His Bonnie Bride

by Hannah Howell

  Tavis's silence was due partly to embarrassment. He knew he had taken her roughly, more roughly than he could remember ever having taken a woman. Never before had he been driven to such a point of white-hot, blind desire. Her ability to do that to him unnerved him slightly. He saw the stiffness in her movements and watched her wince as she bent to pick up the blanket.

  "I have hurt ye," he said in obvious remorse as he moved to stand before her.

  Holding the folded blanket to her chest, Storm murmured, " 'Tis naught, Tavis."

  "Ye are a poor liar, lass." He brushed the hair back from her face. "Ye are sore. 'Tis there to see in the way ye move. I am sorry. God, but ye drive a man to madness."

  " 'Tis not an unpleasant soreness, Tavis. I felt it not in its making and it will pass."

  Taking the blanket from her, he tossed it aside and took her into his arms. The confusion in his mind caused his arms to tighten around her as he buried his face in her silken hair. He had the strongest urge to flee with her, to go somewhere where it mattered not at all who they were. Knowing she would have to return to Hagaleah, he looked into the future and felt chilled by the emptiness he saw there. There was nothing to fill in the space she would leave. Giving himself a mental shake, he tried to convince himself that he was caught up in the afterglow of good loving. Any man would dread the thought of losing such pleasure. It would be a transitory sense of loss.

  "Storm?" He pulled away a little to look down at her face, not sure of what he wanted to say.

  "Aye, Tavis?" She saw the confusion on his face and wondered at its cause.

  "Thank ye," he whispered, and brushed a light kiss over her mouth as his hands gently cupped her face.

  "Ye are quite welcome," she said, forcing herself to smile over the twisting pain in her heart, a pain caused by the knowledge that this was all she would ever have of Tavis MacLagan.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A crispness to the air foretold the coming autumn and bid farewell to summer. Storm sighed as she prepared to go to the hall. She knew she was pregnant, and the only good thing she could think about it was that she was so far along the sickness had passed and she had been successful in hiding it from Tavis. Now she just had to worry about when she would begin to really show. At the moment she only looked as if she were putting on a little weight. She knew, however, that that was apt to change at any time, for she was too far along to keep it hidden much longer. It had amazed her that Tavis had yet to feel the quickening of his child, for it grew stronger with each passing day.

  She had not told Tavis about the baby for she felt it would put a wedge between them. One of her fears was that he would demand that, if she bore him a son, the child stay with him. That was something she could never bear. It was becoming imperative that she get home.

  Sighing as she moved to the door, Storm knew that her troubles would not cease once she got home. Eventually she would have to tell her father and in such a way that he did not ride out for Caraidland screaming for blood. There would be the spiteful tongues blaming her for what she had no control over to contend with. With no maidenhead and a bastard child, she would be unweddable. A cold, loveless future stretched before her, and that would be the hardest thing to face, especially now that she had had a taste of love, if unreturned, and the passion it bred. She envisioned endless nights of aching with a shudder.

  As she walked into the hall, she thought about the life growing within her. Despite her gloomy thoughts on her future, as well as her current worries, she found a flicker of elation struggling to grow. She would have a piece of Tavis to hold and love. Storm knew that would bring her future pain, but she felt the joy of their child could outshine that. There would be a child of Tavis's body to whom she could give all the love she ached to give to Tavis.

  Tavis sat in the hall, drinking ale and talking with his family, but his mind was on Storm, not on what he was saying. Fighting weather was passing even in France, he presumed. Soon Lord Eldon would be coming home. The king could not hold all his high-born knights at his side even if he opted to stay in France for the winter. By now word of the trouble at home must have reached Lord Eldon, and Tavis had no doubt that the man would be hieing it back to Hagaleah to gain his daughter's freedom through ransom or sword. Each day Tavis expected to hear word from the man.

  The ransom would be paid, Storm would return to Hagaleah and Tavis's bed would be empty again. The thought brought a chill to his bones. Still, he ignored the small voice that wearily tried to tell him of his feelings. He continued to tell himself that he liked her and relished her passion, a combination he had never enjoyed before. That was why he hated the thought of her leaving. It meant a return to women who satisfied a need at only the most basic of levels.

  He had grown greedy of late as thoughts of her leaving crowded into his mind more and more. It did not surprise him that she lingered abed in the mornings. A twinge of guilt assailed him as he recalled how wan she looked at times. That would not stop him from making love to her each and every chance he got, however, but he did think he would try not to disturb her night's sleep as often as he had been. It would not do to send her back to her father looking ill and well used.

  Thinking that brought him to wonder what would happen when Lord Eldon discovered that his daughter had slept with her captor. It was ample reason to take up his sword. Tavis knew that his family would be crying long and loud for blood if they had a cherished daughter treated as he had treated Storm. It was a man's responsibility, if nothing else. Dishonor must be paid for in blood.

  The only reason he was not positive that they faced a battle with Eldon was because of Storm. It was not vanity that told Tavis she thoroughly enjoyed their lovemaking. Her protests at the start had been very weak and, after that, she had never turned from him; rather she had welcomed him to her bed each night with open arms, a sweet smile and a passion to equal his own.

  Would she tell her father how she had been used? If Eldon guessed, would she try to turn aside his natural wrath? Storm did not seem to be the vengeful sort but, because he had offered her no words of love, would she react as a woman scorned and need MacLagan blood to soothe her wounded vanity?

  Even as the questions formed, Tavis answered them negatively. Storm would do her best to keep the families from meeting at sword point over her lost innocence. She was a practical, logical person and would not wish any deaths to occur over something that was inevitable and that she had enjoyed. If naught else, she would want to do all she could to keep her own family from battle.

  His thoughts were interrupted by her entrance. A slow, enjoyable survey of her as she came toward him told him that no one could say she had been abused. In fact, he thought she looked better than she had when she had first arrived, although there was a sadness in her eyes at times that he was loathe to investigate. Her gentle curves had become more womanly. A lovely smile touched her equally lovely face as she greeted everyone, and he felt his loins stir, causing him to smile crookedly at his own weakness.

  Just as he was about to greet her, a messenger from Hagaleah was announced. Everyone tensed, and Tavis noticed that Storm was again looking pale as she sat down next to him. There was no time to puzzle over her reaction, for his father was reading the missive the courier had given him.

  Storm had discovered that she was torn two ways. She did need to get away to the sanctuary of Hagaleah, but the idea of leaving Tavis was nearly unbearable. Her personal conflict of emotion was forgotten as she caught the look on the laird's face. The news from Hagaleah was not good.

  "They have finally refused a ransom openly?" she asked with a calm she did not feel.

  "Aye. They have done that, lass." Colin studied her taut features and knew she suspected the news the missive held, as well as the significance of a refusal of ransom. "Your father and brother are dead."

  "Nay, 'tis not so." She snatched the message when Colin held it out to her.

  Lady Mary's scribe had a flowery hand, but Storm managed to decipher her wo
rds, and her heart seemed to pound its way out of her chest as she read. "Lord Eldon and his son and heir met with a fatal mishap as they journeyed here from France. There is neither love nor blood tie twixt his eldest daughter and myself. Hence, I refuse to pay any ransom for the girl who has no doubt lost all honor. Do not think to send thy requests to Lord Foster, for he and his son and heir met the same fate as the Eldons. As they traveled as a group so, too, did the Verner twins. My stepdaughter has none left to champion her. I give thee leave to do with her as thy please. Lady Mary Eldon."

  All gone! her mind whispered even as it fought to reject the news. With surprisingly steady hands, she lay the missive on the table before her, her hands palm down on either side of it and her gaze riveted to the words that seemed to run together. Slowly she rose to her feet, although she did not know why. There was no place to flee to escape such tidings. One hand rested on a knife, and with a swiftness that prevented any intervention, she grasped it in both hands. A cry that chilled her audience broke from her as she plunged the knife into the parchment, pinning it to the table.

  "I will kill that hell-born bitch," she cried as she started to race for the door, the red haze of a vengeful rage filling her mind, a rage that momentarily held back her grief.

  Although everyone in the room moved to catch her, Tavis reached her first. She fought his hold as she spat her hate for Lady Mary in a low, icy voice. Thinking her hysterical, he slapped her. She went still and he released her, staring worriedly into her wide eyes. His look changed to one of amazement as she slapped him back.

  "I was not hysterical," she hissed, but then her eyes fixed upon the red mark on his face and she gasped, one small hand covering her mouth briefly before it moved to touch the mark her slap had left upon Tavis's face. "Oh, Tavis," she whispered in a shaky voice as her grief began to flood through her, drowning her rage. " 'Tis not ye I wish to strike."

  "I ken that, Storm, but ye wouldnae get near the woman."

  She closed her eyes against a wave of pain and slowly sank to her knees. "All gone. They are all gone. What shall I do? There is no one left. I am all alone. All alone. Sweet God, I cannot bear it."

  For a moment Tavis stood helpless before the depth of her grief. He had never heard a woman weep so, the sobs tearing through her, threatening to shake her apart. It hurt him to see her in such pain, but he did not stop to examine why as he stooped to lift her to her feet. His arms folded around her in an attempt at comfort when she fell against him, clinging tightly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Phelan approach, his small face pale and awash with tears.

  "She has me," he whispered. "Ye still have me, Storm. Tell her that, Tavis. She's not all alone."

  Tavis smiled weakly at the boy. "Aye. She'll ken that when she has spent her tears, laddie." He picked Storm up in his arms, not minding how she clung to his neck, her tears soaking him. "I'll take her to her room. Ye can come to see her when the worst has passed. Go to Colin, laddie," he added softly.

  After a last look at Storm, who was still helpless in her sorrow, Phelan raced to Colin. That man's arms were ready to receive him, for Colin was fond of the orphaned Irish boy. Silently, they all watched as Tavis left the hall, Storm's weeping the only sound until it faded completely.

  "What will ye do with us now, m'lord?" Phelan asked after a moment, his teary eyes fixed upon Colin.

  Leading the boy back to the table and handing him a tankard of ale, Colin sighed. " 'Tis hard to say, lad. Are there no relations left ye can go to, turn to for aid and shelter?"

  Phelan shook his head. "The Verner twins' parents died two years past. Their land will now go to the crown, to be allotted as the king sees fit. 'Tis nay a one in Erin, which is why I came to Hagaleah. Matilda Foster may still live, but she is but a child of eleven or twelve years. There is naught that she can do. Storm's half-brothers are e'en younger and in Lady Mary's control now. Uncle Roden's mistress, Elaine Bailey, has fled to the south to elude Lady Mary. We could go to her, for she would shelter us, but 'twould bring her trouble, of that I am sure, and she is unprotected."

  Colin sighed as he rubbed his temples. "Curse it. Ne'er had a lass handed o'er to me afore. 'Tis a problem, for I cannae send her to Hagaleah despite the lack of ransom."

  "Nay, ye cannae," Iain agreed. "We have seen how they treat her. E'en if we could get Tavis to agree to it, it would sit ill with our own people. 'Twould be as if we cut her throat with our own hands."

  "Aye, and I owe the lass my life. That binds me to watch o'er her." Colin shook his head. "I maun think on it. There be no rush." He smiled crookedly. "She's weel cared for at this time."

  * * * * *

  Tavis lay on the bed holding Storm as she fought desperately to control her sobs, dry now for she had used up all of her tears. Comfort was not something he was accustomed to doling out, but the emotions he still tried to ignore made him an unknowing expert. He truly felt for her in her grief and understood her great loss, because he had but recently come so near to losing his own father. This honest sympathy was conveyed silently to the grief-stricken woman he held and tried to soothe.

  He also wondered what would happen now. There was no fear of her being sent back to Hagaleah, ransom or no, for he knew his father would not do that, not when he knew what would happen to her when Sir Hugh got his hands on her. Tavis was ashamed at the small part of him that felt relief, even joy, over the fact that she could now stay with him. That benefit had been gained at too great a cost. He concentrated on stopping her rending sobs.

  Slowly Tavis's efforts seeped through Storm's grief. She continued to fight to still the weeping that had totally possessed her. Recalling the struggling life her body harbored helped her. She knew such strong emotion could have an ill effect upon her baby. Clinging to Tavis, she sought to absorb his tender comfort as well as his strength and, slowly, she regained some sense of composure.

  Like some broken doll, she lay limp as he cleaned her face and forced some whiskey down her throat. Her slim body still shook with silent tremors even though her tears were spent. Her eyes stayed fixed upon him throughout his gentle ministrations, and the flat desolation he read there unnerved him. He feared her loss had proven too great a burden for her. Such a tragedy had been known to break the spirit or the mind. When he moved from the bed she grasped his wrist with surprising strength and prevented him from rising.

  "Stay with me, please," she croaked in a thin voice. "I feel so alone and it frightens me."

  Lying on his side, Tavis put an arm around her tiny waist and tucked her securely against himself. "Ye arenae alone, lass. There's Phelan who loves ye and needs ye. Aye, and though ye be an Eldon, 'tis many a friend ye have at Caraidland." He wondered briefly at the look of pain that flickered over her face. "Ye arenae the sort that will e'er be alone."

  She closed her eyes so that he could not see how his words hurt even as they helped. Storm had no hopes that he would now declare an undying love, but it hurt to hear him talk of friendships. The one thing that could ease the loss of so many of her kin, as well as her godfather and his son, her friend, was Tavis's love, but that was to be denied her. Straining to draw upon some of her former strength and practicality, she tried to be content with his sincere tenderness and attempts to ease her pain.

  "At least I was able to send them off that day with words of love," she whispered.

  "Ye speak of love to your family?" he asked softly as his fingers began to idly take down her hair.

  "Aye. 'Tis only the truth. I have the comfort of knowing that my family and my dear friends, the Fosters, knew of my love for them ere they died, as I now hold the knowledge that they loved me. 'Tis a feeling to be shared, not held close and secretive. Mayhaps knowing that they were loved and would be remembered eased their minds. The thought that they knew naught of my love for them is not now added to my sorrow. I do not hold a grief for lost chances or unsaid words." She ignored a slight feeling of hypocrisy as she continued to hide the truth of her love for Tavis, for such a declarat
ion would only discomfort him and bring her more pain when her sentiments went unreturned. "We also spoke of our love for each other whene'er we had to part, for each parting could have been the last. I care for ye, Tavis," she said softly, not wanting to leave her heart fully locked and the knowledge forever hidden.

  "I ken ye do, lass," he replied as he held her tighter. "Ye tell me that each time we make love. Ye ken that I have a soft spot or twa for ye, that I think ye the best I have e'er kenned. I like ye, Storm, and 'tis something I've nay said to a woman. Aye, I like ye and I trust ye."

  "Thank ye, Tavis," she murmured, knowing with an inner delight that eked through her desolation that she had gained more from Tavis than any other woman had. "What will happen to Phelan and me now?"

  "Ye willnae be given to Sir Hugh, but other than that I cannae say just now." He caressed the thick, silken cloud of her hair that now hung free. "Dinnae think on it now, lass."

  "Tavis? Will ye make love to me now?" she asked softly as she looked into his face.

  "Now, lass?" he asked as he fought the sudden rush of desire that flooded him. "Are ye sure?"

  "Aye." She began to unlace his tunic. "I feel so lost, so alone. There is an emptiness in me, a black desolation that is frightening me." She met his concerned look. "I fear twill ne'er leave me. I need to know that I can still feel, that I have not been left but an empty husk by my loss. Give me the pleasure and reality of your lovemaking to break its chilling hold. I crave warmth to ease my chill. Is that wrong, Travis?" she asked in a small voice.

  "Nay, lass," he replied softly as he shed his clothes and began to unlace her gown. " 'Tis ne'er wrong to want to escape the pain, to seek to prove to yourself that ye are still alive and nay alone. I understand your need. Dinnae feel any shame. No one would fault ye for what ye seek. I only hope I can give it to ye."