Storm Trilogy

by Ria Cantrell

  It would reveal itself in time, Morag thought. The sooner the better! She wasn’t getting any younger and she wanted to see all her precious bairns settled. After Rory’s ma passed, Morag took them all under her wing. He wasn’t actually her nephew, but their blood ties within the clan made all the MacCollum offspring hers. They had become like her very own children.

  Now, with Bronwyn happily wed, Ruiri was the last one she needed to see settled. He vowed never to wed after what had happened to Caitlyn, but here was this broken little angel, mysteriously linked to her Ruiri. Without him knowing it, Ruiri had already claimed her. Now, Morag would have to get the girl well. She was still dangerously hurt and the next two days would tell the tale. The girl could die and Rory would be worse off than before he had found her. Morag would do everything to help the girl.

  As the door shut behind Rory, Morag set to examine the girl. Sometimes injuries weren’t easy to see if things were broken inside.

  “I am going to need to get ye’ out of that dress, but I dunna’ want to move ye’ too much, Sweeting. I am going to cut it up the seam so it can be mended.”

  “Nay, I don’t care. I dunna' care if I ever see it again. I dunna' want to wear it any longer. Cut it to ribbons for all I care.” Brielle hadn’t meant it to sound so harsh but she hated her widow’s weeds.

  She was never really a wife; she felt it so unjust to be a widow. The Widow Val 'Cour, God, how she hated that title, which was thrust upon her.

  Morag suppressed a smile. Good, she thought. Maybe the girl would not want to wait the proper year to court and wed. Mayhap she already knew she belonged to Ruiri. Mayhap that would give her the fight she needed to get well.

  Morag carefully cut the gown away and took a quick look at the girl, not wanting to unduly embarrass her. She covered Brielle up, but not before seeing the many bruises on her fair little body. She probably had a cracked rib from the bruises on her side. Her thighs were purple. Her left breast was terribly bruised as well. Morag didn’t like the looks of it. Sometimes such deep bruises were the sign of unfixable injuries inside. She mixed some herbs into a cup of wine and helped the girl to drink it down.

  “That’s to ease yer’ pain and help you sleep. Sleep will be the best way to heal, Sweeting, but I imagine those bruisies are gonna’ trouble ye’ some. Let the herbs do their magic so ye' can rest and so I can tend ye.”

  Brielle was in too much pain to protest. Even though the concoction was vile smelling, Brielle gulped it down. Morag then prepared a balm to put over the purpling bruises. She was careful not to press too deeply, lest she cause the girl more pain. Despite the ugliness of her bruised and battered body, Morag could see Brielle was a true beauty. She had a perfect little shape for her dear Ruiri, and her face, Ach she was like an angel! Never had Morag seen eyes like that. Ruiri would do well to make this one his wife. That was, of course, if she could get the girl well.

  Once the herbal balm was applied, Brielle felt strangely soothed as the Old One tended her. Her fingers, though gnarled with age, were amazingly gentle. She only flinched when Morag traced that old scar from her chin to her chest.

  “Where did ye’ get that, girl? T’is not from this accident.”

  Brielle looked away. “T’was from a long time ago. T’is no matter now. I know it makes me ugly but, I have learned to live with it.”

  “Girl, you are injured, and though your bruises aren’t pretty, ye’ are far from ugly. Ye’, my dear, are absolutely beautiful.”

  Brielle look miserable. She said, “You are very kind, but I have long accepted that beauty was for other girls.”

  Morag was astounded. Someone had convinced this girl that she was ugly. It couldn’t have been further from the truth and she knew that Ruiri was just the man to appreciate this broken beauty. Trying to take her mind off of her injuries, Morag continued to make small talk with the poor wee lass.

  “Sweeting, I wouldna’ lie to ye. Ye’ are beautiful and once those bruises go away some, your beauty will be hard to hide.”

  “I am too full both in face and in body.” Shrugging, Brielle said, “It is no matter really. I am used to being how I am.”

  Morag harrumphed. Who had made this girl believe such lies? When she looked in a mirror, did she really see a dowdy plain flower?

  “Yer’ face is heart-shaped, and yer’ body is womanly; curvy, the way it is supposed to be. Surely yer’ husband…”

  Brielle cut Morag off and said, “My husband barely noticed me.”

  “Then a fool was he.”

  Shrugging again, Brielle said, “It wasn’t his fault. He was very ill.”

  That statement reminded Morag of Brielle’s recent widowhood.

  “I am sorry for all ye’ have lost, Girl.”

  Brielle said softly, “I barely knew him.”

  Turning away from Morag’s piercing grey eyes, Brielle murmured, “I am sorry, I am very tired now.” She did not wish to discuss her dead husband any more this night.

  “Of course. I will get ye’ a fresh night rail and help ye’ settle in to sleep.” Brielle thanked Morag for her help and kindness.

  Morag said, “Dunna thank me, lass. Healing would be thanks enough.”

  Before turning to leave Morag added, “And Lass, ye’ can trust Ruiri with yer’ life.” Brielle thought that was an odd thing for the old woman to say.

  “He has been very kind to me.”

  “He is a very good man, Brielle. Dunna’ fear him.”

  How did the old one know she feared him? She stammered, needing to know if her fears were founded, “Is…he the Wolf of the Highlands?”

  Morag frowned, knowing how much that name hurt Rory.

  “Some say so, Lass, but…it is not a name he relishes. He does not like being named thus. It has become something that he has grown to hate. Ye’ would be wise not to remind him of it.”

  Brielle nodded, but deep down, she felt afraid again, despite Morag’s claim. Brielle did not want to discuss how she felt about the Highland Wolf, her beautiful enemy. She closed her eyes, feigning that she was drifting off to sleep. She did fear Rory MacCollum. He was a force not to be reckoned with but she was afraid of him more than because of their clan feud. That was scary enough, for certain, and knowing he was her sworn enemy, well, that was scary too; and to know that he was the dreaded Highland Wolf, that was terrifying. Despite all those reasons to fear him, there was something more that frightened Brielle to the core of her very soul than all the rest. Ruiri exuded male sensuality and power. She did not like the way he unnerved her when he looked at her. Brielle did not like that sensual power that invaded her spirit, battered though she was. Yet, something in those beautiful golden eyes bespoke of Rory’s own pain and loss. Something in how he looked at her made her feel like she didn’t need words to communicate with him. She truly had felt his understanding when she had silently begged him to stay with her. She knew that despite her pain, when he had held her in front of himself on his horse, she had never felt so safe. Something in how he looked at her made her suddenly so aware of being female. As the strange herbs started to take effect, Brielle became drowsy, no longer pretending to slip into sleep.

  She murmured dreamily, “Rory is not wed?”

  Morag eyed the sleepy girl. Hmmm, she thought, interesting question for the girl to ask.

  “Nay, Lass, he is not wed.”

  “But who was that girl that was with him…when he found me?”

  With that question, Brielle finally slipped into sweet oblivion, dreaming of the strong handsome warrior who had rescued her and leaving Morag to wonder what girl Brielle meant. Morag was certain Rory hadn’t been traveling with any other women. She decided it was the drugging effect of the herbs and she left the girl’s side to retrieve a night rail from her trunk.

  Morag sifted through the young woman’s things and found a soft night rail; she would bring it to put it on the girl while she slept. She felt the soft wool of a worn plaid at the bottom of the trunk. Morag pulled it out an
d gasped. Campbell colors!

  Of course! That explained the fear she felt in the girl for Rory. It had nothing to do with Rory being the Wolf of the Highlands. There was something else; something deeper that frightened Brielle Campbell. The girl was less afraid of the blood feud but more afraid of the man. Smiling, Morag thought how this girl was the fated mate for the man who had been like a son to her. Ahhh, Ruiri, yer’ broken angel is your most hated enemy, but she will love ye’ the best. I feel it is written…

  Chapter Six

  Rory slipped back into the room where the broken little angel lay sleeping. Morag had said she was given a strong sleeping draught and that time would tell about possible internal injuries. If it were to happen, Brielle would have a crisis within the next passing of a day, but Morag agreed with Rory that while badly bruised, no bones seemed to be broken.

  Once the girl was deeply asleep, Morag changed the girl into the night rail with the help of a serving maid, careful to only pull the garment about her to not move her too much. The girl had no fever near as Morag could tell, which was also good. In fact, contrary to fever, there was only one thing that worried the old woman. Brielle was unnaturally cold. She had been piled with extra furs and blankets because Morag knew that sometimes shock could sap the body of warmth. Rory stoked the fire in the room and he gently placed a hand to her face. Brielle remained cool. Rory sighed.

  Now that Morag had cleaned the blood away from her face, Rory could see the delicate curve of her face as she lay sleeping. Looking at her in the flickering light of the fire, Rory was again brought to the awareness of how beautiful this girl was. It was a shame that she had been so badly hurt. Rory settled his big frame into a chair he had dragged close to the bed and he propped his feet on the side of the bed, deciding to keep vigil over the girl for the night. He took a fur and covered himself, prepared to stay awake all night to assure that Brielle was alright. Yawning, Rory felt more tired than he had realized and he must have dozed off sometime later.

  Rory was suddenly startled awake to the distinct moans of the girl before him. He jumped to his feet and sat beside Brielle, on the bed. He touched her and felt she was dangerously cool. She was barely warmer than a corpse, Rory thought miserably.

  “Ye’ canna’ die, Lass. Please dunna’ die,” Rory pleaded to the moaning, unconscious girl. She was piled with covers and still she was positively frigid. She was thrashing, too, and Rory knew he had to do something. Rory also knew the girl needed to be as still as possible so as to not cause further injury to herself.

  Without thinking about propriety, Rory kicked off his boots and slid into the bed beside Brielle. He gathered her carefully into his arms and he pressed the warmth of his body against her back. She moaned in pain as his arm slipped around her bruised ribs, but in feeling the warmth of his body, Rory felt her relax against his chest. He soothed, “There, there, Brielle, be easy sweetheart. I am here to warm ye.”

  He felt her subdue and calm almost instantly as he held her and she slept deeply once more. She nestled against him unconsciously; seeking his warmth. He was shocked as to how very cold she was. It seeped through their garments and caused Rory to shiver. He pressed her closer, feeling some of the warmth returning to her from his own body heat. He groaned, feeling her nestle her backside against his groin. He forgot for a brief moment that she had been hurt and newly widowed. She was probably used to having her husband next to her in bed, so it was only natural that she relaxed in Rory’s arms.

  Her body was soft and feminine. It had been too long since he had been with a woman and his traitorous body reacted to the feel of her, soft in his arms, fitting herself into the niche his legs created for her.

  “Damn,” he muttered, feeling himself rise against her tender backside. She flinched only slightly, but then seemed to fall back to her dreams deeply. He chided himself for allowing himself to become aroused when he should be mindful of Brielle’s injuries. He had to admit it felt so good to hold her; he almost couldn’t help feeling desire rise inside of him.

  He held her close and breathed in her scent. Morag had cleaned her well and she smelled of lavender and clean fresh herbs. Besides desire, Rory felt pity for this girl. She had been through so much and he knew that without the herbal draught, she would be in so much more pain. He hoped beyond all hopes that she would pass the night without incident. Despite the ache in his loins, the feel of her nestled safely in his arms lulled his tired body and he began to also drift off. It had been a long couple of days. Rory succumbed to the latter, desire put to side once again and he fell to sleep with the girl in his arms.

  ~ Brielle felt the drugging warmth of the handsome warrior who had come to rescue her. In her dream, he had taken her to a sun-drenched clearing with a crystal pool. As she turned to look at him, he gathered her in his arms and lowered his head to kiss her. Her arms snaked around his neck drawing him down to meet his kiss. When his lips touched hers, all the years of denied passion seemed to be released. Her arms tightened around him and she kissed him, opening herself to him. She melted against him, succumbing to his tempting unspoken invitation. As they slid down to the soft grass, she knew her fate and suddenly, she didn’t care. She wasn’t ugly when he kissed her. She wanted him to touch her. She needed the warmth he was giving off. She was drawn to his warmth like a moth drawn to a flame. ~

  ********

  ~ Rory gazed down at the beautiful girl. He knew he should not be alone with her, but he could not resist her and he needed to kiss her. The sunlight reflected off the crystal pool into her beautiful lilac eyes. He bent to kiss her, thinking she may resist but instead her arms had snaked around him, drawing him to kiss her deeply. She kissed him with no hesitation. As they sank to the soft grass next to the crystal pond, Rory murmured, “I am going to make love to ye’ Brielle…” and he felt her respond, “Aye” with a hunger he hadn’t experienced in a long time, searing her mouth to his. ~

  Startled, both Brielle and Rory bolted awake. The sudden jarring caused Brielle to wince. Rory gathered her gently into his arms and said, “Sshh, it’s alright. Ye’ are safe.” Was she still dreaming?

  “What…what are you doing here?”

  Rory let her go as if he had been burned. He leapt out of the bed and said, “Ye’ were shivering. I only thought to warm ye. I wasna’ tryin’ to do anything improper.”

  Brielle sat up with an effort, breathing through the pain that wracked her with every breath. She looked around the room, still disoriented from the herbal sleeping draught and from waking in a strange place. The potion made her feel drowsy and woozy. She still felt like she was having another dream.

  She saw the chair pulled close to the bed. In her haziness, she realized that Rory had been keeping a vigil for her. He said, “I am sorry, Lass. I wouldna’ hurt ye’ or dishonor ye.”

  By the flickering firelight, Rory could see the light in her violet eyes. They were enormous, nearly swallowing her face. She looked terrified. She felt heat flood her face and she was grateful for the dimness of the room. She had been dreaming of him and the dream was far from proper. She raised her eyes to his and was again struck with his masculine beauty. He stood next to the bed, legs slightly apart, hands fisted at his sides. His leonine dark hair was tousled from sleep, but it gave him an endearing boy-like quality.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I--I should go. My room is right next door to yers’ should ye’ need me, Brielle.”

  She knew she should say something, but as he turned to go, she couldn’t find her voice. She had to thank him for caring for her. She watched him stoop down to retrieve his boots and she finally said, “Wait…please don’t go just yet.”

  He turned back to her and she raised her hand to offer it to him. He took it and gently brought her fingers to his lips.

  “I meant ye’ no harm,” he said again.

  Brielle clasped his hand and said, “I know. You have been so very kind to me. Thank you for all you have done.”

  Rory was again embarrassed by
her thanks.

  He stammered, “Ye’ are feelin’ better.”

  She nodded, still so groggy. She still was not certain if she was still dreaming. Her body felt like it was not part of her and her movements were slow, or so they seemed.

  She nodded.

  “Well, that is thanks enough, lass.”

  He sat down on the bed beside her and he said, “Go back to sleep, lass. It will help ye’ get well.”

  “Will you stay?” Her voice seemed to echo in her head, still so very much like a dream. She must still be dreaming because she would never have had the courage to ask a handsome man to stay with her in her chambers. Besides, only in a dream would she not be afraid of the Highland Wolf.

  Rory looked into her eyes and said, “If it helps ye’.”

  Her hand rose up and she touched his face. Yes, she was dreaming, because only in a dream would she be so bold.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Rory looked confused.

  “Because ye’ were hurt, Lass.” She looked away.

  Of course that was why. Brielle reminded herself that Rory MacCollum was an honorable man. She blushed, thinking to feel attraction to this man. She knew nothing about him except that he had rescued her. She did not know if he was married or betrothed, but then she vaguely remembered Morag saying he wasn’t.

  She tried again to search her memory. Rory MacCollum…nay he was not married. Did she remember that he was known as a ladies’ favorite? How could the Wolf be a favorite of the ladies? Perhaps she was wrong about that name. He was kind, and gentle. It was more likely he was a ladies favorite than the blood thirsty beast. And she could see why! Beautiful was an understatement to describe Rory MacCollum. He was beyond the norm of handsome. Dark hair framing his handsome face brushed his shoulders. He was a big man with strong legs and arms strengthened from war training. His jaw line was square and masculine. His mouth was full and sensual and his teeth straight and white.