Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (31 page)

"Dear Jesus!" He smoothed his palm across her cheek, then down the length of her neck, letting his fingers tremble against her throat. "Dear Jesus, you're still alive."

"Of course I'm alive!" She pressed a hand atop his. "Tis you who has been near death. Tis you who has been wounded."

He shook his head, for he could, quite suddenly, feel no pain, but only the soaring euphoria that came with her presence.

"I feared I may have hit your heart." Her voice broke. "The arrow became stuck between your ribs. I couldn't get it out. Dear God, I had to twist it through the..."

"You are real," he said again, and though his arm shook with weakness, he didn't draw his hand from her face.

"Aye, Liam, I am real."

"But I thought... I feared..." He ran out of breath, out of words, and in that moment she gently took his fingers in hers.

"I am real, Liam," she whispered and turning his hand, pressed it against her chest. It took only a moment before he felt the thrum of her heart against his palm.

He closed his eyes, feeling her life in his soul, filling himself with her presence, with her being.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "Forever we were in the burn. I feared..." She swallowed. "I feared you were dead, but I did not dare leave the water, lest they spot us. Not until morning did I find a place to take you out." She shivered beneath his hand, remembering. "Twas a horrid nightmare."

"Nay," he murmured. "Not a nightmare, but the sweetest of dreams."

"Dreams—"

"Aye. I dreamed," he whispered, "of a wee maid in the water. Her ebony hair was swept up atop her head, and her neck was as long and slim as a swan's. She had the delicate grace of a doe."

He paused. "And she was naked. Twas maybe the most cherished moments of me life."

She did not return his smile. Indeed, her eyes were haunted, and her fingers tight against his as she pulled them into her hand.

"He was in my mind," she whispered.

Liam wished with all his soul that he could wonder who she meant, but there was no question.

Twas Warwick she spoke of.

"He was searching for us in my mind."

Dear God, he wanted nothing more than to hold her, to drive the fear from her heart, to make her smile. "You fooled him, lass," he said. "And you brought us to safety."

"But for how long?"

He longed to tell her all was well, that she was safe, but he knew far too much of the wizard for that.

"We must leave this place," he said, and tried to draw his hand from hers. Pain slashed through him with the effort, but she would not release his fingers.

Instead, she clenched them more tightly. "You cannot move. Not now. Twould surely be your death."

There was terror in her expression, terror for him. The bittersweet agony that coursed through his heart made the pain in his chest dull by comparison. He considered telling her that it didn't matter if it killed him. He
had
to try to save her. But it sounded ridiculously melodramatic even in his mind, and she would not listen. "We must go," he said instead.

"Nay." She touched his cheek with her free hand. "Think on it Liam. We have no food, no horses." Silence ebbed around them. "No hope."

"Nay." He breathed the word, for he could not bear to hear her say it, even if it were true. "Nay, tis not so, Rachel. We have every hope, for we are alive."

"But—"

"There are no buts. We are alive and safe." He glanced about himself, noticing their surroundings for the first time—the towering height of the elms, the silvery gray moss beneath his back. "Twould be an unforgivable sin to give up."

"But—"

"Please," he whispered. "Hell seems in no hurry to have me. Surely heaven can wait for
you."

"Liam, I fear—"

"Nay. Please... don't fear. I could not bear it. God has saved you. You've only to travel north.

You will come out of the woods. You will find help."

"Without you?" She breathed the words as realization of his meaning dawned on her.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "You said I cannot move. Hence, tis the only way."

"But..."

No buts. None! She must live. "You can do this. For me."

She stared at him, her eyes as purple and intense as a gathering storm. "I don't know where we are, Liam. How would I find my way back once—"

"Nay!" he snapped. She jumped at the harshness of his voice. Liam closed his eyes and forced himself to loosen his grip on her hand. "Nay, Rachel, you must not return yourself. You can send someone for me once you reach the king."

"Send someone! But it would take me days to reach—" She stopped abruptly and pursed her lips. Her eyes narrowed. "Damn you," she whispered. "You plan to die."

"Nay. I—"

"You plan to send me away and die like a martyr."

"Rachel, please..." His voice broke.

"How selfish you are!"

"You will not die!" he rasped.

"You think I could live, knowing I left you here alone?"

"Please!" It was the only word he could manage, but she was already shaking her head.

"We stay here," she said. "And here is where you mend."

"Nay! Warwick—"

Her gaze speared him. "Do not say his name to me," she said.

"He must not find you."

"And what of you?" she asked.

Fear roiled in him, but he fought it down. "It doesn't matter. He will not hurt me."

For a moment she did nothing but stare at him, but then she choked a laugh. "Will not hurt you? I fear I am the wrong person to believe that lie, Liam."

He stared at her, hating himself. "I am his son, Rachel." He paused, waiting for her to recoil, but she did not. "Tis true," he said, certain she didn't believe him. "Some years ago, he told me. I called him a liar, but I knew the truth even then. I am—" He could find no words to continue.

"What?" she asked. "What are you?"

"I am in no real danger from him, Rachel."

"You jest."

"Nay. I do not." He fought to keep the desperation from his voice, for convincing her was everything. "Think on it. He could have killed me many times over. But he did not. He wants me alive."

She stared at him, her eyes absolutely level. “Why?"

Liam tried to hold her gaze, but he couldn't. "How am I to know? Long he has sought me."

"And you think, maybe he wishes to give you your inheritance?"

"Maybe."

"He is evil." She said the words slowly, her voice deep. "He hopes you will assist him in that evil."

Liam forced himself to raise his eyes. Their gazes caught.

"Even if he did not kill you outright, what would happen when you refuse?" she asked softly.

"What makes you think I would refuse?"

He tried to stare her down, but not for a moment did her gaze waver.

"I know you well, Liam."

"And so you think me too noble to join forces with Warwick?"

"Aye."

He forced a laugh. "I would not have thought you the sort to overestimate me."

The woods were silent.

"I do not."

Her words sliced with a bittersweet pain through his soul, but long he had been fighting this battle. He was not about to lose now. Not when the stakes were so high.

"For many years I thought myself a bastard, Rachel, belonging to no one, wanted by no one. But that was much preferred to knowing the truth." He hissed the words, barely able to force them out, for here in the midst of nowhere, there were no barriers from her.

"And what is the truth?"

"I am his son! Do you not ken what that means?"

"Aye, I know," she said. "It means you are evil!"

The air exploded in Liam's lungs. He could not even manage a nod, but watched her, breathless, hopeless.

"Aye, you are evil because your sire is. Just as my hair is red because my mother's is." She lifted a fistful of sable hair from her shoulder.

It was tangled, he noticed, and that knowledge alone nearly made him weep. "Rachel..." he began, but she interrupted him, slicing her palm through the misty air between them.

"Do not use your sad tales on me, Liam," she said. "For I know just what you are."

"Please go." They were the only words he could force out.

"So you do not have to see me die?"

He clenched his fist tight as anger boiled inside him. "You will not die. Not because of me!" he shouted.

"Nay. Not because of you, Liam. But
with
you, if I must."

He shook his head. "Please, Rachel, I cannot bear—"

"And I cannot bear to be parted from you," she whispered. "Don't you see, Liam? Long ago I knew my mind well. Twas not a child's foolish whim that brought me to you on that night. Twas fate's command. I was meant to be with you."

He shook his head again, but she refused to move away.

"Here we stay," she said. "And here you mend."

Rachel's herbs had been ruined during her wild escape down the river. But even before removing the arrow from Liam's back, she had begun to search for more. Luck and tenacity had been kind; she had found enough to pack into his wound.

Gathering fallen boughs from deep in the forest, she dragged them to the place where Liam watched her from his mossy bed. Once there, it was simple enough to prop them into the crooks and crannies of the ancient oak. Using Liam's knife which had survived their escape, she cut vines from nearby trees and entwined them in the opposite direction. Above that, she placed large sheaves of decaying bark or whatever she could find that might hold out the rain, until finally a small area was sheltered from the elements.

"Did you ever wonder why the duke of Tunnicliffe decided against wedding you?" Liam asked, his gaze steady on her face.

Rachel turned from her handiwork toward him. "You should sleep."

"Twas Erna," he said.

She scowled at him as aged memories seeped back to her. "Erna? The potter's daughter?"

"Aye."

"What has she to do with the duke?" she asked, approaching to sit beside him on the moss.

Liam sighed as she touched his forehead. "Do you remember when he came to meet you?"

Leaning her back against the kindly tree behind her, Rachel turned her gaze up to her makeshift shelter. "I was five and ten, I think. Twas Midsummer's Day."

"Aye."

"I wore my best gown and plaited my hair with scarlet ribbons. I felt quite important—until he failed to appear."

"Erna met him in Craegsmore."

.She lowered her gaze to his face and studied him in silence for a moment, then, "Whatever for?"

"It seems she took it into her head to pretend she was you."

"Erna? She was..."

"Ugly?" he supplied readily.

"Nay. I was about to say—"

"Fat? Pockmarked?"

"Rather rude."

"The duke seemed to agree with your assessment," Liam said.

Rachel stared at him, waiting for an explanation that was sure to come eventually.

"He was quite revolted."

"And why, may I ask..." she began, but stopped abruptly. "Twas your idea."

"Aye." He sighed softly. "More than a decade ago, it was; and in all that time I've not felt a twinge of remorse. But I am sorry now." His face, always so filled with life and laughter, was somber, and she wished with all her heart that it was not so, that she could see him smile, even if it were she who endured the consequences of his mischief. "You should have been a duchess."

"And why is that, Liam?"

"Because you deserve all that is good."

Tears filled her eyes. How many years had she longed to hear him say just that? "And do I not deserve love, Liam?"

He said nothing, but still she could feel his gaze on her face. "Do I not deserve to cherish and be cherished?"

"Aye. You do."

"Then I deserve you."

"Rachel..." he whispered.

"Would you deny that you love me, Liam?" she murmured. "Would you deny it again? Even now?"

He stared at her a moment, and finally shook his head.

She smoothed her palm over the dark stubble of cheek, then leaned forward and pressed her lips tenderly to his. He returned the caress, but when she moved to draw away, he pulled her back, his eyes pleading.

"Stay with me," he said.

"I must search for herbs."

"To heal me?"

"Aye."

"You think some plant could be more healing than the feel of you beside me?" he asked. "Than knowing that you have chosen to love me?"

There was nothing she could do but lie down beside him. Nothing, but nestle into the strength of ' his shoulder and fall asleep with his breath soft and warm against her cheek.

Rachel woke to the soft sound of rain on the bark above their heads. Drowsiness lay on her like a warm, heavy blanket. Beside her, Liam still slept, his arm lay over her waist, his ungodly long lashes a downy slash of darkness against his skin.

The rain pattered on. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but fall back into the folds of sleep.

The world was dim and pink when next she awoke. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Beside her, Liam slept on. His stillness worried her, but when she placed a hand to his brow, his flesh felt cool and normal.

Careful not to disturb him, she slipped from under his cape. A bit of her impromptu roof had washed away, causing a puddle to form near Liam's feet, so she mended that.

Her stomach roiled again. She had no idea how long she had slept, but it didn't matter. Not here.

All that mattered was to keep this man safe. Hence, the first thing she must do was find food. Placing a bit more bark upon their roof, she noticed that some of the vines had worked loose. She wove them more securely together then wondered if the same concept might work for a net.

Excited by the thought, she retrieved Liam's knife, severed pieces of vines, and wove them quickly together. The river was not far away, and though it was not simple, she discovered a means of securing her net near the shore.

Wandering farther into the water, she gathered plants from the depths and dragged them onto the bank. Aunt Flanna had long insisted that twas a diet of aquatic vegetation that kept her steeds so strong and fat through the winter months. So surely the same plants would do her and Liam no harm.