“These woods are not safe,” he said.
She looked affronted. “These woods are safer than anyplace I know.”
Her words slapped him hard. On the battlements she’d told him that she felt safe in his arms, and now she let him know it was here she felt the safest. But then, why should he expect otherwise after what he’d said to her? And why did her words disturb him?
He stepped closer to her and was caught by the beauty of her violet eyes. But it wasn’t only beauty that shined in them. There was also a loving, peaceful tenderness he longed to taste. “You should not have run away from me and made me give chase.”
“You need not have chased me.”
He reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her mouth and his thumb brushed her lips. “I must see you safe. You are my wife.”
He ran his thumb across her moist full lips over and over until he felt his loins grow hard and ache. Then a growl rumbled deep inside him and surfaced slowly until it burst forth and he grabbed Honora around the waist and yanked her hard against him to claim a kiss.
Chapter 10
The first taste of her told him he was in trouble and to stop, to go no further, to end it now, while he was still capable of sound reason. He ignored the silent warnings. How couldn’t he? Honora did not deny him; she responded with innocence and gentleness, which only served to excite him more.
He silently warned himself not to draw her close to him, not to let their bodies touch; just enjoy the kiss, the pure taste of her. How she wound up in his arms, flush against him, he wasn’t certain, nor did he care. His only thought was their lingering kiss and not the rush of passion to his loins, though he did acknowledge the strange feeling of utter contentment that snuck over him and laid claim.
Her slim tongue mated more easily with his as she relaxed in his arms, and his own pace slowed until their kiss turned to savoring each other, like fine food or wine one wished the palate to appreciate.
It took a forceful rush of wind to nearly rip them apart. Cavan wrapped his arms firmly around his wife as she buried her face in his chest and her long dark hair wiped at his face. He felt her shiver and wondered over its cause, the wind or his kiss?
When the wind died down, she glanced up at him, and he saw desire in her lovely eyes. He could take her here and now on the hard, cold ground, just as he’d seen the barbarians do to their women without thought or caring, just plain lust, plain fornication.
He shook the vivid images from his head and silently cursed himself. He had yet to shed the filth the barbarians had imprinted on him and he wondered if he would ever feel worthy enough to be the husband his wife deserved or the honorable clan leader his people expected.
Cavan gently set her away from him. “We must return to the keep before the weather worsens.”
Honora stood speechless, staring at him.
She was obviously trying to make sense of their recent exchange, and while he could offer an explanation and set her mind at ease, he found himself unable or perhaps unwilling to confide in her. How could he expect her, an innocent, to understand his fear, when he himself was struggling to understand it?
“I am your wife,” she said, as if the reminder might help him.
“You need not remind me.” He didn’t mean to sound caustic, though perhaps it was best for them both. She would keep her distance, and he would need to keep his until he felt ready, certain that he could be a good husband to her.
He held out his hand. “Let us return to the keep.”
“I need no help,” she said, and made her way past him.
“But I do,” he whispered, and followed.
Honora fell into an easy routine, taking breakfast early and alone before anyone in the keep woke for the day. Weather permitting, she would then walk the moor or retire to the sewing chamber and tend to her stitching.
It had been a couple of weeks since her husband kissed her, and the kiss had lingered long in her memory. Surprisingly, she’d enjoyed it more than she had expected. He was strong yet gentle with her, and she felt unfamiliar stirrings she wished to explore.
Her husband, however, had not kissed her again since that day, purposely avoided her, and worst of all, continued to sleep on the hard floor in front of the fireplace. She didn’t know what to do or even who to speak with about it. She had thought to confide in Addie, but then, she was Cavan’s mother and would advise patience, as she had before.
Honora wished her mother were alive. She would have then discussed the matter with her, and her mother would have suggested and advised her, and offered her comfort. But there was no one to offer her comfort; she was alone.
“I have come to seek the company of my little sister.”
Honora jumped at the sound of Lachlan’s voice and turned to see him close the sewing room door behind him.
She greeted him with a smile as he sat in the chair to her right and stretched his long legs out in front of the hearth.
Lachlan was a ruggedly handsome man, like most of the Sinclare men, but possessed considerable charm that made him appear all the more handsome. Honora often thought it was the twinkle in his brown eyes and the sinfully playfulsmile he constantly wore that made him so appealing to women.
“Is my brother a good husband?”
His direct and unexpected query startled her.
Lachlan shrugged. “You two don’t spend much time together, and soon tongues will begin to wag, and you know what happens when gossip gets started.”
She did; truth somehow got distorted when gossip reigned. She chose her words carefully for she did not feel comfortable discussing her husband with his brother. “Cavan is busy with plans to find Ronan.”
“You mean his obsession to find Ronan.”
Honora was quick to defend her husband. “He knows what your brother suffers far better than you. How can you not expect him to be obsessed with finding Ronan?”
Lachlan nodded. “True enough. I sought you out in hopes of gaining some insight to my own brother. He is not who he once was. Cavan often laughed and joked and trusted Artair and myself, and would talk often with our father. He now seeks solitude, as do you, and I wish to understand why.”
Honora knew he was truly concerned; his playful smile had faded away. But she was at a loss as to how to help, especially since she wished to understand herself.
She shrugged and spoke the truth. “I don’t know.”
“That’s what I thought. He ignores you as much as he does us.” He shook his head. “And he angers so easily. That was something Cavan never did. He always remained calm and in control, even when others shouted and threatened. Now anger possesses him and he snaps and shouts most of the time.”
“He has suffered—”
“All warriors suffer one time or another,” Lachlan said as if affronted. “Cavan knows this and was prepared to do whatever it took to survive and escape.”
“I know nothing of being a warrior.”
“I beg to differ.”
Honora looked at Lachlan as if he were crazy. “I am no warrior.”
His smile returned. “I’ve watched the way your stepfather speaks to you and treats you. You have to be a warrior to deal with that man, and if my brother wasn’t wallowing so much in his own self-pity he’d see it for himself and know what a gem of a wife he has gotten.”
She was speechless.
Lachlan stood. “You’re a good woman, Honora. any man would be proud to have you as his wife. Hopefully someday my foolish brother will realize it.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud to call you sister.”
Honora sat stunned. She had never considered herself a warrior or would have known that Lachlan gave any thought to her, other than being his brother’s wife. He had been grateful for her help in healing him and they had shared a few interesting conversations when she tended him, but she did not realize that she’d made any impression on him.
She felt a twinge of guilt for seeking continued solitude. It was a way of protecting
herself against her stepfather; if he didn’t see her, he couldn’t hurt her. She supposed she thought the same of her situation with Cavan. If she kept out of his sight, she need not concern herself with their marriage.
However, she was no longer a child who could run and hide. She was a grown woman who needed to be mindful of her duties. And what of gossip? It was sure to start if Cavan and she remained distant from one another. What then?
She shivered with the thought of her father finding out. She’d have far more to fear from him than from anyone else. While she didn’t consider or believe herself a warrior, she did possess survival instincts. She needed Cavan to be a husband to her, and the only way she could achieve that was by being a wife to him.
No matter how daunting the task seemed or how much she preferred to seek the comfort of solitude, she had to make sure she survived, and the only way to be certain of that was to make sure her marriage was secure.
Honora placed her sewing in the basket beside her chair, stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her green wool skirt, adjusted the ties on her blouse, ran her fingers through her long dark hair, and then went in search of her husband.
Cavan pounded the table with his fist. The sturdy wood didn’t creak or budge, nor did his father, who sat opposite him. He had always admired his father’s ability to remain calm and unwavering in confrontations, though today was different. Today he wanted his father to capitulate and allow him free reign in the search for Ronan.
It was only he and his father in the solar, and he wanted it that way. He didn’t need his brothers’ interference or their opinions. None of them understood, none of them knew or could imagine the horrors Ronan was probably suffering, and if his brother had succumbed to his injuries and torture, then he wanted his body brought home for a proper burial.
“With enough men and my leadership, I can attack Mordrac and seize his land—”
His father interrupted with a firm “No.”
“Afraid,” Cavan said accusingly, and instantly regretted it. His father was an honorable man who taught his sons that fear was not to be feared, but to be embraced and used as a weapon against the enemy.
His father reflected the barb with a knowing nod and a reasonable explanation. “An attack on Mordrac would take sizable troops and time and leave our land and people vulnerable. It is not a wise choice, though a difficult one since I too want Ronan home.”
“It can be done—”
“But not without significant consequences that I am not willing to take,” his father said.
Cavan wanted to strike out at someone or anything, his hurt was so great. How could he have returned safely home without Ronan? He was his youngest brother and he should have looked out for him, protected him, kept him safe.
“Cavan,” his father said calmly, and motioned for his son to sit.
With a slump of defeat, Cavan sank into one of the two chairs in front of the table. He knew his father was right, but it didn’t make it any easier for him and his efforts to find his brother.
“Your brothers and I have never stopped searching for Ronan and we never will, but as clan leader I must do what is best for the clan, not only for my immediate family. You must understand this, for one day you will lead the clan and need to make decisions you don’t always favor. Besides, we discovered there is a chance that Mordrac may have sold Ronan.”
“When…how…where was he taken?”
His father held up a hand. “We only discovered the news this morning.”
Cavan shook his head. “And if I had given you a chance to speak when I burst into your solar, you would have told me.”
His father leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. “I can understand your need to find your brother. You above any of us know what Ronan suffers. But then you also know how important it is for us to be wise in our response. There is more at stake here than just Ronan’s life.”
Cavan didn’t want to listen to what his father told him, but understood it completely. Their enemy could very well be using Ronan as a weapon against them, expecting the Sinclares to charge recklessly into battle, especially now with his own return home. If plans weren’t carefully followed, endless lives could be lost, not to mention land holdings.
“Artair has men out now verifying the news and seeing if we can discover where Ronan was taken,” his father said. “His men are good. Give them time and they will have an answer soon enough.”
“It is hard to sit and do nothing,” Cavan admitted.
“Take time to heal and be with your wife. When the time comes—and it will—to rescue Ronan, you will ride with your brothers and free him. Now go and see your mother, and look happy before she drives me crazy with worry over you.”
Cavan laughed. “You are the leader. Order her to stop—”
His father laughed even louder. “Order your mother?”
Cavan winced. “I should know better. I will go speak with her and ease her concerns.”
“And what of your wife?”
Cavan’s smile vanished and his body grew visibly rigid.
“Cavan!” his father snapped.
He reluctantly met his father’s eyes.
“Tell me you have sealed your marriage vows.”
Cavan remained silent and continued to hold his father’s questioning stare.
His father stood with a start. “You are the next laird of the Clan Sinclare. You have a responsibility, and that includes producing an heir. I know you did not choose Honora for a wife, and for that I am sorry, but she is your wife and you have a duty. I expect you to honor it.”
“Is there anything I have a choice in since my return?” Cavan asked.
“You will lead this clan, and as I’ve cautioned, make difficult choices. That is all there is to it.”
Cavan laughed caustically. “That simple?”
His father folded his arms over his chest, looking like the formidable clan leader. “It is never simple, and never think it is, and do not make the mistake of not making a friend of your wife, for she will be there when no one else is. She will hold your hand when needed, listen to your complaints, speak truthfully about your faults but only to you, and stand by your side when others feel you wrong. She is your partner and will always be there for you.”
Cavan shook his head. “You speak of love. There is no love between Honora and me.”
“You have not given it a chance.”
“And now I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do,” his father said.
Cavan shook his head. “No, I don’t have a choice. I have an obligation, a duty to my clan.”
“There still remains a choice, and when you realize that, then you will be ready to lead this clan.”
“A riddle for me to solve, Father?”
“An easy decision for a wise leader.”
Cavan walked to the door and swung it open before turning back around to his father. “Perhaps,” he said, “I’m not a wise leader.”
Chapter 11
Honora watched her husband stomp through the great hall swearing, people moving out of his way, the women quick to huddle in gossip. She’d been so busy keeping to herself that she had not paid attention to the wagging tongues and the damage they were sure to cause.
She adjusted her blue shawl on her shoulders and made her way to the kitchen, alert now to the whispers around her while appearing lost in her thoughts. Her husband had left the hall, leaving the door open behind him, men rushing to close it against the cold wind or perhaps against Cavan. From the grumbling she overheard, it appeared the clan was concerned with Cavan’s strange behavior since his return. She even heard one woman refer to him as a barbarian, and another made mention of Cavan constantly arguing with his father. She knew that since everyone in the clan respected their laird, a son who disagreed or failed to show him respect would always be the subject of much gossip.
Honora berated herself as she exited the kitchen, the servants glaring at her and whispering as she went past. They lay t
he blame on her, as Cavan’s wife. She had a duty to her husband, and it was obvious that she had been neglecting him.
She could only imagine what her stepfather must be thinking. She had to make things right or no doubt he would show her the error of her ways.
She returned to the kitchen and spoke with the cook, giving her directions for the evening meal she wanted served to her and Cavan in their bedchamber. The cook’s sour expression didn’t change, though she nodded forcefully, as if letting her know it was about time she tended to her duties.
Honora rushed through the great hall and up the stairs to her bedchamber. She wanted to gather the last of the heather on the moor and needed her cloak, since the day had turned blustery. As she ran back down the stairs, she recalled Lachlan’s words about her being a warrior and smiled. Perhaps she did have a little bit of a warrior in her.
“Honora.”
Addie’s sharp call caused her to stop abruptly and wrap her cloak around her like a protective shield.
“I haven’t seen much of you—or my son—lately.”
Honora stumbled over her words, not knowing how to respond and not wanting to offer an explanation. It was enough trying to cope with a husband who kissed her yet didn’t want her, much less express her own misgivings about the situation.
“I—I’ve be-been—”
“Staying to yourself,” Addie accused.
Honora lowered her head, feeling guilty.
“I’m sorry,” Addie said.
Honora raised her head, her eyes wide.
“My son, who always talked with me, ignores me…and my new daughter, whom I admire, seeks solitude rather than speak with me. I merely wish to help, to be a shoulder for you to lean on when necessary. It is not easy marrying a stranger, and even harder marrying a stranger who never approved of the union.”
“I must admit, it has been confusing,” Honora said.
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