Cavan had no intention of leaving his brother’s side, though he was exhausted from battle, and his wife seemed to understand his concern.
“I have had the servants prepare a bath for you,” Honora said, her voice low in consideration for the sleeping Lachlan. “Go bathe, then sleep, and after you are rested you can come relieve your mother and me, for your brother will need looking after throughout the night.”
Cavan leaned down and pressed his cool cheek next to her flushed one. The heat seared him like a branding iron, though he didn’t mind being marked by her. “Thank you.”
Honora nodded and quickly returned to Lachlan’s side.
Cavan didn’t return until dawn, exhaustion having claimed his battle-weary body. He rushed to the solar, Artair joining him along the way.
“Sleep imprisoned us both,” Artair said with a sense of guilt.
“At least we are well rested and can relieve my wife and our mother so they may rest,” Cavan said, reassuringly grasping his brother’s shoulder just before entering the solar.
They both froze as they watched their mother and Honora frantically working over their brother, blood everywhere and Lachlan moaning.
“He ripped his stitches after fighting us while in the throes of a dream,” Addie explained.
“Damn,” Artair mumbled. “I should have remembered that Lachlan always relives the battle in his dreams from that day.”
“Since when?” Cavan asked.
“Since you and Ronan had gone missing.”
“That matters little at the moment,” their mother insisted. “It is what must be done now that matters, and we could use your help in restraining him.”
Cavan and Artair positioned themselves at the shoulders and feet of their brother as Honora once again stitched the wound.
When she was finally done, she would have toppled over if not for the quick reaction of her husband. He caught her arm and secured her in the crook of his shoulder.
“Honora is exhausted,” Addie said. “She has not slept a wink, insisting that I take time to rest while she continued to care for Lachlan alone. If it wasn’t for her calming voice and actions…” Addie shook her head. “…Lachlan would have continued to fight us.”
“You will rest now,” Cavan demanded, tilting his wife’s chin up and seeing how the exhaustion consumed her lovely violet eyes.
“I would like that,” she said with a yawn.
Cavan was about to swing his wife up into his arms when Lachlan suddenly attempted to bolt off the bed. He would have been successful if not for Artair’s firm hold on his shoulders. Cavan helped him keep Lachlan stable, but the injured brother didn’t settle completely until Honora rested her hand to his chest and spoke softly in his ear.
When Lachlan finally woke from his disturbed sleep, Cavan was able to order his wife to go rest. He wished he could join her, be alone with her and express his gratitude for what she’d done for his brother, but he was still needed at Lachlan’s side.
He watched Honora, saw that fatigue had claimed her body, and he worried that she wouldn’t have the strength to climb the stairs to their bedchamber.
“Tell me of the battle, Cavan,” Lachlan said, his teeth gritted against the pain.
“Yes,” Honora encouraged. “Tell your brother of the victory.”
“It was a worthy win,” Artair boasted, and soon the brothers were comparing their prowess with a sword.
Cavan slipped out of the solar a couple of hours later to check on his wife. He found her sound asleep in their bed, snuggled deep amidst the bedding, with a strong fire keeping a chill from the room, and he wished he was keeping her warm with his body.
The thought didn’t startle him as he walked over to the fireplace and braced his hand against the mantel to stare down at the flames. Honora had been on his mind much too often and in ways that would probably shock and offend her innocence.
He had been pleased to realize she wasn’t a complete little mouse, afraid of everything, but then again, that sudden knowledge made him all the more curious to learn how she would react to making love.
She had a gentle touch and a sincere kindness to her, and right now he wasn’t prepared to deal with a tender woman. He needed one with strength and hunger for her husband, for his need for a woman bordered more on ferocious rather than tender.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, a steady pain pinching at the base. He growled low in his throat, and it reminded him of the animal he had been forced to become in order to survive. He hadn’t been able to shed that beast inside him, for fear that it might be of use one day, but he worried that he would not always be able to control the beast.
The growl surfaced again when he recalled the trouble Lachlan had with disturbing dreams after battle, another fault he took to heart and considered his own. If he had been victorious against the barbarians, then Ronan would still be with them and Lachlan would not suffer as he did.
He was not the leader he should have been that day, and that was why he kept the beast alive and well inside him. Never would he allow one of his to be taken from him, never would he not protect his people and his land, and the beast remained to make sure of it.
Cavan walked over to the bed and bent down on his haunches to gently run his finger along his wife’s cheek. “I will keep you safe, even from me.”
Chapter 9
A few days later, after a brief bout with fever, Lachlan incessantly complained about being confined to his bed until Addie could no longer bear to listen and freed him, though not before issuing strict warnings as to what he could and could not do.
Honora kept her laughter to herself as she listened to Addie’s commands, knowing full well that Lachlan would adhere to none of them. But satisfied that his leg seemed to be healing nicely, she didn’t worry over it.
“And do you have anything to add?” Lachlan asked, drawing Honora out of her musing.
She smiled. “Keep the bandage clean and the stitches dry and you should fair well.”
“I like her list better than yours, Mother,” Lachlan said with a laugh.
“Then make certain you adhere to it,” Addie cautioned and shook her finger at her son. “Or else.”
Lachlan laughed louder. “Or else what?”
“Or you answer to me,” Cavan said without an ounce of laughter or a pinch of a smile.
Lachlan’s laughter turned to a grin. “A challenge you are certain to lose.”
“I doubt it, but you are welcome to try.” Cavan walked over to Honora and held out his hand. “Come, wife, I have need of you.”
After briefly hesitating, Honora placed her hand in his. She wanted to ask him what need he spoke of, but another part of her didn’t want to hear the answer. She thought to inform him that she had duties to tend to, but duty to her husband usurped all other matters. In truth, she knew she had no choice but to tend to his need, whatever it might be. His warm fingers closed strongly around her cool ones as if he didn’t intend to let her go.
She was surprised when they stopped in the great hall and he retrieved her green wool cloak that sat on the end of one of the tables and handed it to her without explanation. Honora slipped it on, assuming he intended for them to go outdoors, but instead he directed her to the staircase and they climbed the stairs to the battlements.
He preceded her along the walkway and stopped to glance out over the land that stretched far out before them, Honora halting beside him to enjoy the view.
“I had hoped to take you for a walk across the moors today, in appreciation for all you have done for my brother,” Cavan said, and pointed to a cloud-infested sky. “But the impending weather prohibits such an excursion.”
“That is very thoughtful, thank you.”
He turned to look at her, and she was caught by the gentleness in his handsome features. Gone was the harshness in his dark eyes and the squint of doubt lines that always fanned them. His mouth was visibly relaxed as if he could actually smile if he tried, and his strong chin, whil
e still strong, didn’t jut out as if prepared to suffer a blow. This tender soul, she could get to know.
Unfortunately, he disappeared in a flash, and she wondering if perhaps it was wishful thinking that had her believing she saw kindness in him.
“You served me well, wife.”
“It is my duty,” she said, and looked out across the barren moors that surrounded the keep.
“Vast emptiness,” he said, his own glance following hers.
“Vast peacefulness,” she corrected. “There is nothing there to obscure its beauty or hide from you. It leaves itself open, vulnerable, and invites you to do the same.”
“It is not good to be vulnerable,” he snapped.
“We are all vulnerable one way or another.”
“Only if we allow it,” he said. “You have a choice to be strong or weak.”
“Strength comes in different ways,” Honora argued gently, for she felt as if she defended herself. She knew he thought her meek, unable and perhaps unwilling to defend herself, but she had managed to protect herself since she was young with the only weapon she had—her wits. And while it wasn’t as lethal as a sword, it had allowed her to survive.
Cavan nodded slowly. “You’re right about that.”
He turned silent and stared out over the land, and she wondered over his thoughts. He barely spoke with her. This outing had surprised her; even the few words he’d spoken to her were unexpected. Before, it seemed he had meant to ignore her and keep his distance, and recalling as much, she told herself that his behavior now must reflect merely gratitude, nothing more.
A strong chilled wind whipped around them and she shivered, hugging the wool cloak to her, while he stood unperturbed and in only his plaid, his shirt, and his sandals.
“You are cold,” he said, and hugged her against him, snuggling her in the crook of his shoulder so she rested alongside the length of him.
His heat instantly assaulted her, slipping beneath her blue blouse and brown skirt until it settled into her flesh, and she almost sighed with the pleasure of it. It ran along every inch and depth of her, setting her skin to tingle and spark and ignite a heat of her own.
Thunder rumbled overhead, but she paid it no heed, simply settled her face to his chest and drank in the scent of him. She didn’t know what it was about the smell of him, earth and pine and male, that attracted her; she only knew that she relished his distinct aroma.
She rubbed her cheek against his shirt and inhaled.
Abruptly, she was jerked away from him and held at arm’s length while his dark eyes glared accusingly at her. She had no idea what she might have done to upset him, but he was clearly upset. His jaw jutted out, his lips locked tight, and his dark eyes were unforgiving.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, hoping to correct whatever mistake she had made.
“For what?” he asked in a growl-like rumble that frightened her.
She stuttered, not knowing how to answer, for she could make no sense of his sudden anger.
Her hesitation seemed to further agitate him. “Can you not speak up for yourself?”
Honora closed her eyes for a moment, envisioned the kindness she had seen in his eyes and held the vision firm, for she could speak easily to that man. After a moment she opened them again. “I did not know I needed to defend myself. I had simply felt safe in your arms.”
His expression softened for such a brief moment that Honora wondered if it was her imagination.
Cavan shoved her away from him. “Don’t!”
She took another step back and stared at him, bewildered.
He spewed a frustrated grunt and ran anxious fingers through his hair. “Don’t feel safe with me,” he explained.
She shook her head. “But you are my husband.”
He lunged at her and she hurriedly backed away, though not quick enough, for he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to him. “I warned you once many years ago to watch where you stepped, and still you have not learned.”
Honora turned her head and saw that she would have fallen off the battlement to certain death had he not saved her, though in her defense, she whispered, “You charged at me.”
“There is no excuse for not watching where you step.”
He was right. She had foolishly thought herself safe with him, and simply because for a single moment she thought she’d seen kindness in him. She thought she could trust him. In truth, she could trust no one. She had been alone in this world since her mother’s death and had to accept it and continue to protect herself with her wits, as she’d been doing for so very long now.
With a breath of strength that rose up from deep inside her, she said, “This time, I will remember. May I be dismissed?”
“No,” he snapped. “I brought you here so you could escape the confines of the keep and your duties. I will leave and you will stay.”
She licked her lips, her mouth having gone dry, as it always did when she attempted to defend herself. “What if I—”
“Stop!”
Honora’s eyes widened at his stern command. What had she done now?
“Don’t lick your lips.”
She offered an explanation. “They are dry.”
He offered his own. “You invite when you do that.”
“Invite?”
“A kiss.”
She gasped. “I never meant—”
“Your innocence invited.” He released her and stepped away.
Honora thought to turn and run, but she had a duty to this man and her vows, and her vows had yet to be sealed. Whether she favored the thought or not, their marriage had to be consummated.
She gathered the courage to say it and hopefully invite his response. “You are my husband.”
“A husband who doesn’t want you,” he yelled, his words magnified by the howling wind that suddenly surrounded them.
His words struck like a finely aimed arrow, and they hurt her badly. She understood this marriage was forced upon them both, but what was done was done, and neither of them could change that. They could only make the most of the situation. Obviously, he did not feel the same way.
She did not know what to do, and feared her stepfather’s response if he should learn of this. She wanted to run and hide, but where? She had no place to go. No real home. No one who truly wanted her, loved her.
Honora caught sight of the moors, which stretched out endlessly beyond the keep, and the small patch of trees where she and her mother would forage for plants and laugh together. Her mother’s unconditional love stabbed at her heart, and she didn’t pause to think, not even when the first raindrop struck her cheek. She turned and ran from her husband, down the stairs, ignoring his shouted command for her to stop, ignoring the curious eyes of all she passed as she bolted out of the keep and headed along the moors to what seemed to her a small spot of love.
Cavan pursued her while spewing a string of oaths that kept everyone out of his way. He knew his rage made him appear a man bent on reprisal and that tongues would certainly wag about the way he chased after his wife like a madman, or more appropriately, like a barbarian, but he could not help himself.
Honora was faster than he had expected. She flew across the moors like a winged beauty. Her cloak flared out, her long dark hair blew wildly in the wind, and the rain did not hinder her rapid pace.
He saw where she was headed, the small cropping of woods that many would not enter, fearing tales of fairies and gnomes that were none too inviting. His wife was either foolish or courageous, but then, didn’t it take a fool to be courageous in the first place?
Cavan halted abruptly upon entering the woods. The place was dense with trees, bushes, and boulders, perfect hiding places for the wee people, and it was the heavy clouds and dense foliage in the woods that made it appear to be dusk. Rain trickled in a gentle rhythm over the leaves and rocks.
“Honora!” he called out, and his voice returned to him in an eerie echo.
There was no thought to leaving her the
re on her own to fend for herself against the creatures who inhabited the place. She was his wife, and it was his duty to protect her. Besides, it had been his callous words that caused her to flee.
He had not meant to hurt her. He merely wanted her to keep her distance from him, for his desire for her was growing stronger by the day. He could just take her and be done with it, but then, each time he looked into her eyes he saw her innocence, her need for a loving husband, not a barbarian who needed to assuage his own animalistic need.
He didn’t want to leave her with scars, as had been done to him. She was his wife and deserved more; whether he could ever give her that, he wasn’t sure. It was too early to tell.
Cavan made his way carefully past trees gnarled with age, branches that bowed in the wind to him, and whispers that had to be the wind whistling through the trees. Or was it a voice traveling upon the wind?
He decided to follow the voice and see where it led, and he wasn’t surprised when it took him straight to his wife. She sat on a smooth rock as if talking with someone, and he paused in the shadows to see if he could catch sight of anyone or anything. When he saw no one about, he listened to what she was saying.
“I don’t know what to do with him. He is my husband and I have a duty, but he does not like me. I think sometimes he hates me.”
Her words pierced his chest like a sharp sword. He could never hate her. She was too good, too honorable, too pure.
Honora sighed. “He thinks me—”
She stopped and abruptly stood, looking frantically around her.
It seemed that she had somehow sensed him, or had something alerted her to his presence? He wished that she had finished what she was saying, wanting to know what she thought he thought of her.
“Watch where you step,” she called out.
“Why?” he asked, taking cautious steps.
Honora turned toward the sound of his voice. “The vines can trap your feet.”
Cavan heeded her warning and proceeded carefully, eventually entering the secluded clearing where she stood. He didn’t want her to know he’d been listening, and so, though curious, didn’t ask who she had been speaking with.
Return of the Rogue Page 6