The Highlander's Forbidden Bride (10 page)

R
onan tended Carissa all through the night, her fever rising and falling in intervals. She never truly woke though she stirred and spoke incoherently. When the sun dawned and her fever still remained strong, he grew more concerned.

Fearing he wasn’t doing enough for her, he decided the best thing for him to do was get her to Bethane. If he left early and kept a good pace, they would reach the village Black by nightfall.

“Ronan?”

He hurried to her side, her voice full of fear.

“I’m here,” he said, sitting beside her and taking her hand, which was much too hot.

“How long have I slept?”

“It’s almost dawn.”

She shook her head. “The fever remains.”

“I’ve done all I can,” he said, feeling helpless.

“Some fevers simply won’t let go,” she said, as if resigned to her fate.

However, he thought differently. “I’m taking you to Bethane.”

She sighed as she shook her head. “I’ll never make it.”

“I’ll fashion a sleigh of wood to pull you along on. If we leave shortly after dawn, I can have you there before nightfall.”

She shook her head.

He leaned close and whispered, “Ye of little faith.”

She smiled. “I always had faith in you.”

Her response shook him to his soul. How could she have faith in a man who had wanted her dead? More and more he wondered who this woman was. “Good, then hold on to it. We leave here today.”

He fed her a few tablespoons of the concocted brew and set to work. He made certain not to feed the fire in the hearth, wanting it cold before they took their leave. With the single-room cottage soon to lose heat, he dressed Carissa in her linen shift, wool skirt, and blouse, left her stockings off until later, and tucked blankets around her.

It took more time than he liked to form a sleigh from branches and pine, but when he finished, he was pleased with the sturdy piece. He packed the wooden bucket with a few food items and set it aside.

He then went to collect Carissa. He threw the blanket off her and gently took hold of her foot, noticing how small it was. He had always thought of Carissa as a formidable woman, and he supposed one would then believe her tall, but not so. Carissa was petite, much like Hope.

He shook his head. This was no time to let his mind wander. He grabbed hold of her stockings, ready to slip them on to keep her warm during the journey, but her feet were already warm.

“No,” she protested, waking from a light slumber. “I’m too hot. No more clothes.”

“It’s cold out.”

“The blankets and my cloak will do.”

He acquiesced to her concern and wrapped her cloak around her after he sat her up in bed, and as he lifted her, she placed a hot hand to his cool cheek. It felt as if she branded him, but then maybe she already had.

“Thank you.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” he grumbled, annoyed that once again he heard Hope in her voice.

“No,” she said softly, “it’s love.”

He sat her in the rocking chair and shoved the narrow bed away from the hearth against the wall. Though he would douse the embers left in the hearth, he wanted to make certain there was no chance of a single one remaining and jumping to ignite the bed.

Almost like embers of their love jumping forth and igniting his heart.

Was he dousing the embers of love in his heart? He grumbled beneath his breath at the crazy thought. He had to stop this. There was no love, never had been.

He rushed around like a madman, wanting to be on their way. And in no time they were. He took the stuffed bedding and placed it on the sleigh. He
cocooned Carissa not only in her cloak, but two blankets; the third he placed over her, tucking it around her after he had placed her on the sleigh. He pulled her hood up, making sure to tuck her hair away from her face.

When he was finally done, he hunched down beside her, surprised to see that she had fallen asleep. He felt her brow, and it was hot, though not raging. But if the fever followed the course it had been on, it would spiral soon enough.

He stood, took hold of the rope of knotted pine that served as the reins, dropping it around his chest and stepped forward, pulling the sleigh behind him.

“I won’t tell you.”

“Where is he?”

“Ask me all you want, Father, but I will not tell you.”

“You dare defy me?”

“I love him, and I will not let you kill him.”

“What did I tell you about love?”

“I don’t believe you.”

His large hand stung and her head snapped back from the blow.

Her knees trembled, but she stood defiant. “I won’t tell you.”

She winced, pain shooting up her arm from his sudden grip.

“You will tell me or suffer the consequences.”

“I will die before I tell you. I love him, and I will protect him.”

She cringed as he crushed her slim arm with his powerful hand.

“You will learn the foolishness of love.”

Her head shot back from another stinging blow, then she felt the heat. She screeched as the flames greedily licked her flesh. “I love him. I love him. I love him.”

“Do something,” Ronan said frantically. “She’s in pain.”

“I am doing all I can,” Bethane assured him. “Dreams and memories cause her pain. Also that grip you have on her arm may be too tight.”

Ronan immediately let go, though he remained by Carissa’s side on the bed. “She appears to have grown worse since we arrived yesterday evening.”

“Some fevers like to trick, sinking low before spiraling out of control, while some remain constant, locking onto a person and draining her of all strength.”

“Will she survive?” he asked curtly, though he didn’t mean to, but he was worried.

Bethane placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you want her to?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I want her to live.”

“Why?” she asked walking around the bed to stand opposite him.

“That’s a foolish question,” he snapped.

“No, a logical one. When you left here almost two months ago, you wanted Carissa dead. What has changed?”

He looked down at Carissa in a fitful toss, her cheeks burning red. “Everything.”

Bethane nodded. “You should get some rest. You have barely slept since you arrived.”

“She may not recall us leaving the cottage and will look for me when she wakes.”

“She will feel safe once she realizes where she is,” Bethane assured him.

He was going to continue arguing but thought better of it. He already sounded foolish to his own ears. What must Bethane think of him? But then she had asked him what had changed.

Everything.

His answer reverberated in his head, and he stood.

“There’s a bed in my cottage. Go rest.”

He hesitated.

“If she asks for you, I will come get you.”

He gave a sharp nod and left the cottage, walking the few steps from the door to Bethane’s place, and dropped on the bed, exhausted. Only a short time ago he’d wanted to strangle Carissa with his bare hands and now…he wasn’t even sure who she was.

He sighed with exasperation and slammed his eyes shut as if he could force sleep to claim him. He didn’t want to think, but he had no choice. Thoughts rushed at him, and no amount of dodging prevented them from hitting.

Could he have been the one Carissa had saved from her father?

Had she risked her life for him?

He fell asleep with no answer forthcoming.

Carissa was hot, and something weighted her down. She struggled to get free, pushing past the darkness to a spot where she saw a shred of light.

“Hope.”

Was that Ronan calling out to her? She tried to answer, but she couldn’t find her voice. She continued to struggle. She had to get this weight off her, had to get out of this heat and out of the darkness.

“Hope.”

She stopped suddenly and listened.

“Hope.”

She didn’t move. It wasn’t Ronan calling out to her. It was her father, and he wasn’t calling out her name.

He laughed then, that evil laugh that always shivered her to her soul.

“There is no hope.”

He was wrong. There was hope. She was Hope. He couldn’t take that from her.

“There has never been hope.”

“No!” The scream ripped past her dry throat and shot out of her mouth.

“Hope doesn’t exist.”

She fought the darkness, the weight, and her father’s cruel words.

He was wrong. Hope existed and love would prove it.

“Ronan,” she screamed.

Ronan battled the darkness. He had to find his way out, but first he had to find her. He had to save her. He tore through the dark with his hands, calling out to her. He thought he heard her and stilled, but there was no sound, nothing. He continued clawing the dark.

“Ronan.”

He heard his name clearly.

“I’m here.”

“You promised.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He clawed viciously at the dark, but seemed to get nowhere.

“Too late.”

“Hope.”

He sprang up in bed.

“Ronan!”

He was off the bed and out the door before she called out again. He burst into the cottage and saw Bethane struggling to hold Carissa down.

“I’m here,” he shouted, and she quieted instantly.

Bethane stepped away when he reached the bed. He sat beside Carissa and took hold of her one hand and brought it to his lips. Her skin was warm, and he kissed her palm, then placed it against his cool cheek.

“I’m here,” he repeated.

She sighed, her sleep finally peaceful. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” he said.

When after a few minutes she said no more, he looked to Bethane. She was closing the door he had left open when he rushed in.

“She’ll be all right?” he asked anxiously.

“If the fever continues to go down, she’ll be fine.”

“What if it climbs again?”

Bethane did not hide her concern. “She’s weak from fighting the fever. If the fever jumps again, I don’t know if she’ll survive.”

“She’s a fighter.”

“It would seem so,” Bethane agreed.

“Is there anything else we can do?”

“I would say that you are already doing it,” she said with a smile and a nod.

He realized how odd it must seem, him sitting there holding his enemy’s hand to his cheek. He barely understood it himself. He had gone from having a deep-rooted hatred for Carissa to possibly loving her.

The incredible thought had him placing her hand on her chest and him getting up and walking away from her.

“You’re confused,” Bethane said.

“I—I don’t know what happened,” he said, bewildered, and glanced over at Carissa. “I don’t know who she is.” He ran a rough hand over his face and shook his head. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

C
arissa felt a weight on her as she woke. She struggled to open her eyes as if emerging from a fitful sleep that had claimed her much too long. She tried to move her arms, but was only able to get one free, and as her surroundings finally came into focus, she was stunned to see why.

Her arm was stuck under Ronan’s head as it lay on her stomach, his hands at her waist. With a tentative stretch of her free hand, she reached out and gently laid her hand on his head.

She smiled at the feel of his soft dark hair, and as she stirred the strands, the scent of fresh pine drifted off to tickle her nostrils. She carefully cleared his face of loose strands so that she could look upon him.

To her he was the handsomest man alive; though his features were more rugged than sculpted, there was something about him that caught the eye and made the heart jump. She felt that she had been lucky to get to know him first as a man, then as a warrior, for she found the man more courageous and kind than any warrior could be.

She never regretted pretending to be a slave when she had tended him, for if she hadn’t, she would have never gotten to know him. And he would have never gotten to know her.

She missed the time she spent with him as Hope. It hadn’t taken long for them to trust each other or to fall in love. It was as if they were meant to be, as if they had known each other long before meeting.

There was a comfort with Ronan she had never known and a safety she had always longed for but had never found. He was to Hope a hero, a man who would never fail her.

She traced a finger along and around one of his eyes, recalling how swollen both had been when she first had seen him. Her father had wanted to use him as a pawn against his brother, but she had somehow managed to convince him that it would be far better to have Ronan’s vision cleared so that both brothers could see each other during torture.

Her father thought that a splendid idea and ordered her to see to his care. That had been the only reason she had been permitted so much time with the prisoner. She had hoped to heal him, then somehow see him freed. She had never intended to fall in love with him.

But she had…and it had changed everything.

Ronan stirred, and she pulled her hand away, not wanting to be caught touching him. He moved slowly at first, then, as if realizing where he was, his head shot up and his wide eyes went straight to hers.

“Good morning,” she said with a croak to her dry throat.

He sat up, and the weight lifted off her, though to her way of thinking she had lost a shield of protection.

His hand went to rest at her brow, then on her cheek and with a smile he proclaimed, “The fever is gone.”

“Thanks to you.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks to Bethane.”

“That’s right. We’re not in the cottage anymore,” she said with a sadness that overwhelmed her. She would no longer be alone with him, no longer share a bed.

Silence settled over them as if neither knew what to say. Bethane broke the awkward moment when she entered the room.

Ronan hastily stood and stepped away from Carissa as if embarrassed that he had been caught in such an intimate pose with her.

Carissa felt rejected, and her sharp tongue took over. “No need for you to care for me anymore. Bethane will tend me.”

“Fine,” Ronan snapped, annoyed, and stormed out the door.

Bethane smiled. “He cared for and worried over you.”

Carissa struggled to sit up. “He did?”

Bethane nodded, helping her up. “And you cried out for him.”

“I did?”

“Yes, and he was there for you, refusing to leave your side. And I cannot believe that he walked all day pulling you on that makeshift sleigh to get you here.”

“I remember him putting me on the sleigh, but I recall nothing after that,” she admitted, to her chagrin.

Bethane sat on the bed beside her and rested a comforting hand on her arm. “He left here wanting you dead and returned wanting you to live.”

“How do you know that?” she asked anxiously.

“I asked him, and he told me that he wanted you to live. What happened while you both were gone?”

Carissa thought a moment, then whispered, “Everything.”

It wasn’t until that evening that Ronan returned to Carissa and only out of necessity. Bethane was called to a cottage to deliver a babe and she asked him to see that Carissa got supper.

She was sitting up in bed when he walked in with a covered tray.

“I’ve brought you supper,” he said a bit abruptly.

“Thank you, I’m starving.” She pushed the blankets off and swung her legs off the bed.

“What are you doing?” he scolded, placing the tray on the table and hurrying over to her.

“I want to eat at the table. I’m tired of being in bed.”

“You’re not strong enough yet.”

“I am so,” she said, and stubbornly stood. Her legs trembled as she took a step, her eyes turned wide, and her face turned pale as she began to collapse.

Ronan had her in his arms in no time, and she had her arms around his neck just as quickly. Their faces were so close they almost touched and Ronan instinctively rested his cheek on hers.

Her flesh was cool and soft, and he shut his eyes and thought how it felt with Hope. And for a moment he allowed himself to believe that he held the woman he loved.

Finally, he moved his head away, but as he did, his lips lightly brushed over hers. The intimate contact shocked them both, and they turned their faces away.

He returned her to bed.

“I prefer to sit—”

“You stay in the bed until you gain back your strength,” he finished.

She opened her mouth to disagree.

“Don’t bother to argue,” he informed her, tucking the blanket around her. “You’ll stay put for at least tonight.”

He put the wood tray on her lap and slipped off the cloth that covered it and placed it across her chest.

She smiled and happily dug into the soup, which was thick with meat and vegetables.

He pulled a chair close to the bed and straddled it, resting his arms along the top. He wanted to talk with her, but didn’t wish to interrupt the meal she
was obviously enjoying. He intended to wait until she finished, but she had a different idea.

“Ask me what you want?” she said between spoonfuls.

“What defense do you propose to present to my brother?”

“The truth.”

“Define the truth.”

“I harmed no one,” she said.

“That could be debated.”

“But it cannot be denied, and as you told me, your brother is a fair man.”

“You expect to be freed?” he asked.

“I expect the truth to set me free.”

He stood, pushing the chair aside. “Then speak the truth about Hope.”

“She once lived, but does no more. That is all there is to Hope.”

“Why did you conceive her?”

“The same reason why I let her go…necessity,” she said. “Just as you should have let her go.”

She held out the tray to him, the soup only half-finished.

“You should eat more,” he said.

“I’m no longer hungry.”

He took the tray and set it on the table.

“Do you think we could ever be friends?”

Her question shocked him as did his answer. “You are an enemy of the Sinclares.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

Odd, since he understood nothing. He was more
confused than ever, and she had been the one to confuse him.

She slipped down under the covers. “I’m tired. I wish to sleep.”

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he offered, though the truth was he didn’t want to leave her.

Carissa’s curt tongue surfaced. “I prefer to be alone.”

He walked over to her. “Alone can be a lonely place.”

“It is the only safe place when there is no one to trust,” she said, and turned her back to him as she slipped farther beneath the blanket.

Ronan was glad for Bethane’s company several hours later. He had been alone with his thoughts much too long, and nothing, absolutely nothing, made sense to him.

“Everyone rests peacefully,” Bethane said upon entering the cottage.

Not quite everyone, he thought, but said nothing.

“Now it is my turn,” she said.

He rose from the rocker, offering it to her.

“Stay,” she said, “at least until I prepare a hot cider for myself. Would you like one?”

He nodded, thought to return to the rocker, but didn’t, though it caught his attention. It was similar to the rocking chair in the cottage, almost identical. He turned to glance at Bethane.

“You have a question?” she asked, handing
him a tankard before she took hers and sat in the rocker.

He had a thought, but dare he express it?

“So is it my eyesight or wisdom?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting for you to let me know.”

He stared at her for a moment, then he recalled their talk. Before he went chasing after Carissa, he had asked Bethane why she helped them both.

“It isn’t your eyesight,” he said, “though I may question it being wisdom.”

“Wisdom is not easy to accept simply because it reveals the truth. Is the truth too difficult for you to accept?”

He shook his head. “When I find out the truth, I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t forget to open your heart along with your eyes,” she warned. “Now, I must get some sleep. I’m exhausted. Would you mind sleeping in the healing cottage? Carissa needs tending until her strength returns.”

Ronan downed the last of the cider and placed the tankard on the table as he passed it on the way to the door. He turned around. “There is no need to offer Carissa sanctuary, she is willingly returning home with me.”

“I thought as much.”

Puzzled, he asked, “Why?”

“Carissa is far too skilled ever to be captured. If she wanted to be free of you, she would be.”