one born of love. It should be done with pride, for you are providing those you love with sustenance necessary to life. The thought that one day she would be able to do that for a family of her own had always lingered in her mind. And this brief time spent with Ronan had given her a glimpse into that, at least when they shared a meal. He never failed to enjoy any of the meals she prepared, and conversation always remained light when they ate. It allowed her to imagine and, in a sense, that gave her hope.

  Carissa got started, and the hours ticked away. It was near noon that she began to worry. Ronan should have returned hours ago. Something was wrong, she could feel it. If he had gotten hurt, he could be lying somewhere in the snow in need of help.

  She didn’t waste time with indecision. She grabbed her cloak from the peg and was out the door. The only thing she regretted was not having a weapon with her. Ronan had confiscated the only two she had, and though there was the knife she used for cooking, it wasn’t an adequate weapon.

  She wasn’t worried for herself. She had been trained to survive the wilderness with nothing more than her wits. She would do fine. It was Ronan who concerned her, and so she carefully followed his tracks, worried that something dreadful had happened to him. After all, he had reminded her time and again that nothing would stop him from making sure she paid for her crimes. Yet he hadn’t returned, which could mean only one thing.

  He couldn’t. Something had to have happened to him.

  With observant eyes and cautious steps, she followed his tracks, fearful of what she would find.

  The cold seeped into Ronan’s body, and he shivered as he struggled out of his stupor. He silently criticized himself for not being more careful as he tried to roll off his back and onto his side. The sharp pain that sliced through his head quickly quelled his effort.

  It was difficult to ascertain how long he had been lying on the ground with so much cloud covering overhead. At least with the sun and where it sat in the sky, he’d have a good indication of the time of day, but the clouds masked time, and so he had no idea how long after his fall he had lain unconscious. He also knew it was imperative that he not continue to lie there. He had to get himself moving.

  His vision began to clear, though not in his right eye. When he examined the area with his hand, he realized that he had suffered an abrasion just above his right eye and some of the blood had pooled there.

  He flinched as a pain shot through his wound, but what followed was far worse. Snow began to fall, and he cursed his own stupidity. He should have been more careful where he walked. He had been so eager to chase down the only animal, a wild deer, he had seen in the hour he had been surveying the results of the storm that he had slipped and hit his head on a snow-covered rock.

  “Get up,” he scolded himself, then wondered if Carissa would come in search of him. But why would she? It would be to her advantage if he didn’t return. That thought spurred him on and gave him enough impetus to roll on his side, though the effort cost him, the severe pain almost rendering him unconscious once again.

  The snow had already coated him with a light blanket, and he continued to shiver. He had to get on his feet. He had to get moving. His life depended on it.

  He struggled through the hazy dizziness the pain produced as he finally made it to his feet. He felt as if he weighed more than he could carry, and his vision turned blurry once again. He stumbled along, uncertain of the direction in which he traveled or what direction he should travel. Did he move farther away or closer to the cottage?

  He couldn’t determine; he only knew he needed to keep moving.

  “Ronan.”

  He thought he heard someone shout his name, so he stood still and listened but heard nothing. He dragged his feet while the pain continued to hammer at his head.

  “Ronan.”

  He was sure he heard it that time. Someone was calling out to him. He stilled and listened.

  “Ronan! Ronan!”

  He knew that voice, was familiar with the concern that echoed in his name. But it couldn’t be, Hope was dead. How could she be here searching for him?

  “Ronan!”

  It was her. He was sure of it. He had heard that fearful anxiety in her voice before. It was just before they parted, and as she had lain wrapped in his arms, he had promised that he would return for her and set her free.

  “Hope!” he shouted. “I’m here. I’ve come back.”

  His frantic response caused his head to spin, nausea to rise, and his legs to grow weak. He fought to remain standing, but he could feel himself losing the battle. And just before he collapsed, he felt arms wrap around his middle, a head push upward from beneath his arm, and a petite body struggle to support the brunt of his weight.

  “Hope.” He sighed, trying to clear his vision enough to catch sight of her.

  “I’m here,” she said, “don’t worry. You’ll be al
l right. I’ll get you home.”

  “I’ve come back for you,” he said, trying hard not to weigh too heavily on her.

  “I never doubted you would,” she said.

  “I love you,” he said, and winced from another sharp pain.

  “And I love you, but you mustn’t talk. You must save your strength.”

  “Promise me you won’t leave me.” He winced again, the pain shooting through his head.

  “Stop talking.”

  “Promise me,” he said with a moan.

  “I promise,” she said anxiously. “I promise I will never ever leave you.”

  He smiled then cringed. “The pain—”

  “Keep silent,” she ordered. “We will be home soon.”

  He obeyed, though he wondered. Had that been Carissa who had ordered him silent?

  Carissa prayed to the heavens that she would be able to get them back to the cottage safely. The snow grew heavier with each step they took. If not for the markers she had left along the way, it would have been impossible to find their way back.

  Her heart soared with relief when she spied the cottage up ahead. A few more feet, and she would have collapsed under his sagging weight.

  She staggered getting him to the bed and stripped off his cloak before he fell into bed. She hurried to close the door and hung his cloak up to dry. She kept her cloak on, grabbed the smaller cauldron, and hurried outside to collect fresh snow. She set it in the hearth to heat, then discarded her outer garments.

  Carissa rushed over to Ronan and fear gripped her. He was unresponsive. She tried to revive him, but to no avail. The only thing she could do was to clean his wound, keep him warm, and hope that he was in a healing sleep.

  Bethane had once explained to her that the body was more aware of what we required than we were, and so, when necessary, it took charge. If sleep was necessary to healing, then the person would sleep and wake when the body deemed itself ready.

  She hoped and prayed Ronan was in such a state.

  Closer examination of the wound revealed that it wasn’t as bad as she’d first suspected, though it did require a few stitches. She was relieved that he wouldn’t be awake for the painful stitching, given the good-sized lump beneath the abrasion.