by Carmen Caine
“The horse?” Merry repeated. “Please?”
Her brother turned to her with a grin, reaching over to tousle her hair. He whispered something and the small girl collapsed into giggles. Bree sat up slowly, certain she was the victim of some jest, but if it ended with her not having to deal with the animal, she was satisfied.
As Merry gleefully skipped out of the abandoned croft, Ruan turned to peer down at her through half-closed lids. “Ye’ll ride with me, lass.”
Bree meant to nod, but the movement caused her to wince in pain. Her throat ached and her ears burned in pain.
Ruan lifted her lightly to her feet. “Are ye well?” he asked, dark eyes filling with concern.
She succumbed to a bout of coughing that ended with a sneeze.
“Bree, are ye ill?” Merry asked as she rushed into the dilapidated structure. “Isobel, Bree is ill!”
Isobel responded with a groan and a sneeze of her own.
The day deteriorated rapidly, in all respects.
It grew colder by the minute. Snow began to fall, and both Isobel and Bree worsened. Ruan’s mood took a dark turn. Bree knew he was worried; his mouth eternally twisted in a grim line, whenever he looked upon them.
Merry rode the mare with consummate skill, eager to scout the road ahead, but Ruan cautioned her against straying too far from his sight. Their constant bickering over the matter made Bree’s head pound. She spent the day huddled under Ruan’s cloak, grateful for his warmth and the strong arm circling her waist. If she hadn’t been so ill, she’d have found it a disturbing ride, but as it was, she spent little time fully conscious.
At noon, they dismounted, allowing the horses to take water from an amber colored stream as a biting wind swirled around them.
Isobel’s condition had worsened.
Ruan studied her, gravely concerned, and then made a decision. He’d head north, to a village almost a day’s ride in the wrong direction. “If Tormod is following, he’d never dream of searching there,” he explained. “Aye, at this snail’s pace, he’ll find us for certain.”
His voice sounded unusually far away, as if he were speaking under water.
Frowning, Bree attempted to turn her head, but found her neck too swollen to allow it.
She gasped in pain.
“Fires of Hell, lass,” Ruan pulled back her plaid for a closer inspection. “Ye look worse than Isobel!”
“I’m … fine ...” she attempted to croak, but stopped abruptly. It was too painful to continue.
His cool fingers brushed her forehead, “By the Saints, ye are burning, lass! Merry, ready the horses, we are leaving. If we push hard, we can be at the Inn by nightfall.”
“We’ve little coin,” Isobel protested weakly, though perking up at the mention of the Inn.
“Aye, but we’ve no need of Bree’s horse; she canna master the beast anyway,” he grunted, gently lifting her into his saddle and mounting behind.
“’Tis most unfair!” Merry complained loudly. This set off another bout of quarreling. Merry objected with every possible argument to keep the horse to which Ruan simply replied, “No”.
Gratefully, Bree leaned against his warmth, finding comfort in the deep rumbling of his voice and promptly closed her eyes.
She didn’t open them again until it was very late.
Snow was falling when they arrived in a small village composed of little more than the Inn and two other buildings. The Innkeeper examined Bree dubiously, refusing them at first, but in the end, he was unable to resist the trade of such a fine horse for lodging and far less coin than its worth.
The room was in the attic, tiny but clean. There was a large bed tucked under an eave, with a small one next to the fireplace.
“It’s more than I could have hoped for, love,” Isobel said, as she sank gratefully in the covers with a sigh.
***
The first thing Bree noticed was that she could swallow.
The second was she could hear.
Everything seemed unusually loud, the murmur of voices below, the soft crackling of the fire, someone breathing close by and the intermittent rustle of paper. She was warm, dry and comfortable. She stretched, wiggling her toes gratefully against the coarse linen sheets before striking something warm and solid. She simply enjoyed the heat for a time before, with great reluctance, she lifted her lashes to wince in the late morning light.
“Are ye feeling better, mo ceisd?”
Ruan’s deep voice rumbled from under her ear, and she glanced up, startled. He was holding a book, stretched lazily on his back by her side, shirt undone, as he peered down at her with a mixture of amusement and concern.
Bree rubbed her cheek, embarrassed to be sleeping yet again on his shoulder. She was making a habit of it.
“Ye’ve been half out of your head these past few days,” he offered when she made no move to speak. “Five, to be exact.”
Five? She frowned in disbelief. Surely, she hadn’t been ill for five days, but then, jumbled memories returned. Someone had poured liquid down her raw throat. Strong hands had rubbed her aching back and a soft voice had whispered mo ceisd more than once. She sighed. The man continually called her a problem, and she supposed she was. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“Bother?” Ruan shook his head. “’Tis no fault of yours ye took ill.”
“I … cause you a lot of… problems.” She looked away, feeling unaccountably shy.
“Aye.” He chuckled. “But ye seem to be speaking of different ones than what I have in mind at the moment, lass.”
Bewildered at his suggestive tone, she turned back to meet his inquisitive eyes. “I only meant… you call me a … problem, quite often of late…” Her voice faded.
“I call ye a problem?” he asked, brows knit. He appeared genuinely perplexed.
“It is nothing,” Bree said, shaking her head, embarrassed.
“Nay, please explain,” Ruan insisted. He pulled her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m fair confused, mo ceisd….” He hesitated only a moment before his lips began to widen in a smile. “Ach, I’ve never called ye a problem, mo ceisd, nae once.”
Bree frowned. “You… just did, twice.”
“Nay, lass.” His voice deepened as his hand slid to the back of her neck.
The man’s touch was like fire, making it distractingly difficult to concentrate on his confounding words. His hand glided down her shoulder and arm to thread her fingers through his. Then, he drew her hand to his chest, slipping it under his shirt, pressing her palm against his naked skin. She jerked and blushed scarlet.
He leaned close, whispering, “Mo ceisd… has a different meaning…”
She gulped, her hand still touching his bare chest. She knew she should move it, but her fingers refused to budge.
He slid half on top of her, pressing her back into the pillows. “Aye, I should have just used the English, my heart.” He pushed closer, his lips touching her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “Aye, that is what I’ve been calling ye… my heart.”
Bree caught her breath, heart pounding. He stayed where he was, lips lightly brushing her neck. It was simply impossible to think.
“Aye, mo ceisd.” He took a deep breath and slowly withdrew her hand from under his shirt, adopting a rueful expression. “I’ve had every intention of moving slow with ye, but ye make it right difficult on a man.”
She really didn’t want him to leave, but she was a little unsure if she was ready for what might happen if he stayed. She found herself blushing again.
“I’ll fetch ye something to eat,” Ruan murmured, rising from her side and buttoning his shirt. “Ye must rest and gain your strength.”
She watched him go, secretly admiring his muscular figure and then mystified at her thoughts and still exhausted, allowed her heavy lids to fall once again.
The next time she woke, the sun had fallen. The smells of the evening meal wafted up from below, accompanied by the occasional hearty laugh. She was alone. Her dr
ess lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and she hurriedly slipped it on. After several minutes, she ventured down the narrow, creaky steps to the common room of the tiny inn.
Hesitating in the shadows, she peeked at the bustling scene. All the locals seemed to gather here, men, women and a few children. All chattering loudly, all dining on what looked like more porridge, herring and bannocks. The thought of eating fish and bannocks again was hardly appealing.
In the corner, Merry and Isobel sat alongside an elderly man, and then she saw him. Ruan was almost in the center of the room, leaning comfortably against a table, laughing down at a buxom young woman standing very close.
Bree’s heart pounded loudly in her ears. As she watched, the woman tittered, sending Ruan a seductive pout. Feeling utterly betrayed Bree whirled, almost running up the steps as hot tears collected under her lids.
She was a fool.
Of course, with all the beautiful women incessantly throwing themselves in his path, he could hardly maintain an interest in someone such as herself. Throwing the door open with a gulp, she stepped into the room only to be promptly caught from behind.
“Ach! Why are ye running from me, lass?” Ruan captured her about the waist, reeling her to face him.
“I’m not!” she lied, trying to pull away, but he was too strong.
“I’m nae a fool!” he said, his dark eyes smoldered. “I ken well enough ye’ve little reason to trust me, but this is beyond absurd! I hardly spoke to the lass! Even if I did, ‘twould have no meaning!”
“She seemed quite…pleased!” Bree gulped, a crease forming between her brows.
“Ye think I ken naught of loyalty?” He bristled with a scowl. “Do ye think I’m that desperate to bed anything?”
Perhaps she was being unfair, but it was difficult when she was an obligation to him, nothing more. He’d never have picked her on his own; and, she was quite plain. At that, she did burst into tears and tried to pull away. “She was beautiful!”
Ruan let her go and she escaped to the opposite side of the room, sniveling and wiping her tears with her hands, feeling raw and foolish. There was a short silence, one in which she didn’t dare look at him. She heard his footsteps behind her soon enough. Strong fingers gently grasped her shoulders, turning her once more his direction. He leaned down to look into her face.
His expression softened. With eyes crinkling in some form of amusement, he said, “Aye, I suppose there are many bonny lasses, and I may see many of them, but whatever they may be… they will never be Bree.”
Thinking of the future bonny lasses they had yet to meet, Bree frowned, turning away. “I’m certain I’m nothing compared to… to…”
“All the women of my past?” He finished for her, giving his lip a bitter twist.
She was not thinking that. However, now that he mentioned it, she wanted to hear his answer. She nodded.
“Aye, well, honestly… I canna recall much about them, and I’ve no desire to do so. Back then, I thought only of myself and I never thought of the pain I caused. Aye, ‘twas considered manly to have your way with women and leave when ye tired of them.” Ruan’s eyes held an expression of embarrassment mixed with shame. “But, after seeing the pain my mother suffered and Jenna’s…My eyes opened to my folly. If ye could only know…’tis because of my past that I truly cherish ye more and will be all the more fiercely loyal. I ken well enough what ye are, and I’ll do anything nae to lose ye.”
It was a good answer, and her heart warmed a little.
“I’ll spend the rest of my days proving it to ye,” he said, his thumb gently traced her cheek.
Yes, she was falling for the man. She had been, since the moment she had met him.
“‘Tis Bree that I want, ye wee fool, the most suspicious and untrusting lass in the Highlands,” he said with a smile. “Why would I wish for aught else?”
At that, she looked away and whispered grimly, “But you didn’t choose me!”
Ruan’s expression lightened. “Aye, I did.”
“You thought I was Aislin—” Bree shook her head.
He laid a finger on her lips and slid his hands down her arms to encase her fingers with his. “It matters naught how we met, but I do know one thing, lass, and I know I chose ye. I remember quite well the day I did.”
At that, her interest was piqued.
“Aye,” he said, as he pulled her close. His voice dropped into a husky whisper. “When I rode away with Robert…” His voice faded at the mention of Robert, breaking a little with sadness.
Bree’s hand lifted of its own accord to touch his shoulder briefly in a gesture of sympathy.
He held still and then continued. “Aye, that day…I knew I wanted ye. ‘Twas that day I decided I would try to win your heart, even though… I’m nae worthy of it and I’ve little to offer ye, lass.”
She caught her breath, surprised.
“I thought to court ye slowly, mo ceisd,” he said ruefully. “But, then I was wounded and we had to leave… and I kept thinking ye did nae want me nor trust me to provide for ye… and… I still canna promise ye a roof…”
They stared at each other, and then his eyes took on an expression that made her heart pound.
Leaning close, he whispered with some difficulty, “Words are useful, but then… there are times that one should simply… feel.”
His hot breath blew against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
Mesmerized, she saw his mouth come closer.
This was no light, tender brushing of the lips; the kiss was overpowering and sensual. His tongue immediately sought entry, parting her lips with a demanding mastery in a deep exploration that made her senses reel. She experienced the strangest sensation that she was a mere observer standing several feet away, for she’d never melt against him in such abandon, or open her mouth wider to invite such an achingly sweet possession. She desired nothing more than the touch of his tongue on hers and the uncertainties, the jealousy, simply vanished.
Somehow, they had collapsed sideways onto the bed; he pushed her back, hands skimming the curve of her hips before sliding to unlace her bodice. He was kissing the side of her neck and a throaty moan escaped her lips. His fingers slid under her gown, slipping it over her shoulder and his mouth followed it. The most exquisite of sensations burned through her, and she arched closer in his arms.
There was a loud whack as Ruan fell sideways off the bed.
Bree scrambled back to see Merry wielding a broom, pummeling her brother as he sprawled on the floor, protecting his head with his arms.
“Merry! Stop!” he shouted, voice muffled by the floor.
“What kind of a beast are ye?!” Merry shrieked hysterically, jabbing him repeatedly with the broom.
“Ach, Merry!” Isobel chuckled from the door.
“He was licking Bree!” the little girl screeched, lunging for Ruan as he attempted to move.
With a swiftness that belied her age and bulk, Isobel deftly disarmed the little girl and tossed the broom aside.
However, Merry was not one to abandon a cause so lightly; she threw herself in a flurry of kicking and biting, once more knocking Ruan down. He fell against the wooden bed frame, striking his head against the post with a loud thud.
“Fires of Hell!” he shouted. “Get her off me!”
Smothering her laughter, Isobel caught Merry’s ear and pulled her off. “Merry, he was nae doing aught that he shouldn’t have done, weeks ago.”
“But ‘tis disgusting!” Merry protested, twisting to Bree. “He was hurting ye!”
Bree hurriedly shook her head in denial. Despite the humiliation of the situation, she could not have the little girl thinking her brother had caused harm.
Merry’s mouth dropped open and a look of pure betrayal suffused her pointed face. “Ye liked it?”
“Ach, lass,” Isobel smiled, pushing Merry roughly to the door. “Someday, ye’ll find love yerself, and ye’ll see then that it can be a good thing. Now, ’tis time to eat.�
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“‘Tis revolting!” Merry shouted. “I’ll never let a man lick me!”
The door closed behind them with a bang.
Bree took a deep breath and wriggled back into her bodice, not daring to look at Ruan.
He rose to his feet with an exaggerated groan. “I’d best see to the wee spitfire,” he said. He paused, looking down at her before leaning down to kiss the top of her head and to ask in a whisper, “So, did ye like it?”
She blushed scarlet.
Chapter 20: Jealousy
Taking a deep breath, Ruan closed the door softly behind him. He was grateful for Merry’s interruption. He did not want to rush with Bree. With a mere flash of those green eyes, she’d ignited an inferno of passion and he winced at the readiness of his body. One moment, he’d been angry and in a keen distress over her lack of trust. The next, he had found himself lying on her, trailing his tongue on the soft swell of her shoulder intent on undressing her as quickly as possible. Aye, where was his honor? How could he think to bed Domnall’s daughter when he could not even provide for her? But, all such honorable thoughts fled with memories of her soft skin. He wanted to rip her clothing with his bare hands, devour every inch of her and shout, not in anger, but from the sheer intensity of what burned inside him. Aye, she was quiet and shy, but her lips were alive with a passion he’d never tasted before.
However, it must wait until he secured a place as Cameron’s man. It was the right thing to do.
Straightening his plaid, he headed down the stairs to focus on Merry. She sat with Isobel in the far corner and when she spied him, slammed her tankard down with a loud clash.
Several pairs of eyes turned their way.
Ruan scowled. With Merry’s current mood, they would likely provide full entertainment for those gathered there that night.
Isobel smiled as he took his seat, but catching Merry’s black expression, she murmured a warning. “Be nice, lass.”
“What were ye doing?” Merry asked bluntly, glowering.
Ruan squirmed, twitching several fingers in the silent plea for her to lower her voice. She inspected him up and down, waiting, and when the silence became unbearable, he licked his dry lips. “Doing?” He feigned ignorance, only temporarily delaying the inevitable.