“It could have cost you your life.”
“But it didn’t.”
“You will listen and follow my orders or else,” he snapped.
“Or else what?” she challenged with a smile rather than anger.
He had not expected a smile, a teasingly challenging one at that. And he bloody well had not expected his body to react to it. It was like a punch in the gut, stealing his breath, robbing him of words and of all things, arousing him. Then suddenly, without thought, words shot from his mouth like an arrow from a bow, and once released could not be drawn back. “I will show you just how dishonorable I can be.”
Chapter Seven
Emma stared at Rogan’s back as he left her side to ride ahead and join the warrior who had replaced Liam as their tracker. What exactly had he meant that he would show her how dishonorable he could be? And why did his threat feel as if it lit a spark inside her?
You want him to touch you.
She cringed at the sinful thought. He was Heather’s intended. She had no right to think such fanciful thoughts or have improper feelings. He spoke of punishment and she foolishly took it as passion.
Heather. She had to concentrate on Heather. They would find her, and she and Rogan would wed and have beautiful babies and a happy life together. While she, Emma, would live her life out with her father, seeing to the land and the livestock and tending the ill. It was her lot and she had to accept it.
Emma raised her glance to the heavens while stifling a sigh and realized that the sky was gray, though no heavy clouds lingered. It would be an overcast day with a slight chill to it. A few weeks into spring and the weather had proven unpredictable, warm one day, chilly the next and a few nights of shivering cold. She was glad winter had left them, though she had been more pleased that she had paid close attention to the signs as to how the approaching winter would be. With heavy fog in August, the pine cones growing larger than usual, the animals’ coats thickening early and the bees gathering heavily in the trees having warned of a cold winter, she had made sure the clan had been prepared.
She had ordered the last of the crops to be harvested early and was glad of it when a few nights later it had turned bitter cold. They would have lost a good portion of their winter food if she had not been attentive. More hunting had been done and more meat preserved. Her clan had done well this past winter and before leaving, she had reminded them that the ground needed preparing for planting. She had also instructed Maura, the woman who shared the duty of caring for her father with her, in how to prepare the potion she gave him in case he should require more while she was gone.
His illness had seemed to come on so suddenly and he had grown weaker before her and her sisters’ eyes. His illness had been a deciding factor in his decision to see, at least, one of his daughters wed. This way if anything should happen to him, there would be a strong warrior to become laird of the Macinnes clan.
Patience had hoped that their father would have seen how valuable a laird she would make, but their da had had other ideas. If only the three of them had been left to decide their own futures, they would, at this moment, be home safe.
It was an hour, perhaps more, when the small troop of men was suddenly brought to a halt. Emma tried peering past the broad-shouldered warriors that sat attentive to their surroundings, but could see nothing. She did not hesitate. She wound her way around the warriors. None stopped her. None paid her heed, but then it was not uncommon for men to ignore her.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously as she approached Rogan.
He turned to her and his stomach clenched at the worry in her eyes, but he did not hold the truth from her. “The tracks divide again, but which way your sister travels is not clear.”
Emma felt as if someone gripped her heart and squeezed tight, and she shut her eyes against the pain. She could not lose both her sisters. She could not. When she opened her eyes, she was stunned to see that her hand was firmly gripping Rogan’s forearm and while it was not proper for her to touch him with such familiarity, it mattered not to her. Holding onto him, feeling the strength of his taut muscles gave her some sense of hope, so she refused to let go.
His hand hurried to cover hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. A strange sensation rippled through her, a shiver yet not a shiver, for she felt no chill. Whatever it was made her feel cared for and protected, as if she was loved.
The strange reaction to his touch had her gripping his arm more tightly, as if she never wanted to let go of him.
Patience’s voice suddenly echoed in her head. Keep your wits about you or all will be lost.
A reprimand and a lesson all in one, and it almost brought a smile to Emma’s face. She focused her thoughts on Patience. She was skilled in so many areas. What would she have done?
It came to her in an instant. “Patience divided her men so that whoever followed had to divide their men as well.”
Rogan nodded as he spoke. “It would weaken both forces.”
“It would also enable her to search a wider area.”
“Then it matters not which trail we follow since no doubt your sister gave orders for her men to eventually meet in one place.”
Relief flooded her and she eased her hand off him, though she thought she felt reluctance on his part to let her go. Again, a fanciful thought she had no right thinking.
The skies grew heavy with storm clouds as they continued traveling and thunder rolled in the distance. Emma could not help but think that the heavens warned them of proceeding any further. Or were dark forces threatening their journey?
“What troubles you?”
Emma turned to Rogan, riding beside her on his horse. “I cannot decide if the heavens warn or dark forces threaten.”
It was strange how often her concerns mirrored his own, though he dared not tell her that. Or was it that he did not want to admit that they often thought more alike than not?
“Ominous weather brings gloom along with it,” he said.
“I suppose, though being attacked by warriors that materialize and vanish like ghosts does not help.”
“They are not ghosts. They are well-trained warriors who can suffer a blow from a sword just like any warrior,” he insisted. “I am sure the Dark Dragon is pleased with the mythical tales told about him. It makes people fear him more when in all actuality he is nothing more than a man like myself.”
“A potent warrior who wields a sword with confidence and not an ounce of fear,” Emma said. “Yes, why should anyone fear such mighty warriors?”
He was more than confident when it came to wielding his sword, at least that’s what the willing lassie he had tumbled last had told him. And he had no doubt he would have Emma feeling the same. Hell and damnation. Exactly what he would suffer if he did not stop thinking about Emma this way. How many times did he have to remind himself that she was not his intended? He had no right having such carnal thoughts about her. And where had this attraction come from and why was it growing ever stronger?
“Something concerns you?” Emma said.
Rogan shook his head to clear it and when he turned to her, he saw that her hand rested on his shoulder. Her concerned touch shot heat straight to his groin, hardening him in an instant. His nostrils flared, his lips tightened, and his eyes narrowed in anger at his uncontrollable response to her touch.
Emma quickly withdrew her hand when she saw how annoyed he had gotten at where her hand rested. Whatever was the matter with her, touching him as if she had the right to? She had never laid a hand on a man with such familiarity. She had never felt at ease to do so, not after the one and only time she had done it. The consequences that had followed had hurt and taught her never to do it again. And she had not. But now… now she laid her hand on Rogan without thought or consequences and that was not good. Especially since every time she did, her body sparked to life. It was as if something long dormant was awakened, and she so badly wanted to shake it fully awake.
“Everything concerns me,” Rogan finall
y answered, especially his damn hard arousal that had him shifting uncomfortable on his horse. “Though at the moment, I would say those dark clouds in the distance take priority.”
Emma glanced and shook her head when she saw the clouds that seemed to grow darker and larger before her eyes. “A storm.”
“And a good one at that.”
“A heavy rain will wash away what few tracks are left from the last rain,” Emma said, feeling a sense of defeat settle over her. Your wits, Emma, your wits. Her sister’s scolding voice in her head had her asking, “Are there some crofts in the area? Perhaps someone has seen something that may help us.”
“There are some, but not on the path we travel.” Rogan’s brow knitted. “Perhaps we travel the wrong path.”
Emma thought to follow him as he rode off without a word to her, but then thought better of it. She had wondered herself if perhaps they had missed something along the way. The one thing that bothered her was that they had not met up with any injured Macinnes warriors. How had Patience’s troop avoided being attacked? She did not want to think of a more logical answer. That Patience and her troop had been captured. Patience was too skilled to allow that to happen.
Please, Lord, let it be so. Let both my sisters be safe.
As soon as she saw that they were changing course, she realized what Rogan was doing. He was taking them to where there was not just endless woods or barren land, but to crofts where people may have seen something. She prayed his decision was right.
It was a couple of hours later when the sky looked about to dump a torrent of rain upon them that they crested a small hill and spotted a farm, smoke billowing from the chimney. There was a cottage and two outbuildings and empty lean-tos that could shelter the horses.
Welcomed or not, Emma did not think they would be turned away. The occupants would most likely be too fearful of being inhospitable to a small troop of warriors and bid them welcome whether they wanted to or not.
An old man with long white hair and beard and lean frame stepped out of the cottage as they approached and called out, “You best hurry and secure those horses out of the rain that’s about to descend on us in buckets.” He gave a nod to Rogan. “Your men can make use of the outbuildings, while you and your lady are welcome to share my cottage.”
The old man had assumed that Emma was Rogan’s lady, and Rogan had not corrected him, but then there was no time for that since the sky burst open, releasing the rain.
Rogan was off his horse in an instant and his hands went around Emma’s waist just as fast, yanking her off the horse. He rushed her to the door, shoving her in as the old man quickly stepped aside.
“Stay put,” he ordered and turned to take care of the horses and see to his men.
“I take it that you are not an obedient wife, since he warns you to stay put,” the old man said with a chuckle.
“I am not his wife,” Emma said, going to the hearth to dry what little of her garments that had got wet. If Rogan had not reacted so quickly and pulled her off her horse, she would have gotten soaked. His first thought had been about her, not anyone else, and while she should not waste her time thinking more of his gallant gesture, she could not help but do so.
“Not wed yet,” the old man said with a wink, “but at least you know how he will treat you once you are, and you cannot miss the love in his eyes for you.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open as she turned to stare at the old man. Was he joking or simply daft?
“I have only a broth of pot herbs to offer. You and your intended are welcome to join me, but his men will have to see to providing their own sustenance.”
Emma was about to thank him and finally make it clear that she was Rogan’s future sister-in-law, not his future wife, when the door opened and Rogan entered. He threw his hood back off his head, and she was reminded of the first time she had laid eyes on him at his keep. Even now it was still difficult to believe a man could be so handsome that one look could turn a woman senseless and how often had his fine features stolen a woman’s heart?
“Your hospitality is much appreciated, sir,” Rogan said with a nod before he walked over to the hearth and draped his cloak over a chair that he drew close to the fire’s flames.
“Samuel,” the old man said, “the name is Samuel.”
“Thank you again, Samuel,” Rogan said. “I am Rogan and I hope we will not be too much of a burden on you.”
Samuel dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense. It is you who do me a favor. I am alone, and it will be most pleasant to share a meal and conversation for a change. Rest while I see to the meal.”
“Please allow me to help,” Emma offered, though she did not wait for him to answer. She pitched right in to help.
Soon the three of them were seated at the table enjoying, surprisingly, the tasty broth made of nothing more than pot herbs and also bread hot off the stone.
“So we are your first visitors in some time?” Rogan asked.
“First to stay,” Samuel said, dunking his bread in the broth. “A couple of warriors wounded, not badly, in a fight were here for a few hours. They rested and I fed them, then they were gone. Heard them say they needed to catch up with the others.”
“Did they happen to say what clan they were with?” Emma asked.
“No,” he shook his head, “though I thought it odd when I heard one say Patience will wound us worse if we do not hurry and bring her the information.”
Emma almost gasped, but held her tongue. Macinnes warriors had been here and they must have found out information about Heather. Hope filled her heart and she turned to Rogan, her hand going out to grasp his arm. Too late, she realized her gesture was, once again, far too familiar, and she saw Samuel smile and nod, as if confirming what he had first thought—they were to wed.
Not wanting to snatch her hand away and appear guilty, she eased it off Rogan’s arm. As she did, she noticed that his lips were set tight, and she thought she saw him give a slight shake of his head. It dawned on her then that he was warning her to hold her tongue.
Trust no one. Another reminder from her sister, and she took heed.
Samuel did not seem to notice their brief exchange. He kept right on eating and talking. “I tell you, it is those ghost warriors. They have invaded the area and no one is safe.”
Emma and Rogan exchanged looks, and Rogan was about to comment when the old man went right on talking.
“They drop from the sky, step out of trees, rise out of the ground, and then they vanish as mysteriously as they appeared. But what do you expect when they belong to the Dark Dragon.” Samuel shook his head and lowered his voice. “He has got dark powers he does. He rules the dead and raises them when he needs them, then sends them back to hell to wait until he calls upon them again.”
Emma shivered, knowing the old fool talked nonsense and yet his words still frightened.
She jumped when she felt Rogan’s hand on her arm. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, then he slowly ran his hand down until it lay on top of her hand. Then, as if it was common place for him to do so, he pressed his fingers intimately between hers, gripping her hand from atop. Emma stared at their attached hands. What was he doing? His actions clearly showed his claim on her, but why? He had no such claim.
“The Dark Dragon is a man and no more. He does not command the dead, though he is a shrewd leader of man,” Rogan said.
Samuel shook his head slowly. “He is more than shrewd, his men more than common warriors. He conquers all in his path and once captured, there is no escaping him. You are his forever.”
Tears stung Emma’s eyes. She did not want to think of her sister being in the clutches of one so evil or that there was no possibility of rescue. She would not rest until Heather was freed or she was a prisoner along with her sister.
“The most powerful weapon the Dark Dragon possesses is fear,” Rogan said. “And he uses it wisely. He fosters myths and lets them grow, giving him more and more power. I do not fear myths, and
I do not fear him.”
“Then you are a fool,” Samuel said sadly, “for myths hold a kernel of truth.”
“And the kernel grows, but not the truth,” Rogan said, “which leaves the Dark Dragon nothing more than an exceptionally skilled warrior.”
“I hope you never have to face him, my son, to prove your theory,” Samuel said and sipped at his broth.
Emma admired Rogan’s courageous and persistent nature. It meant that he would not give up on finding Heather, and she was ever grateful for that. And she truly did not mind at all that he still kept his hand firmly locked with hers. It gave her hope and made her feel so pleasantly strange.
“Please, you and your intended take my bed. I will make use of the floor.”
“Nonsense,” Rogan said. “I will not see you put from your bed.”
“I keep a pallet for those cold nights when it is wiser to sleep close to the hearth, so I do nothing that I have not done before. Besides, the lady will be warmer with you wrapped around her than only the thin blanket I can supply.”
“Then I thank you for your generous hospitality.”
Emma continued to wonder as she got into bed how it was that Rogan and she would be sleeping together tonight. Why had Rogan not corrected Samuel’s assumption? Why did he let the old man go on believing that she was his intended?
Once in bed, she realized it was narrower than she had thought. How they would fit, she did not know. She found out soon enough when Rogan finally joined her.
“On your side,” he ordered, “it is the only way we will fit.”
She turned and he slipped in, resting against her, his hand draped over her waist.
“The least strangers know the better, since we do not know who to trust,” he whispered near her ear.
Patience would certainly approve of his prudence, though Emma did not know if she would approve of her sleeping with Heather’s intended. But then she and Patience would do whatever needed to be done to find Heather. And she could not say it was a chore lying next to Rogan in bed. She had wondered what it would be like to share her bed with a man. Now feeling the warmth and strength of his body against hers, she had to admit that it was much nicer than she had imagined. But then she felt safe and comfortable with Rogan and that probably made a difference.
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