by Ria Cantrell
“Rory, wouldn’t it be best to put her in the supply cart?” His clansman asked.
“Nay. She is nearly frozen. She needs my warmth if she is going to live. Besides, I can ride ahead faster than by dragging the cart on this rutted road. She needs help and the faster I can tend to her, the better chance she has to be aided. If I can get her to the keep, she will have better care. Try to find anything that will be left of hers and…” Rory swallowed and said softly to not alarm the girl, “bring the driver so we can give him a proper Christian burial.”
Rory instantly saw the distress in Brielle’s eyes at his words, but there was no more he could do for the driver now. Rory’s concern was solely for the injured girl. Rory just had to save her. He almost felt that saving her would exonerate him somehow from the failures of his past.
He mounted his horse and his men handed Brielle carefully up to him.
She cried out in pain, feeling broken despite what the MacCollum had said. Through the pain, Brielle was trying to concentrate and think rationally. What was his name, this MacCollum warrior? Rory…Ruiri…she thought. His men called him Rory. Forcing her mind to reason, Brielle tried to remember what she knew about Ruiri, but her head hurt too much to think. She knew there was something she had heard about the one called Ruiri. It was hard for her to put her thoughts together. She vaguely remembered hearing her brothers talk of the Highland Wolf, and they called him the Rabid Dog in response to the legend.
Legend said he had yellow eyes, like that of a feral wolf and he could tear a man apart with his bare hands or teeth. She remembered he was considered some sort of a monster; the kind of legend that they told children to put the fear of God in them, but surely this man could not be the same one. His eyes were golden, not yellow. He had been so gentle; how could she believe that those hands would tear her apart? She knew there was something else that was important that she should remember about this one most of all, but in feeling the warmth of his body behind her, she succumbed to the comfort, and further thoughts on the matter went from her mind. Where his body touched hers, she did not feel pain. He leaned in close to her ear and she felt the warm breath caress the side of her face. How odd it was to feel such comfort in the arms of this, her most hated enemy.
“There now, Lass. I’ve got ye’. We are going to ride very fast. Dunna’ be afraid. I willna’ let any more harm come to ye’.”
She should have been terrified. If Ruiri MacCollum knew she was a Campbell, her battered body would be the least of her worries, but as she thought on that, his strength and gentleness was so overwhelming, that she relaxed against him.
Brielle murmured, “Where is the woman?”
Rory said, “What woman, lass?”
“She was standing behind you.”
In hearing her own voice speak her thoughts, her thoughts no longer seemed cohesive. She felt the powerful beast charge forward, which caused her to cry out in pain.
Rory tightened his hold on her, feeling her faint in his arms. They rode at a break-neck speed and he tried to will healing warmth into her cool body. She was so cold, that he felt her leeching his warmth out of him. The poor lass had sunk back into unconsciousness, which in a way he was grateful for. At least that prevented her from crying out in pain with every jar of the horse, which Rory knew had to be immense. Still, it worried him that her injuries were more severe than even he could determine. Rory was concerned about her hallucination that there was some woman behind him. He worried that the blow to her head was giving her delusions. She had already said there were no other travelers with her, so he wasn’t concerned he had left someone behind. Rory tried to put it out of his mind.
Rory looked at the broken little lass he was holding. There was something vaguely familiar about her; something that nagged at the back of his mind. Brielle Val ‘Cour; he was sure he didn’t know the name. And why was she traveling alone? Why was she dressed for mourning?
Rory had this horrible feeling that destiny’s hand had put him in this girl’s path. He was not sure he liked that feeling that such a hand may affect the rest of his life. He did not want to think of such things. He almost felt like saving her was his one chance to right the wrongs of his past, as if saving this girl could put the ghosts of Caitlyn and Daria to rest.
He chided himself thinking those thoughts of fancy. No, nothing would exonerate him from those things. He would forever carry their deaths like a bounty on his own head. He could not lose one more. He had to save this one.
He murmured against her hair, “Ye’ must live, Lass. I canna’ lose ye, too.”
Rory fought the familiar Darkness that was threatening him. It was happening more often these days. If he merely thought of Caitlyn, it seeped through him, sucking him down into the depths of despair and dragging him to that very dark world where he felt like he was drowning; choking his way to the surface; fighting for his very breath. No!
He had to be strong and fight the sucking Darkness. He had to for the girl's sake. Brielle needed him to get her to safety. He had to do this for her, and in doing so, it may mean his own salvation. Still, silently he again cursed the Campbells. It fired him enough to hold on, even though it replaced the Darkness with a blood lust that was almost as black. A roar left his lips, which was part anguish and part fury.
“May all the Campbells rot in hell!” he exclaimed irrationally.
Rory’s anguished roar jarred the girl and roused her back to consciousness. Her heart thudded wildly from fear. What he had screamed registered through her haze.
Dear God, he wishes me dead, she thought. Does he know I am a Campbell…Oh help me Lord, help me, the Highland Wolf has me…and wants me dead.
She began to twist frantically in his hold despite the pain it caused her. Her thrashing brought him from his dark reverie.
“Easy, Lass. Dunna’ move so--ye’ are badly hurt.”
“Let me go--let me go.”
“Lass, ye’ are safe now. Try to be still.”
“Help,” she screamed. “Help me.”
Rory figured she must be suffering from shock. He cooed and soothed her as he would his little nephew. “Hush, Honey, I am sorry I frightened ye’, I have dark thoughts sometimes. I had na' meant to frighten ye. I am na' gonna’ hurt ye. I am takin’ ye’ to be tended to, I know ye’ hurt…just try not to move too much.”
His deep voice soothed her somewhat, but his hatred for her clan frightened her. Was he going to kill her once he knew who she was? She was too battered and broken to resist him or to form a plan to escape. She would just have to get well enough to run from him, but till then she would hide her identity. Rory felt her settle down again.
“There, girl. I promise to help ye. Try to be still now. Ye’ve suffered a terrible accident. I’m takin’ ye’ to safety.”
She was not certain but she thought she felt him kiss the side of her face, like someone who was used to soothing a small child. She was in too much pain and she felt so very tired, she could do naught but cease struggling and relax against him.
When next Brielle woke, she saw they were quickly approaching the MacCollum stronghold. She tensed and began to protest, “No…dunna take me there.”
Rory heard the burr and asked, “Are ye' Scottish lass?”
She began to weep bitterly and she just said, “Please don’t take me there.”
Rory eased his hand over her hair and he said, “Hush girl. No one there will hurt ye', we are gonna’ take care of ye' and get ye' well.”
She continued to cry and Rory could tell she was just exhausted. She had been through so much.
“I give you my word, Brielle. No harm will come to ye.”
Somehow, Brielle knew that when Rory MacCollum gave his word, he would sooner die than break it. Still, when the truth came out about who she really was, things could get dangerous.
“Hold on a little bit longer, lass. We will get ye' to a place that will be much more comfortable. Ye’ have done really well considering your injuries.”
The riding party was met with some of Rory’s brothers and his father. Rory gently handed Brielle down to one of his brothers. He explained that he had come upon a carriage wreck and that he needed to help the injured girl. Once he dismounted, Rory took the girl back into his arms and he carried her into the keep. She looked so pale and the purplish bruising was more prominent now in stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin. Caleb MacCollum, laird of the clan and Rory’s father looked at his son, knowing that Rory’s own personal battles made him need to save her. He patted his son’s shoulder and he said, “Son, she looks very sick. I know we will do what we can…but….”
“No, Da! Dunna’ say it. She has to live. She is not going to die. Dear God I wish Rhianna was here. She would know what to do.”
Rory had gotten to watch Rhianna Ragnorsen work time and again in the village with the sick and injured while he stayed on at Ragnorsen keep. His sister’s husband, Drew Brandham had been captain of the elite guard of Erik Ragnorsen and while Rory was there, he had made friends with both Erik and Rhianna. Rhianna was a natural healer, but she was home in England and far from MacCollum land.
Rory settled Brielle into a bedchamber close to his own. She had once again slipped into unconsciousness. Caleb watched his son gently stroke the girl’s face. Rory took a cloth and began washing the dried blood from the wound and from her hair. Caleb’s heart broke for Rory, knowing more was at stake for his son than just saving this poor girl.
He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps Morag will know what to do. She has many remedies and potions that have healing properties. I will have her come and tend the girl.” Rory just nodded, continuing to wash the blood away.
Once the blood and dirt was washed away, Rory felt like he had been punched in his chest, for he could see she had the face of an angel, despite the vicious purpling of her skin. Rory’s heart slammed into his ribs as he gazed down at her. She had soft full lips that Rory suddenly wished he could kiss. He chided himself for such an odd feeling to have. The girl was injured and yet, he felt such a strong urge to kiss her. He needed to focus on helping her.
In cleaning her up he was able to see that her hair was a delicious dark sable brown, but it had soft strands of gold mixed in. It was nearly long enough to reach her waist. Her dark lashes were lush and long as they rested on her delicate cheekbones while she slept. He remembered her eyes; lavender flecked with hazel and he thought how very beautiful she was.
While he was exploring her for broken bones, Rory was now reminded how shapely her legs had been. She was curvy and feminine, even though her mourning attire did nothing to accentuate her shapely figure. Rory felt dumbstruck by the broken beauty before him. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on, even with her bruises and cuts. He could not resist touching her as his hand gently stroked over her hair and softly down her cheek.
Brielle's eyes fluttered open at his touch and they met the golden gaze of Rory MacCollum, her enemy and her saving angel. He had been so gentle with her. He was a giant; big in every way, from his broad shoulders, big gentle hands to his massive and strong legs. She drew in her breath. He was lethal, yet he was absolutely the epitome of male perfection. Despite his size, he touched her with the most-tender care. How could a man like this be gentle, too? Her brothers surely never were. They were brutal and mean; rough and cruel. There was something kind about this man.
As Brielle's eyes searched his, she saw it; the deep sadness that had nothing to do with her pitiful state. No, this sadness went much deeper and had a vastness she could not comprehend. Something about this man was broken.
Rory felt a shift in his reality as Brielle looked into his eyes. He almost could not tear his gaze away and he felt her almost invading his psyche. She seemed to be looking deep into his soul and he realized that he did not like such scrutiny. Finally, he tore his eyes from hers and looked away. He didn’t need her looking at him like that, as if he was the one battered and broken. However, looking away or not, he knew she could feel that he was indeed broken. That thought made him uneasy. He surely did not want her pity.
He cleared his throat and he said, “How are ye, lass?”
When he spoke, she was reminded who he was and she remembered. It was him, the Wolf of the highlands. She hadn’t dreamed him.
“I hurt…all over.”
“I know, lass. I know. Can ye’ move, though?”
She nodded and moved her arms and then her legs, but just that small attempt to move filled her with pain.
“Could I have a drink, please,” she asked shakily.
Rory poured her a mug of cool water and helped her sit up enough to be able to take a drink. The water felt like pure bliss as it eased down her parched throat. When she had had enough to drink, she laid back.
“Thank you. You have been so kind to me,” she said, no longer thinking about the stories she had heard about him. He had taken such good care of her.
Rory was embarrassed by her praise. “T’is nothing, lass. T’is the very least I can do.” Then thinking about her welfare, he asked, “Lass, who should we contact about ye’?”
A look of terror came over her. Rory didn’t miss it. Was she running from something? She answered, “No one…I am alone in this world, now.” He took her hand and patted it.
“Were ye’ goin’ to a funeral, then?”
At this question, her eyes welled with tears. She choked out, “No.” She realized she truly was alone and tears splashed down her cheeks.
“But ye’ are dressed for a funeral, lass.”
She sobbed, “No, I'm a . . . widow… dear God, I am a widow.”
Though she had been a widow for two months, she never had said the words out loud. Saying it out loud had made it suddenly very real. She was truly alone. Rory thought her sobs were from her grief. He had no idea it was because she felt truly lost.
“I am sorry for yer’ loss, Lady,” he said raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. He understood how it felt to lose a mate; how life seemed unreal when that person was gone. Poor little thing. She was so young and now she was injured and battered.
“Surely yer’ husband’s family will wish to find you.”
She laughed bitterly. “No, they are glad to be rid of me. T’is why I was…coming home.”
Rory’s eyes snapped back to hers. So she was a highlander after all. “Home, Brielle? Ye’ are Scots?”
“Aye, but all my family is gone,” she added hastily. “I just wanted to return to the land I remembered and loved,” she said, telling a half-truth. While her brothers lived, they were no family to her. She did not want them to know she was back in Scotland. She knew she had better come up with a story quickly. She could not tell this man who she was. She knew Rory deserved the truth, but she feared the truth would put her in grave danger.
“Where were ye’ from, Brielle? Where was yer’ home?”
“I don’t know,” she lied, thinking she did not know a better story to dissuade Rory's questions.
“What do ye’ mean, lass?”
Not wanting to meet those intense eyes as she lied, she turned away and stammered, “I don’t remember everything, since hitting my head.”
She felt the truth would be worse to tell him than her lie. Thankfully, someone knocked on the door and broke his inquiry.
The old chatelaine, Morag, entered the room, carrying a sack of jars, which Brielle knew would be filled with things to tend her. Even though the woman was very old and frail, there was an intensity in her grey eyes that was unmistakable. She was of the “Old Ways,” Brielle was certain.
The old one hugged Rory and she said, “Good to see ye’ home, Lad. Ye’ have been gone so long.”
The old woman spoke Gaelic to him. He nodded and answered, “Good to be home, Morag.”
“Ye’ brought us a broken bird, Ruiri?”
“Angel….” he mumbled and looked away, realizing the young widow may understand Gaelic.
He said, “She is Scots. She may spea
k the old tongue. But…she doesna’ remember everything…she has had a nasty blow to her head.”
Morag looked at the girl and asked if she spoke the ancient tongue.
“Aye,” Brielle answered. She found no point in pretending about that, certain that lying about that would surely come back to haunt her even if none of the other lies did. Brielle felt a stab of regret hearing Rory refer to her as an angel after she had blatantly lied to him. Rory looked at her and she did not meet his eyes.
She was hiding something, he was sure of it, but he knew that women sometimes had no one to protect them. He didn’t sense her secret was a danger to himself or his family, but he would try to unlock it in time.
He said, “She has been in England. Her husband was English.” Morag watched the silent exchange and saw how Rory looked at the girl. Hmm, he was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Morag saw the raw attraction building between her nephew and this broken girl.
Only, now she needed to turn her attention to the injured girl so she said, “Alright Ruiri, leave us. Let me have a look at yer’ broken little angel.”
“But I…”
“Go boy. I need to look at her and I dunna’ want to embarrass her more than necessary. Go visit with yer’ da. He is glad to have ye’ home.”
Before he left, Rory turned back to Brielle, sensing her sudden fear and he said, “I will be back soon. Morag will help ease yer’ pain.”
Despite her natural fear of him, something made her trust him. Morag watched Ruiri’s gaze meet Brielle’s as a silent communication passed between them.
Don’t go…I am afraid, Brielle thought, willing him to read her thoughts.
Lass, you are safe, Rory seemed to answer.
Morag fought the smile that wanted to lift her lips. It would seem her precious Ruiri had found her at last. Their auras were already quite co-mingled. Oh, but they had a rough road ahead. The girl was hiding the truth from Ruiri, she could feel it. Morag did not know what she was hiding, but she knew there was a story, sure to be told.
She knew that the reason was probably because the girl was terrified. She also knew whatever it was, surely it was something that was going to shake the foundation of Rory’s world. Despite Brielle’s pull to Ruiri, Morag could sense that the girl feared him almost to the point of terror. Why would she fear him after he had been so careful with her? Who was she that she feared Ruiri?