by Ria Cantrell
Surely, this was not the dreaded Wolf. Brielle could see the shadow of a day’s growth of a beard, which only defined the line of his sculpted handsomeness. Those golden eyes were soulful and smoldering. They bespoke of passion and intensity, not savagery. Unconsciously, Brielle’s hand brushed over the old scar. She felt foolish in her girlhood musings. Rory MacCollum was being nice to her as he would to a wounded animal. Lest she forget, she was a Campbell.
Rory watched her as something had taken her thoughts. Her expression visibly had changed and something had made her pretty lips draw down into a frown. She had been subconsciously fingering that old scar near her chin. Rory took that hand in his, feeling its unnatural coolness and he pressed it to his lips again.
She blushed and pulled her hand away realizing that she had drawn his attention to that very disfigurement. She turned her face away in shame, wishing to hide it from him. She never expected to feel his big hand, warm and gentle beneath her jaw, turning her back to face him. She did not want to meet his eyes, feeling them burn into her. She did not want to see pity in his eyes for her disfigurement. She hated that scar, but she hated being pitied more. She stole a glance at him; sure she would see both pity and disgust in his eyes. Instead she saw a look of intense emotion, like he was fighting rage.
“How did it happen, Brielle? Who did this to you?”
“It was an accident, long ago.”
But as she said the half-truth, she saw the fury he tried to hide, heighten only to be tamped down. Of course he would know she was lying. He was a warrior and knew what damage a dirk could do. Damn that potion Morag made her drink. Her voice seemed to disembody in her head and she could not properly discern if this was still a dream or not.
“Did yer’ husband do it?” She shook her head, no.
“P-please don’t look at it. I know it is very ugly.”
He leaned close and brushed his lips over it. Now she was certain she was dreaming. That was such a tender gesture, surely she was still dreaming!
“Nay, not ugly, only I wish to know who did it for if he is still alive. I’d like to carve his nose from his very face.”
His voice became seriously deadly as he made that promise. She had felt her heart quicken as his lips had touched that awful scar. Why would it matter to this man that someone had cut her? She was a stranger; albeit his enemy. It seemed odd that he wanted to punish the perpetrators of that act of violence against her. Certainly, no man had ever wanted to protect her. If she hadn’t been the recipient of Rory’s tender care, Brielle would have been terrified of the intense tamped fury.
Rory was fighting the Darkness. It was rising up in him like unbridled rage. Someone had deliberately cut this angel. He couldn’t stand when women were mistreated. The scar was old. He had known that upon finding her. He just hadn’t realized it had been deliberate. Brielle was drawn to the intensity of the gold fire in Rory’s eyes. It was almost like he was fighting a personal war within himself. She spoke softly, covering his hand with hers.
“Please, Ruiri, it happened a long time ago. T’is of no consequence, now.”
A muscle worked in his jaw and he looked at her tiny hand over his. He took a deep cleansing breath. He was obviously frightening her. He didn’t want to do that. She had been through so much. He pushed the Darkness back for the moment. It was getting harder and harder to do each time he felt it happen.
“Ruiri,” her voice brought him out of his thoughts. He liked the way she said his name. He put his other hand over hers and he said, “I am sorry, Brielle.”
She just nodded, looking into his eyes.
“Rest now, lass. Ye’ need to get some sleep. I will wait for ye’ to rest and then retire to my own room.”
Brielle was confused at the feelings he was cultivating in her. She did not want him to go, but she could not ask him to climb back into bed with her. She also did not want him propped in that chair next to her bed all night. That was no way for him to spend the night after he had been so kind to her. Well, it was her dream after all, so she decided in her dream she would ask him to stay. She couldn’t help herself, but she now lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it.
“Thank you so much, for all your kindness.”
He shook his head, but she said, “Thank you for helping me stay warm. I…I….”
“What is it, Lass?”
“I don’t want you--to go.”
Rory felt like he had been hit in the chest. He realized she was frightened and alone, but still her profession knocked the wind out of him. What was it about this girl? He felt drawn to her and he knew he should not encourage it. She was newly widowed. She was very vulnerable. She was the kind of woman used to being wed, he supposed. He was not the marrying kind.
“Brielle…I….” Words seemed to be hard to form at the moment.
“I know you will stay sitting in that uncomfortable chair…all night. I don’t want that for you.” She sighed heavily, feeling very tired.
She was slipping deeply into her dreams, she supposed. She lay back down, but continued to meet his eyes. She watched as he slid in beside her. With an effort, she turned on her side, so her back was to him. She felt his hands press her shoulders gently.
And, he said, “Try to rest, Brielle.”
He initially felt her tense, but as he pulled her closer to his chest, the heat from his body lulled her and he could feel her relax. She immediately fell back to sleep in his arms, naturally eased and subdued, but not before murmuring something that vaguely sounded like she said, Gentle Wolf.
Rory tensed at those words, but then he thought it had just been a soft murmur of a wounded girl sinking into unconsciousness and that he had been incorrect about what he heard. He sighed. He didn’t think he liked the way she tugged at his heart, but he had to help her and he knew that his body heat was what she needed right now. He decided not to make more of it than that and tried to put the memory of his dream aside. Yes, she was beautiful, but he already knew that this girl prompted responses from him he was not comfortable with. Making love to her would deeply complicated things. Still, as she relaxed in his arms, he wondered how she would feel beneath him and how she would taste as he kissed her. Och! It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Seven
Caleb MacCollum looked at the old woman who had become his dearest friend since his wife had died. He pondered Morag's words; Ruiri had found his mate, she had said. Caleb had long wanted Ruiri to settle down. He was too wild in ways since the loss of his beloved Caitlyn. Caleb worried that the damage to Ruiri’s soul would continue to worsen if he never allowed the love of a good woman in to heal his past wounds. This girl! Dear God, why was it this girl? Caleb knew Morag had “The Sight”. She had been right about Bronwyn and Drew.
Caleb sighed heavily and asked, “Does he know?”
The old one shook her head and said, “Nay. She needs to tell him herself.”
“That willna’ go well. Mother of God, does it always have to be like this? First the Englishman for our Bronnie and now this? Dear God! Gabrielle Campbell, sister to those Satan’s spawns. Morag, he is not going to handle this well.”
Morag eyed the man she had grown to respect from watching him tend to the clan MacCollum as their laird all these years. He was an imposing man. Hell, all the MacCollums were, but for all his bluster and size, he did not scare her.
She planted her hands on her hips and she said, “Ye’ are not to tell him, Caleb MacCollum. It must come from the girl. Oft times, true mates happen thus. But she must be the one to tell him. She has been broken in ways, not just from the carriage accident. She knows who Ruiri is and I am sure she is terrified of his reaction. She asked me about the Wolf of the Highlands.”
Caleb shook his head again and he sighed almost painfully, knowing how Rory hated that analogy.
“Christ! Gabrielle Campbell! Why did Rory have to find her?”
“Because, she is his mate.”
“I fear when he learns the truth, it will destro
y him.”
Morag placed a hand on the Laird’s arm.
“It may heal him. T’is time Ruiri faced the demons of his own. This girl isna’ like those two. She is good and kind. She has an untapped strength that Ruiri will be able to use when things turn dark for him. Even though she knows about the Wolf, she is not terrified of him. She is afraid, but I think it is just because of his masculine power. She will be Ruiri’s salvation. I am sure of it…that is, if she survives her injuries. She is very sick, Caleb. Despite her strength, her spirit has been battered too, no doubt from those devil’s sons you spoke of. It may take the love of a man like Ruiri to help her draw on her own strength. Ruiri has not left her side. They will be each other’s salvation.”
Caleb shook his head in disbelief, his silver hair falling forward. He pushed it away in dismay and said, “Ruiri takes to demoiselles in distress ever since he lost Caitlyn. When Bronwyn married, he decided to stay on to be sure his sister was happy and not alone in a strange land. Morag, ye’ are not confusing his good nature with love?”
Morag cut him off. “She is the one, Caleb. You know I am not wrong about these things.”
A muscle tensed in the laird’s cheek, so much like his son’s had a tendency to do when he was troubled.
“Then ye’ must do everything to help heal her. God forbid she dies, we will lose Ruiri forever.”
Morag sighed heavily. “I have done what I could. I dunna’ know if she has injuries inside…or what will happen from the gash to her head. She is bruised from head to toe and I couldna’ bring her temperature up.”
“Well, let’s go see about relieving Ruiri of his vigil.” Morag nodded.
Upon entering the chamber, Caleb was stunned to see Ruiri in bed with the girl. Startled, Ruiri woke and nearly leapt from the bed. He stammered, “I…only thought to warm her…she was so very cold….”
Caleb and Morag exchanged glances, as the understanding of what Morag had foretold was verified. Morag went to the girl, who slept still.
She touched her and said, “She is warmer Caleb, and she is sleeping peacefully.” Turning to a sheepish looking Rory, Caleb said, “Son, go on and rest in yer’ own bed for a while. Ye’ look as if ye’ barely slept at all. I will sit with her.”
“No, Da, I dunna’ want to leave her.”
“She is resting well now. At least go and get something to eat. Ye’ missed supper and if ye’ want to be a help to the girl, ye’ will need to take care of yerself. Go on with ye’.”
Morag gently took Ruiri’s arm and she said, “Go, boy. I need to check her anyway. Go on and do as yer’ da’ says. I promise if there is anything to report, I will fetch ye’.”
Ruiri kissed the old woman’s papery cheek, grateful for her help. She still treated him like he was a young boy, but she was like a mother to him and he knew she would do everything to help the girl. He left the chamber and went to the great hall, as he was bidden. Sometimes it was easier to comply than inflict his warrior’s will.
Morag made a quick examination of the girl and found her to be normal in temperature. She seemed to be sleeping naturally. By now, the herbal draught had worn off. Morag thought about how Rory had naturally helped her. She was certain that his unconfirmed love had helped the girl more than any herbal remedies she could provide. Morag rearranged the covers around the girl and left. Caleb said he would take a turn keeping an eye on Brielle so to relieve Ruiri for just a little while. Caleb looked at the sleeping girl and he was moved to pity for her. She was badly injured, but still he could see she was a lovely lass. She would suit Ruiri, it was true. Except for the fact that she was a Campbell, Caleb could see she and Ruiri indeed already shared a bond of sorts. Only, she was a Campbell and that fact did not bode well for the trust Rory needed to secure.
As if Caleb's thoughts had roused her, Brielle’s eyes opened and she started in seeing the obvious sire of her handsome saving angel sitting before her.
Caleb said gently, “Easy lass. I will na’ hurt ye’. I am Ruiri’s father. I came to sit with ye’ for a spell. How are ye’ feelin’?”
“Better, thank you,” she said weakly. Caleb nodded and said, “Good. Is there something I can do fer ye?” She shook her head, “no”.
Caleb cleared his throat and said, “I knew yer’ grandfather, Gabrielle.” He watched fear cross her expression and Caleb soothed, “It’s alright. No one here will hurt ye’.”
“How did ye’ learn who I was,” she asked suddenly terrified of his reaction.
“Yer’ plaid, Lass. Morag found it amid yer’ things. I remembered there was a young girl grandchild living with Gavin Campbell, but I hadna’ heard what became of her at his passing. I didna’ realize ye’ were that child and that ye’ had grown into the young woman ye’ are.”
“Rory hates all Campbells. While we were riding, I thought I heard him declare it.”
“Aye lass, he does, but he does no’ know ye’ are a Campbell.”
“Why does he hate my kin so deeply? I mean, I know about blood feuds between clans, but why…”
Caleb considered hiding the truth from her, but if he wanted her to be truthful to Ruiri, he needed to be truthful to her.
“He does not hate ye, lass. He does not know ye’ are part of the Campbell clan.” Caleb took a deep breath to steady himself to give her the truth. “Ruiri’s betrothed was killed during a raid by the Campbells. They had been on their way to their wedding.”
Brielle gasped. Tears welled up in her pretty eyes and she said, “No, Laird MacCollum, it can’t be so.”
“I am afraid it is so, lass. When she died, I think a part of Ruiri broke beyond repair.”
So, that was why she sensed his brokenness. “Was…was it my brothers,” she asked, unconsciously fingering the scar; tracing it from her chin to her neck. Caleb noticed the gesture and he was certain it had been become a habit born from a terrible memory; that even mentioning her brothers caused.
“It may well have been, Lass. Some of the men were cut down that day, but two got away.”
Brielle’s voice became very soft and she said, “They are my brothers and because they are kin, I still call them brothers. But they are cruel and mean in ways I dunna’ understand. Please…I dunna’ want to go back there.”
Caleb saw her fear, in fact, he felt it deeply. It was like a palpable thing. She was terrified. She also had slipped back into speaking with the inflection of the Highlands.
“I have no intention of sending ye’ back to them. Besides, lass, ye’ need to get well afore’ ye’ travel anywhere.”
Brielle looked down and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Ye’ said ye’ knew my grandfather. I thought Campbell and MacCollum were always at war.”
“Not always, lass. I remember yer’ grandfather to have been a good man.”
“He was so kind to me. He was a safe haven from my brothers. When he passed, I felt like I lost the only person I had ever truly loved.”
“Well, lass, I am very sorry fer yer’ loss.”
A lone tear crept down her face. Caleb patted her hand and said, “I know ye’ have had many losses of late. I am sorry about yer’ husband, too.”
Brielle didn’t answer, but just nodded. She felt very little sorrow for the loss of her husband compared to the loss of her grandfather.
“Ye’ are safe here. We will not make ye’ go back to yer’ brothers. Ye’ have my word, lass.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She stole a glance at the laird of the MacCollum clan. At second glance, she could see he was younger than her grandfather. He was more the age of her own Da’ and t’was only his silver hair that made her think him older. He was still a handsome man of strength and power.
Despite being a powerful Laird of a strong Highland clan, she could see he had a look of kindness about him. Somehow she knew no harm would befall her. That was, of course, until Rory learned who she really was. That thought made her sick inside. Ruiri had lost his betrothed by her brothers’ hands. Beautiful, kin
d Ruiri; her angel of mercy; her savior and rescuer…
When she had first seen Rory, she thought she had never seen a more handsome man in all her days. Even injured and foggy, his presence made her jittery. She knew Ruiri would never look at a plain woman like herself, but oh, he was such a fine man. She knew she shouldn’t confuse his kindness for anything else, but the way he had treated her inspired warm feelings inside. No man had ever treated her so kindly aside from her Grandfather. She knew she should not even allow thoughts of fancy to form where Ruiri MacCollum was concerned. Her brain must have been addled from the bump she had gotten.
It was not like her to take a fancy to a man. Her years isolated in the Campbell estates made her options limited. She supposed that her deceased husband was her only chance to be paired with a man. Besides, if she wasn’t ugly before, she was certain that her injuries made her abhorrent. A man like Ruiri was probably used to pretty lasses and why would he look at a girl like Brielle?
Only, Ruiri did not look at her with disgust. He looked at her with the tenderness of a man who saw beyond physical ugliness. He didn’t make her feel ugly. In fact, his golden gazes made her feel like somehow she had become beautiful. He looked at her like a man who saw her as beautiful, bruised or not. She wondered why that was. Ruiri was a man like no other she had ever known. He was a fierce warrior; big and imposing and yet, he was capable of such tenderness. Even though she had been drugged with the herbal draught Morag had given her, Brielle was convinced Rory had held her while she slept, keeping her warm, when she couldn’t find warmth even with all the furs piled upon her. Again Brielle thought that besides all of that, Rory MacCollum was the most handsome man she had ever encountered. Even weak from her ordeal, her heart would flutter like a maelstrom in her chest when he was near.