It had swollen even more, and now the leather refused to release the injured foot.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, annoyed.
“It would have slowed us down.”
“Are you in such a hurry to reach your new home?”
“I had been until you told me that it was your clan you were taking me to,” she said, knowing it would not do.
“My clan is comprised of good people. You will be welcome there, though . . .”
“You have doubts,” she said at his pause, and shook her head at the obvious mess she had gotten herself into.
“I do not, though I think it wise we don’t mention that you are a—” He pursed his lips tightly, as if he didn’t want to continue.
“Say it,” Tara insisted. “I am a death bride. Death Bride. Death Bride. I kill husbands. I kill people who love me.”
“I don’t believe that,” Reeve said. “That is one reason I prefer not to tell anyone of your past. It is time for this so-called curse to be broken. With no gossip to follow you, no one will fear you, and the curse will be no more.”
“You’re willing to take that chance? You know so much about curses?”
“Curses only have the power you give them,” he said.
“I’ve learned otherwise and will not take a chance in causing more harm.”
Reeve reached out and took hold of her chin. “Listen and listen well. You requested that I take you somewhere safe. My clan is a safe place. You will be well protected there, and if you wish to keep to yourself, to make no friends, then so be it. But it is where you are going and where you will stay.”
It did no good to protest. He was giving her what she asked for. What she hadn’t counted on was being attracted to him, though what did that matter. Nothing could come of it. She couldn’t allow it to. Or was it that she wondered if anyone could ever love her again? It had been so long, and men were so fearful of her that love simply avoided her. But as Reeve had said, she could keep to herself and not bother with anyone.
It wasn’t as if she was in love with him. He was no more than a friend. The problem, no doubt, was that she had been too long without the touch and company of a man, and like a starving person, she now craved it. However, it was an appetite she would have to ignore for his safety and for her sanity. As far as not letting anyone know of her being a death bride? She would bide her time and see if it could truly work to her advantage. She had her doubts, and oddly enough, though she could not say why, for the first time in a long time she had an inkling of hope.
She finally agreed. “All right.”
“Believe me, it is a good place for you.”
“Since you are an honorable man, I will take your word on that,” she said.
“Good, for it is given in friendship.”
Friendship.
There was the inkling of hope rearing its head. It would be wonderful to have friends again, to be able to talk with other women and perhaps love would stop avoiding her and somehow, some way the curse could be lifted. She truly hoped that such a miracle was possible.
“Now for your ankle,” he said.
“I don’t think we should remove the boot. Once off, I doubt I will be able to get it back on.”
“You cannot walk on it,” he said as if he declared an edict.
“I must,” she insisted. “At least until we reach your friend’s croft. There I can rest.”
He rubbed his chin, and once again she noticed his handsome features. She liked the way his dark eyes seemed to match his dark hair and the lines of his slim nose blended so perfectly with his facial features that one would believe his face sculpted by talented hands. But most of all she liked that he cared about her. She could see worry in his eyes, and it was so very nice to have someone truly care.
“We could slow our pace,” he said.
“Then we would not reach the croft before nightfall.”
“The walk will be too much for you,” he insisted.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
He grinned. “With how stubborn you are?”
“My stubbornness just might serve a purpose this time.”
“The purpose of making your ankle worse and causing you more pain?”
“I can manage this,” she said. “And once at the croft, I can rest.”
He shook his head, as if in disagreement with himself. “You will tell me if the pain becomes too much?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“If we must stay with my friend a few days, you will not protest?”
Since they would not be alone, she had no worry. “I will not protest.”
“Then we will try and make it to the croft.”
“You don’t believe I can,” she said, seeing the doubt.
“You can at the cost of pain and more swelling.”
“But it will bring us closer to your home, my new home, and that is where I long to be.”
“I cannot fault you there,” Reeve admitted. “I long to be home myself.”
“You miss your family?”
“Aye, I do,” he admitted, tucking the hem of her cloak around her feet and stretching his legs out where he sat beside her. “Mercy, Duncan’s wife, is expecting their first babe in the summer, and the family can’t wait for the wee one to be born.”
“How wonderful,” she said, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice. She loved children and had hoped to have many. Rory and she had talked about having a large family. He had joked about starting his own clan, and she had been willing to oblige him. They had been so young and so in love. There seemed to be nothing to stand in their way . . . nothing except death.
“Are any of your other brothers married?” Tara asked, not wanting to focus on sorrowful memories.
“None but Duncan,” he said.
“And none in love?”
Reeve hesitated a moment. “Trey lost the woman he loved, killed by our enemies.”
“How terrible for him,” she said, too familiar with the pain of loss.
“It was,” Reeve agreed. “The family didn’t think he would ever heal. I sometimes wonder if he has, or if he has just found a way to cope with it.”
The hiss of the flames drew their attention, and the succulent scent of the roasting rabbit reminded them of how hungry they were. Soon they were enjoying the meal, and soon after that, Reeve was dousing the fire with handfuls of dirt and kicking the last of the charred wood apart.
“Are you sure of this?” he asked.
Tara nodded. Pain or not it had to be done.
They set off, and she didn’t know how she kept pace with Reeve, but she managed. Her ankle pained unmercifully until finally it settled into a dull rhythmic throb that, in a strange way, became bearable, or was it that she ignored it as best she could.
Reeve endlessly asked if she was all right, and she endlessly informed him that she was fine. But after a few hours, the throbbing increased, and she began to ask him how long it would be before they reached the croft.
Finally, Reeve stopped abruptly and turned, reaching for her.
She swerved out of his reach. “What are you doing?”
“I intend to carry you.”
“You most certainly will not.”
“There’s no time to argue,” he said. “And since you have repeatedly asked how far we have to go, your ankle must be paining you. I hadn’t expected you to last this long.”
“I can manage,” she insisted adamantly, expecting him to argue.
He stretched out his hand to her. “Let me help you.”
This time when he stepped forward, she didn’t stop him from scooping her up. Even with the weight off it, her ankle continued to throb. But that wasn’t what drew her attention. A chorus of chaotic warnings shouted in her head how dangerous it was to be in his arms.
Why then did his embrace feel so utterly wonderful? The brute strength of his arms, the ease with which he carried her, the determination on his handsome face, they all made it seem so right.
Without thinking, she laid her head on his shoulder, tucking the top of her head beneath his chin and snuggling comfortably against him.
“There’s another abandoned farm a short distance away. We’ll stop there for the night.”
Her head shot up.
“Don’t bother to argue,” he said, cutting off her protest. “You can’t walk on this ankle, and the more you try, the worse it will get and the longer it will take us to reach home.”
It annoyed her that he made sense, and so she returned her head to his shoulder without making a comment.
He shifted her to sit more comfortably against him. “You know, you’re a perfect fit.”
He was right. She had felt it herself. She did fit with him perfectly, and that’s what worried her the most.
Chapter 5
“So many farms abandoned,” Tara said, as they approached a small croft that had long been deserted. It appeared as if Mother Nature had reclaimed the land and was about to do the same with the cottage.
“The kings demand too much from their people. And King Kenneth, who rules over them all, should be creating laws and enforcing them to protect his people. But he’s as busy as the kings taking more than he gives.”
“Times are troubling,” she said.
“More than anyone cares to admit.” Reeve lowered her carefully to the ground. “Stand here and don’t move while I remove the debris from around the front door.”
Tara followed his instructions, not wanting to prove a hindrance to him. He searched the area before starting, disappearing around the side of the cottage and reappearing only moments later. He held up a half-broken barrel and grinned as if he’d been given a gift.
She smiled herself when he began digging the snow away from the front door and snapping the tree branch that had grown through the lone, small window. He worked with such ease and confidence, like a man comfortable in any task he took on.
What she liked most was that he worked with a smile and no complaints. She had thought he might balk about the delay her ankle caused, but his concern was more for her comfort, and she was grateful.
He used his shoulder to get the door open, it proving a bit stubborn at first. But it was no match for his brawn. He vanished inside, and, with a limp, she approached slowly. She hadn’t gotten very far when he appeared in the open doorway.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle. It must have time to heal.”
She was in his arms before she knew it and carried across the threshold. She was surprised to see a single bed with a limp mattress that needed stuffing, a table with one corner rotted away, and two chairs that had seen better days. And a fair-sized cauldron sat to the side of the cold hearth.
He placed her on the bed. “Those chairs don’t look sturdy; besides, I need to get a fire started. Then I’ll go hunt us something for supper.”
“I should help,” she said, feeling a burden on him.
He laughed, shook his head, and bounced down on his haunches to reach out and take hold of her leg.
He held her leg with a tender gentleness while his other hand attempted to work off her boot. It had gone quickly from her not wanting him to touch her to his touching in an intimate fashion. No man had ever caressed the calf of her leg.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This may hurt.”
That he offered an apology astounded her. He was proving to be different than she had first imagined him. When he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, she had grown even more frightened than she had been. She thought he might join the robbers and then, when she had realized he intended to defend her, she had been stunned. And in the few short hours since they had met, she realized he was no common Highlander warrior. Nor was he easy to define.
She had watched him dispose of four men as if they were nothing more than annoying gnats, and he had not a bead of sweat on him when he had finished, nor had his breathing been labored.
He smiled more often than most Highlander warriors that she had known, and he was fearsome when it came to strength and kind when it came to gentleness.
She winced as he eased the boot down over her injured ankle.
“Take your stocking off,” he ordered.
“Why?” she demanded.
His grin turned his face wickedly handsome. “If we pack snow around the ankle, it may take the swelling down.”
She should have realized that herself. Instead, she appeared the fool, he obviously thinking that she thought he was thinking something entirely different and inappropriate.
“You’re right,” she said.
“I’m always right.” He bounced to his feet. “I’ll get the snow while you remove your stocking.”
He was even mannerly enough to give her privacy. And she saw to removing her stocking before he returned. He dumped the handful of snow into the broken barrel piece and placed it on the floor by the bed. He lifted her beneath her arms and braced her back against the wall, then stretched out her legs on the bed. He positioned the snow-filled barrel piece beneath her injured ankle and piled the snow over it.
“Now you’re all set. I’ll get the fire going and then be off to get us supper.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“No need. You’re paying me well to see to your safety.”
“Safety yes, kindness is another thing.”
“A man protects a woman,” he said with a shrug. “It is the way of things.”
It might be for him, but it hadn’t been for her. Watching him set a fire and seeing that he took the time to gather pine branches and pack them in the window to keep the cold away was a sight she favored. She had seen to taking care of things for herself for so long that it was difficult to believe that someone was now looking after her.
If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.
“Lord,” she whispered, “please let this work. Let me slip away. Let them think me dead. Let me finally be free.”
When she had told the Highlander she would give him all of her bride price, the plan had barely formed in her head. Her first thought had been to buy his protection and see her safely to her intended destination. After all, what else was there for her? When suddenly the thought of freedom gripped her, and her mind was made up before she even attempted to make sense of such an insane idea.
Once it had taken root, it had flourished, and she knew she would pursue it. She felt no guilt in using her bride price; after all, her father was paying to be rid of her, so he would get what he wanted.
The cold had seeped into her ankle and was now traveling up her leg. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her upper body and rested her head back, closing her eyes. She was tired and would take a few moments to sneak a brief nap. Then when she woke, perhaps she could help Reeve. She snuggled her chilled chin into the fur lining of her cloak and was asleep in no time.
Reeve had the rabbit cleaned and ready for the spit before he reached the cottage. All he had to do was set it to cook in the fireplace. He had even managed to find some onions and turnips in what once had been the cottage garden. Though frozen, he could set them to cook in the cauldron. He bowed his head into the wind, which had picked up, the air having grown colder with the approach of dusk.
He hurried into the cottage, shutting the door against the rush of cold that followed him. He turned to proudly show off his successful hunt and saw that Tara was sound asleep. He rid himself of his plaid and skewered the rabbit on the spit in the fireplace to cook. He made quick work cleaning the dusty cauldron with snow and then adding fresh snow and setting it on the hook in the hearth. He chopped the onions and turnips and added them to the melting snow. When he was finally done, he walked over to Tara.
He reached out and took hold of one of her curls, the ringlet wrapping around his finger. It was soft, silky, and shiny, the color as dark as raven feathers. He took hold of others, and they curled around his finger as eagerly as the first.
Tara stirred with a faint sigh. He wondered over t
his woman he had just met yesterday. He knew little about her, and yet she intrigued him. She had made certain at first to keep her distance from him, but he knew that wouldn’t, actually couldn’t, last long. With the snow and the cold, it was inevitable they would be drawn together whether to provide heat to each other or a helping hand as she had needed today.
She had called out to him, and when he had turned with barely enough time to grab hold of her hand, before she went over the edge, he had felt a jolt to his gut. He thought for a moment she’d slip from his grasp, but she stretched out her fingers to him as he did to her, and they grabbed hold of each other and clung tightly, not wanting or willing to let go.
He wondered who waited for her and if her intended would care that she would never arrive. Or would it be her bride price that he missed? Marriages were made more often for the convenience and benefit of the clans. Love was rarely involved, but his parents’ marriage had shown him the difference, and he knew that he would settle for nothing less.
Tara hadn’t had that choice. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape a marriage that wasn’t of her choosing. But he couldn’t help but wonder who would ever agree to wed a woman considered a death bride?
It made no sense.
Her eyes suddenly popped open, and she glared at him standing there, a few of her dark ringlets curled around his fingers. They said nothing, just stared, until Reeve moved, trying to rid his fingers of the possessive curls.
They refused to let go, curling around his fingers again and again each time he tried to tear them away. He was surprised to hear her chuckle.
“They are obstinate like me,” she said.
“And soft like you.” He turned and walked away, the curls reluctantly releasing him. He smiled, wondering if she would chastise him or graciously accept the compliment.
“Something smells good,” she said.
From the hint of joy in her voice, it seemed to have pleased her, and that pleased him.
“A rabbit is roasting and onions and turnips are boiling.”
“I wish I could be of more help. I am not accustomed to being idle,” she said.
That had him returning and taking a look at her ankle. “The swelling has gone down some. We should pack more ice on it.” He glanced at her. “Up to suffering another chill?”
Loved By a Warrior Page 4