The Highlander's Forbidden Bride (8 page)

T
he 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 con
cern 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 all 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.

As his shivers hadn’t entirely ceased, she hurriedly removed his boots. His feet were cold as ice. She tucked all the blankets securely around him. Then she placed the flat pan in the hearth to heat so that she could use it to help warm his feet.

She rushed around, gathering everything she needed and, though she was busy, she couldn’t keep her mind off the fact that he had believed it was Hope who had come to his rescue. She was no fool. She knew his delirium had been caused by his wound. But to hear him call out to Hope and once again to hear him say he loved her brought joy to her heart and soul.

However, she needed to remain cautious. She didn’t know when he woke if he would recall the episode. And if he did? The truth would suffice, he had merely been delirious.

For now, though, she would remain Hope and tend him as she had once before, with gentle hands and all her love.

Before she started, she wrapped the warmed pan in her wool shawl and tucked it beneath his feet. His shivers stopped almost instantly. She
then spent the next twenty minutes tending his wound. The stitches went fast since she was so prolific at setting them. The suturing complete, she managed to clean all the blood off him and away from his eye.

When he woke, he would have no trouble seeing her.

After she was done, she set a broth to brew in the hearth so that if he woke hungry, she’d have something to feed him. When she was finally finished, she moved the rocking chair next to the bed and took his hand in hers.

She smiled, the warmth of his hand spreading through her own, and fell asleep, content.

“H
ope?”

“I’m here.”

Ronan squeezed the hand in his, relieved to feel it there. “I’m cold, and my head hurts so badly that I can’t bear to open my eyes.”

“Keep your eyes shut. It’s late, and you need to continue to rest. I’ll put more wood in the hearth and—”

“—Then you’ll crawl in bed with me and keep me warm.”

“If that is what you want.”

“More than anything I want that,” he assured her with a gentle squeeze of her hand.

He wanted so badly to look at her, but every time he tried to open his eyes, the pain would force them closed. At least he had Hope. She was there with him, and soon she’d be in his arms, but this time he wanted more.

“Hope,” he said, and held out his hand. When she took it, he locked his fingers firmly with hers. “I want your loving body heating mine. Undress and help me to do the same.”

He was glad she didn’t hesitate and with great effort, her tender assistance, and more pain than he cared to experience, he undressed. It didn’t take her long to shed her clothes and join him beneath the blankets.

She cuddled against his side, her hard nipples poking his chest as her hand splayed across it. Her leg dug between his two, to nestle comfortably close to his groin, and she gave a quick kiss to his chest before resting her head there.

His arm wrapped around her protectively. She was warm and ever so soft, and he wasn’t surprised that his body reacted to her nakedness. But he didn’t have the stamina to pursue his desire. He would have to be satisfied with simply holding her.

They lay embraced, Ronan stroking Hope’s arm and drifting closer and closer to her breast until finally his fingers skimmed across it to toy with her hardened nipple.

“I love the feel of you,” he whispered.

“And I love your touch.”

“I wish I could make love to you tonight, but I can barely move without it paining me.”

She slipped ever so slowly over him until her naked body covered his, and she whispered against his lips, “Then let me make love to you.”

“I don’t have the strength—”

“You need none,” she cajoled between kisses. “You need only to let me give you pleasure.”

He tried to protest, wanting this time with her to be special, but he couldn’t speak; he could only feel. And he felt every touch and kiss, his own
hands seeking her intimate flesh, frustrated when it seemed beyond his reach.

Damn, why did it have to be this way? He had waited so long, so very long to be with Hope, and now his pain was too great to allow him the pleasure.

Still, she wrung groans and moans from him, or was that from the pain? He and she intermingled, and he wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began. He only knew that he was lost in a haze of pleasure.

Her lips seemed to sear every part of him, top to bottom, side to side, and all areas in between. She explored every inch of him, and he relished the pleasure. This was how he had imagined it. This was how it had been meant to be between him and Hope.

This was her loving him.

He was on the precipice of tumbling off, falling into the abyss of pleasure, when suddenly light blinded him, pain tore through his head, and his eyes sprang open.

He wasn’t sure where he was. It took him a moment to remember what had happened to him. Then, when he finally had his senses about him and realized he was in bed at the cottage, he realized someone slept beside him naked.

He shut his eyes against the inevitable, but knew he had to look, and when finally he did, he grew furious.

There beside him, pressed intimately against him, was his archenemy Carissa, stark naked.

He would have bolted from the bed if the pain in his head hadn’t stopped him when he tried to move. He did, however, push her away.

She woke startled, and he was surprised when she anxiously pulled the blanket over her nakedness. Then, as if she realized where she was, she grinned and let the blanket fall away from her breasts.

With an exaggerated stretch, she said, “What a night.”

Ronan wanted to choke her, or was it he who deserved the punishment? Had he truly made love—no—had sex with his enemy? Good lord, what had he done?

Carissa twisted her blond hair up and reached across Ronan to snatch her comb off the seat of the rocking chair and secure her long locks in place. Then she turned, and with a wicked grin and a lick of her lips, said, “Feeling better?”

“What did you do?” he demanded, realizing that if he didn’t move too fast, he’d suffer no pain.

“Nothing you didn’t want me to.”

“You’re an evil woman.”

“You didn’t think so last night,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Ronan couldn’t believe that he would mistake Carissa for Hope. It just wasn’t possible. But then that would mean…

Before he turned glaring eyes on her, she slipped out of bed and dressed.

“Don’t torture yourself, Highlander. You weren’t up to performing.”

“Give me my clothes,” he demanded, truly relieved.

She tossed him his garments once she was finished, then moved the rocking chair to where it usually sat by the hearth.

He was slow to dress but not to question her. “It was you who found me?”

“Who else would it be?”

Yes, who else, he thought. Certainly not a dead woman.

“You were delirious.”

Was I?
He wondered if his mind had played tricks on him, or had Carissa been playing tricks all along?

“You thought me Hope,” she said, walking to the table to slice bread for breakfast.

“And you responded as Hope.”

She shrugged. “As I said, you were delirious.”

“You sounded like Hope.”

“Did I?” she shrugged again. “Or was it what you wanted to hear?”

He moved slowly from the bed to the rocker, the pain slight. “You’re petite and slim like Hope.”

She jabbed the tip of the knife into the wooden tabletop, and it stuck there as she glared at him. “Say what you mean, Highlander.”

“There are too many similarities between you and Hope. And when I think of it, I also wonder how a slave could sneak away from her master every night without being caught.”

“So you’re suggesting that I’m Hope, the dead slave you still love?”

“It seems more and more obvious,” he admitted.

“Why would I bother to pass myself off as a slave?”

“To gain my confidence and information about the Sinclares.”

“That sounds as ridiculous as my claiming that I am truly more like Hope than Carissa, that somehow I felt safe enough with you to be my true self, a kind and thoughtful woman.”

He gave a robust laugh and instantly regretted it. The sharp pain struck like lightning, at the side of his head, then down along his neck. He gasped as he said, “That’s a tall tale if I ever heard one. Mordrac’s daughter kindhearted and thoughtful. Please spare me the absurdity.”

“Your tale may not be tall, but it is ridiculous,” she said. “It makes not an ounce of sense for me to have posed as a slave and pretended to love you.”

He cringed, though it wasn’t from the pain in his head. It was from the pain in his heart. Had Carissa truly played him for a fool? Had he laid bare his love to his enemy?

“And why would I sell you to the mercenaries?”

“To keep me imprisoned,” he said, as if just realizing it himself. “You knew I wouldn’t go anywhere until I rescued Hope.”

“And what would be the point of keeping you imprisoned?”

“I would make good fodder for barter.”

She shook her head. “If that were my intentions, I would have used you to save my father’s life. But
I was wise enough to realize that my father’s fate was inevitable.”

“Just like yours.”

“Spare me your repetitive threats,” she said. “They are as meaningless to me as what you now suggest.”

“Why? Because I’ve caught you at your little game?”

She sauntered over to him, her slim hand resting provocatively along her hip. “If it is a game, what makes you think that I don’t have you right where I want you?”

He jumped up; the intense pain slamming his eyes shut, and he grabbed hold of the mantel to stop from collapsing.

“Sit.”

Her anxious order sounded just as Hope had when she worried over him, and it made him angrier to realize that more than likely the woman he loved had never existed.

“Sit,” she urged again, and took hold of his arm, tugging him down.

Her hand never left his arm after he sat, and her warmth poured into him just as Hope’s had always done. He had teased her about it once, and she responded by telling him that it was her love for him that radiated the warmth.

He glanced down at the hand resting on his tan shirt. Even the linen couldn’t stop him from feeling her heat, or was it her love? Damn, but he didn’t want to believe that Hope had never existed.
He wanted her to have been a real warm, loving woman. He wanted everything he had shared with her to have been real; most of all, he wanted their love to have been real. He could endure loving a woman who had died, but not loving a woman who had never lived.

She removed her hand from his arm, and a bleak emptiness descended over him. Could it be true? Could Hope have never existed? Had he been merely chasing a dream?

He grabbed his head with his hand, not knowing if the pain came from his wound or his troubled thoughts.

“I’ll fix you something to eat,” she said.

Her voice was sharp like Carissa’s, or was he merely trying to find reason not to believe what he suspected?

“I’m not hungry,” he said, and moved from the chair, climbing into bed slowly.

“Rest,” she said, pulling the blankets over him. “I’ll set a fresh broth to brewing for when you wake.”

Now she sounded like Hope, considerate, and his head began to spin as he prayed for the blessedness of sleep.

Carissa collapsed in one of the chairs at the table. All hope was gone, but what had she expected, Ronan to embrace her and be grateful that Hope was alive? Hope wasn’t alive in any sense. He reacted as she had suspected he would. He had rejected her. Not for a moment had he believed, or
even considered, that she could be more like Hope than Carissa.

If he hated her before, this would make him hate her even more.

So had her father been right? Hate endures while love doesn’t last.

Ronan believed the worst of her. To hear him say that she had sold him to the mercenaries to imprison him couldn’t have been further from the truth. She had sold him to free him. She had assumed he would contact his family, pay the money the mercenaries had paid for him, and return home, intending eventually to rescue Hope. Instead, he had remained with the mercenaries and begun plans to rescue Hope.

When she had realized he wouldn’t give up, she had no other choice but to make him believe Hope had died. That was why it had been so easy to answer him when he had asked why she had killed Hope.

It really had been necessary.

Foolishly, she had not given thought to Ronan possibly wanting revenge. She thought he would be so heartbroken that he would return home to his family to grieve.

She had to admit that part of her cherished knowing he had loved Hope so strongly that he abandoned reuniting with his family for her. And even when he learned of her death, it had not driven him home but only made him more determined to revenge Hope.

Carissa shook her head silently admonishing
herself. It had been foolish of her from the start to play such a dangerous game. But it had been done without malice and with such innocence. He had been needy; but then so had she.

She had, however, made it worse.

His sorrowful groan had her off the chair and to his side in seconds. He looked in the throes of a nightmare, his face scrunched in agony and his mouth tightly gripped. It broke her heart to know she was the cause of his suffering.

She stroked his face with gentle fingers, running them lightly across his forehead, then drifting down to circle his cheek and in a waving motion across his chin and along his jaw from ear to ear. She repeated the route until his face relaxed, and he slept contentedly. She had done the same to him before, when he had thought her Hope, and he had loved it. He had told her that she possessed magic hands.

She had told him that her magic only worked on him.

With a teasing boldness, he had informed her that soon they would work magic together. But they had never had the chance, and now he suffered even more because of her.

She couldn’t stand to see him hurt anymore.

This had to end.

And she was the only one who could end it.