“Let me put more wood on the fire first—”
“You can trust me. I give you my word.” And he meant it. He was a man of honor. He’d never take advantage of her.
“It never occurred to me otherwise.”
Their gazes locked and held. By God, Noelle Breasal had the kind of eyes a man could lose himself in forever…changeable, like the sea…blue as the sky, then green, and every color in between…
And she was his…she just didn’t know it yet.
She surprised him, bending low to touch his forehead and smooth back a lock of his hair with a caress that was infinitely gentle.
“Let me see to the fire. Then, I’ll come lie down.”
****
True to her word, Noelle did as she’d said. She lay between Logan and the wall, and she fell asleep as soon as her head met the pillow. The feeling of warmth, security, and well-being flooded through her, the last thought she had as she slipped into a deep sleep.
She awoke in the evening as the early shadows fell. Logan lay beside her, and somehow, her head rested on his shoulder, his other arm holding her, as well. She could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks.
No, she’d need not ever worry about her reputation again. But what else could she do? Logan was wounded grievously, and he couldn’t catch a chill—not if there was something she could do to prevent it! She’d not let a man die to save her pride.
She hadn’t realized it, but she had been cold, too. It was much warmer, lying here together…
“You realize you must marry me, now, lass.”
His voice was low…Irresistible…Mesmerizing…
Had she heard him correctly? She moved to look up into his dark eyes. He lay watching her in the flickering shadows, his stare purposeful and intent. No, she’d not misunderstood.
“I—I’m afraid I won’t be marrying anyone, now,” she murmured. Saints, she had to look away. His bold gaze was enough to curl her toes, and the rush of warmth inside her was not altogether pleasant, as unfamiliar as it was to her. Her stomach felt unsettled, of a sudden.
A question entered his eyes.
“I am afraid Lord O’Malley will hardly see me as a fit bride now that you and I have—well, been together—here overnight. Alone. And—and even if I should want to marry McTierney, he would feel the same as O’Malley. I’m tainted now.”
“Nothing has happened. Yet.”
Noelle’s heart pounded at the low timbre of Logan’s voice, and the implied promise that something might happen, after all. Though, she wasn’t even sure what that something was.
“No, not yet. But—but—”
Logan’s direct gaze locked with her uncertain one, and she felt herself spiraling downward until their lips met. He pulled her over until she rose above him in a more natural position—and then he took full possession of her mouth—and her soul.
His kiss was gentle, but demanding. A longing filled her heart. A wistful yearning that she might someday have a man such as this to make her life with swelled and then flamed in her spirit, only to gutter out as the fires of desire took over.
Sheer want replaced any pretty thoughts she’d had of a future, of family, of making a life with any man. Raw want burned sudden and hot within her. It seemed to surprise Logan, but even in that, Noelle was shameless as she opened her mouth for him and melted into his arms.
If she was to be ruined in the minds of others, she may as well satisfy her own curiosity and desires…for at least, she knew she wanted Logan Devlin…O’Malley and McTierney were unknown to her, and after one taste of this man, she didn’t care to know either of the others.
Logan rolled carefully, pinning her beneath him. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes with something akin to regret.
“I could take you, Noelle Breasal…and no one would know. But I refuse to do it like this.”
“But—why?”
The disappointment in her voice made him smile. He bent to give her another kiss, but one that only grazed her lips.
“Because you are worth more to me than a hasty tumble in a crofter’s cottage.”
He lay down beside her, and something told her he’d used up every bit of his strength. He needed rest. She touched his dark hair, her thumb stroking his cheek. He closed his eyes as if savoring the feel of her fingers on him.
“No one has ever said anything that made me so happy…Logan.”
But he was silent, and Noelle was sure he’d not heard her. She would tell him later…when he was awake again. Meanwhile, she’d lie in his arms and think about the words he’d said—and how they had changed everything.
****
By the time Keir O’Malley reached Castle Breasal, McTierney’s forces had already attacked. He rode to the entrance of the grounds where he was met by two ragged, battle-worn soldiers…Breasal men, he was relieved to learn.
From where he sat outside the portcullis, he could see beyond it to the ruin and devastation the battle with McTierney’s men had brought to the Breasal keep.
The wounded lay scattered, still, as if the battle had only just ended. There was an urgency in the cold air that made it crackle and spark around him…as if there was more to come.
“What has happened?” he asked one of the guards.
“Whose man are you?” the guard answered warily.
“O’Malley’s.” Keir was curt. “I must speak with your man-at-arms.”
“This way.” The guard motioned for the gate to be raised and allow Keir entry. He spoke a few words to a young boy who hurried toward them, and the boy led Keir inside.
“Find Conal—if he still lives,” the guard called to the boy.
Once inside the gate, Keir dismounted, walking beside the lad. “What happened here, boy?”
“McTierney’s men attacked us! But we—we held them back. They say this is not the end of it—that they’ll be back—” The boy stopped abruptly, then bent and retched into the snow at his feet.
“First battle, lad?” Keir laid a steadying hand on the youngster’s shoulder. He couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve, at most. The bloody carnage around them was difficult for a man to view without feeling a twinge of a roiling gut—for ladies and lads, it would be nigh impossible to keep a strong stomach.
The boy nodded, shame-faced. “I—I don’t want to be a soldier!”
Keir nodded in understanding. “I’m Keiran Devlin. O’Malley’s man. And you?”
“Jory B-Breasal…”
Keir tried to keep the surprise from his expression. What the devil was the boy doing outside the castle walls? A clan heir—one so obviously untrained…
“I think Conal is grievous wounded,” Jory added. “But…there are others from Clan O’Malley here.”
Keir stopped and hunkered down, eye-level with Jory. “I need to speak to whomever is in charge of things, young Jory. Who might that be?”
“Mama had taken to her bed, as always, when we were attacked. Cormac is away on his travels. Noelle is missing—and she’s a girl. Isabel is a girl, too. I—I suppose—” He turned horrified eyes to Keir. “Ye gods…I’m thinkin’ that would be…me.”
****
“Jory! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Keir and Jory turned at the sound of a woman’s voice behind them.
“Isabel!” Jory greeted her. “Ye should not be out here—’tisn’t fit for—”
“Nor should you!” the woman scolded, coming nearer. She glanced at Keir. “And, who might you be, sir?”
Keir rose from where he’d squatted in front of Jory.
“He’s O’Malley’s man,” Jory answered importantly.
“Keir Devlin, mistress,” Keir said, with a bow. “We were ambushed—”
“Oh, yes! Some of your men are here already. They told of what happened…but…” She raised a brow, “…Devlin? I was assured only two of your party remained unaccounted for—Logan and Keiran O’Malley.”
Keir smiled and nodded. “Forgive my deceit, mistress. I
t has been necessary in many places—I am only cautious—”
“No need, sir. I’m Isabel Breasal.” Isabel gave him a bright smile. “It seems I’m soon to gain another brother—you.”
Keir wanted to tell her he was feeling nothing brotherly about her, at this moment. She was as beautiful as Noelle—but, he had to take care of the business at hand. His brother needed help.
“Is there a place we can speak privately, Mistress Breasal? I have news, and need some urgent help, if you can spare it.”
Isabel nodded. “Certainly. Let’s go inside. We’ll get your horse seen to—”
“I’ll take him to the stables, “Jory volunteered. He turned to look up at Keir. “I’ll take good care of him, sir. What’s his name?”
“Connor,” he answered. “And if you’ll look right in here when you’ve finished—” he patted the leather saddle pouch “—you’ll find a treat or two for him.”
“Yes, sir!” Jory’s face brightened. “Oh, he’s a handsome one, sir.” He reached to pat the horse’s nose.
“Don’t you be stealin’ him away from me, now,” Keir teased, and the boy laughed.
“Not likely, sir. Come along, ye beautiful beast…”
Keir watched as Jory led the horse away, talking to the steed as if he were another person.
“My brother is more at home in the stables than in the castle,” Isabel said, a note of apology in her voice.
Keir met her eyes. “He’s lonely. The horses are friends to him.”
She nodded and started toward the castle entrance. “Aye. Many’s the time I’d like to join him there in those stables.”
Keir wondered at her comment, but instead asked, “Mistress Breasal, who is commander here? And what happened?”
“First, tell me of your brother? Did he…survive?”
They entered the castle and started through the massive Great Hall, where wounded men lay on rush mats that soaked up their blood. Keir cast a quick glance about the room, but saw no familiar faces.
“Yes…he was wounded, but as far as I know, he still lives. I was hoping Deirdre, your healer, could return with me and care for him, but—”
“You know of our healer?” Isabel stopped and turned to face him. “How?”
“Forgive me, lady, this story is complicated. It seems to unravel with no clear starting point. Your sister, Noelle—”
Isabel put a hand to her throat. “Oh, dear God! Where is she? Is she safe?”
He nodded, reaching for her arm as she swayed. “Yes. Yes, she’s fine. She—” He broke off and glanced around. There were too many ears here, to take in what he was about to say.
Isabel immediately understood, and motioned him to follow. “There’s a room we can use off the kitchen…” She led the way to a small storage room, the only place there seemed to be no activity.
She started to close the door, out of habit, but Keir stopped her, placing his hand over hers.
“Let’s leave it open.”
Her face flushed pink as she realized what she’d almost done. “Oh, yes! Of course. I—so—about Noelle?”
“After my brother and I escaped our attackers, we made our way to the crofter’s cottage that is near the border of Breasal and O’Malley lands. Your sister was there.”
Isabel’s concern showed in her expression, and Keir went on quickly. “She was asleep—perfectly fine—”
“But McTierney’s men are still out there!”
Keir waved a dismissive hand. “That cabin is remote. Some distance from where we were attacked. But, my brother is my concern, now.”
“As my sister is mine, sir!” Isabel drew herself up stiffly.
Keir took a deep breath. “I understand. I only meant—”
“Oh, I apologize.” Isabel bit her lip. “It’s just—we’ve been so worried. And then—” She shook her head, as if remembering the events of the past hours. “The attack happened, and we still didn’t know what had become of Noelle.”
“She is safe. But my brother needs help, and soon.”
Isabel gave him a faint smile. “There is not much more that our Deirdre can do than Noelle can. Noelle is skilled in her own right.”
“I’m sure she is, but it was she who told me to ask for your healer.” Keir felt a moment of panic at Isabel’s hesitation, even though it was understandable under these circumstances.
“If my sister were here, she’d be working alongside Deirdre…” She paused, looking up at Keir. “Your men are here, of course. Two of them were grievously wounded—”
“I must see them.” Maybe Isabel needed time to think. And of course, Connor needed to rest. But Keir was anxious to get back to Logan and see to his welfare.
“I’m sure you’re famished.”
Keir smiled. “I am. But my men—I would speak with them, first.”
“Of course.” She put her hand on his arm. “Come with me.”
****
As the dark shadows lengthened, Noelle put a pot of turnips and onions flavored with barley on to boil for a simple soup. She’d found the vegetables in the barn under a pile of straw, just as Old Harmon had said.
Logan needed nourishment to speed his healing. Once the soup bubbled on the hook over the fire, Noelle came to sit beside Logan once more. She laid a hand across his forehead. Warm, but not overly so…there seemed to be no fever.
At her light touch, he opened his eyes, looking into hers. Her heart jumped, then pounded like a thousand runaway horses.
His sensuous lips curved upward, as if he realized the effect he had on her. Her own face grew warm with the blush she knew colored her cheeks in the darkness.
“Smells good…whatever it is…” Logan muttered.
“I’m not much of a cook,” Noelle told him, “but I do know how to make a pot of soup. Though…this will most likely be thinner than we’d like, with no oats for thickening.”
“Fever?” His brows drew together.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“’S good…” He closed his eyes again. “I’m sorry, lass. Not good company right now. I’ll be…better by our wedding night…”
Noelle bit her lip. This talk of marriage discomfited her. And why? She found him attractive. If she were honest, she would admit she found him so much more than merely “attractive”—she found him desirable.
She had lain with him. And she’d wanted…him. She had not planned on this.
Everything had changed in the space of one day’s time. She had fled to maintain her freedom. How childish she’d been. As if running from her problem would make it go away!
Now, the fix she was in was twisted and magnified one hundredfold. She had avoided marrying one man she didn’t know to find herself unable to marry at all—or if she did, to be bartered off to someone so desperate he wouldn’t care about her questionable reputation.
McTierney…She shuddered. He wouldn’t care—would he? He’d already proven he was desperate enough to attack O’Malley’s men and prevent her upcoming wedding.
Or…she returned her gaze to the man before her. Handsome, he was…and she liked the sound of his voice…the way he smiled...the touch of his hands…Saints, she liked everything about him.
He’d mentioned marriage more than once. But being O’Malley’s man…he would have no standing to marry her—especially now that O’Malley would be—humiliated. His bride had spent the night alone with another man.
What would happen to her now? Was there any way to fix what she’d done?
****
Logan awoke to Noelle’s gentle ministrations as she changed the poultice over the wound. The caring concern on her lovely features…now, that was something he could get used to.
She leaned over him, close enough that he could breathe in her delicate scent—clean, fresh…
“Logan?”
“Aye, lass…I’m here…”
Noelle’s look of relief near stopped his heart. When had he ever seen that expression on a woman’s face—
for him? Mayhap the wounding had its advantages…something he had not considered until this very instant.
“I’ve a bowl of soup here for you—”
Logan pushed himself up, intending to sit. Pain ripped through his side, and he gasped.
Immediately, Noelle came out of the chair, kneeling beside the bed. She put her hands on his shoulders, easing him back down. The poultice had slid off, and she replaced it carefully.
“You can’t do it alone—not yet,” Noelle said firmly.
Logan nodded, breathing heavily. “I…thought…”
“Let me prop you up on these pillows. I’ll feed it to you, and—”
“No. I—I’ll do it. If you hold the bowl for me, I can do it.”
“Logan—it’s no trouble.”
“I’ve never been too weak to eat my own food. I—can do it.”
“You are a very stubborn man.” Fire flashed in her eyes, but there was understanding, too. In that, he saw agreement, and she stood to reach for the unused pillows.
With a gentle touch, she arranged them behind Logan’s shoulders. It hurt like the devil, the pull at the wound as he moved. But he could not allow someone—especially this beautiful woman—to feed him like some helpless babe.
“It has…stood me in good stead….Noelle.”
She smiled. “Probably the reason you still live.”
He looked up at her, the teasing glint in her eyes undisguised. She sat down and reached for the bowl of soup.
“Just hold it close for me. I—I can do it.”
He hoped to hell he could.
“Let’s see what kind of meals I can expect in the future,” he said softly, reaching for the spoon.
“You’ve…made mention of that before—a future. There are things...things you don’t know about me.”
“Oh, aye.” He took a small bite of the soup, assuring himself it wasn’t too hot. It would be beyond the pale to scorch himself from the inside, as well. It was delicious—and he could tell she’d set the bowl out some minutes earlier to let it cool. Her consideration touched him deeply. Something so small might seem insignificant to others—but to Logan, it meant more than she would ever know.
“Well…could be because I mean it, lass.” He took another bite. “Would it be so bad—marriage to me?” He cocked a brow. “Ah…is it because I’m not noble born—”
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