She gathered what she would presently need and climbed the ladder, securing the latch, then spreading the rushes back over the top. It took a couple of hours to get settled, bringing in enough wood not only to start a fire in the hearth but to keep it going throughout the night. She also shed her extra clothing once the fire’s heat warmed the one room, placing the few garments she had in the chest beside the bed.
The quarters were sufficient, though certainly not for more than two people, and even then the single bed would be a tight squeeze. The fireplace divided the space, the bed braced against one wall, a small table and two chairs against the other, with a rocking chair in the middle facing the hearth. Six candlesticks lined the mantel, and Carissa stuck a candle in each one, though she lit only one to place on the table. The roaring fire cast sufficient light in the room, so there was no sense wasting the candles.
She yawned and rubbed the back of her neck. She was tired, not having slept the night before. That, combined with her long walk, at times over hilly terrain, had taken its toll. She also was hungry. She had not wanted to waste time to stop to eat, so instead she had sparingly munched on some of the bread and cheese Bethane had provided.
Now, her choice was food or sleep. She needed both, and not having the strength or desire to fix a hot meal, she chose once again to munch on bread and cheese after slipping into her warm wool nightshift.
She nestled in the rocking chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her. She had moved the chair close enough to be wrapped in the fire’s warmth, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt safe.
No one knew she was here, and with a winter storm approaching, there was a good chance that she could spend a month or more, if she was lucky. She prayed for such a reprieve, if only for a short time. She had grown weary of running and hiding. She’d been doing it much too long and desperately wanted it to end.
Naturally, she wished that Carissa could just disappear, but she was finding that it wouldn’t be as easy as she had hoped. Her father’s evil legacy followed her everywhere.
Her eyes began to close, and she rested her head against the back of the rocker, the gentle sway and comforting heat lulling her into a light slumber. She didn’t fight it as she usually did, since there was no worry of anyone disturbing her sleep tonight, though still she should take precautions.
She forced her eyes open and forced herself out of the rocking chair. She unearthed her dagger from her folded clothes and placed it beneath the pillow. A smaller knife she tucked under and near the edge of the straw mattress.
It had been a ritual of hers, ingrained in her since she was young and one she wished she could abandon. She then added a good-sized log to the already roaring fire, knowing that once she crawled into bed, she would fall into a deep slumber, and she did not wish to wake to a cold room.
With a cupped hand around the candle’s flame, she carried the candlestick to the bed, placing it on top of the chest. After she was finally settled beneath the wool blankets and gave a final glance around the room, satisfied all was well, she blew out the flame.
She was grateful that the hearth cast enough light to keep the room from total darkness. She didn’t care for the dark though she had learned to survive it. She would sleep better knowing some light would greet her whenever she woke.
With a yawn and a stretch, she snuggled contentedly beneath the blanket and was asleep in seconds.
She felt the warm, earthy breath on her face. It wasn’t a heavy breath as if someone had run or walked a great distance, but a calm, steady, almost confident breath. And a weight settled over her as if she had been covered with a dense blanket.
And darkness, so much darkness that she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Good lord, she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was clamped shut, and no amount of struggle would release it. The weight shifted over her slow and easy, and she tensed as heat seeped into her body, alarming her senses as it spread. It was no heavy blanket that covered her. It was a man. A man’s body lay over the length of her.
No! No! It couldn’t be. She was dreaming. It was nothing more than a dream, and she had to get out of the dream. She had to get out of the darkness, had to fight to wake up. She would be all right once she woke. She would be safe.
Wake up, Carissa, for God’s sake, wake up!
Her eyes flew open and fear gripped her heart.
“I’ve got you.”
Carissa stared into startling green eyes, and her heart beat wildly.
“Did you truly think that you could escape me?” Ronan asked.
Carissa wasn’t surprised at the arrogance in his smile. What warrior wouldn’t feel such arrogant pride when having bested his prey? But that self-indulgent satisfaction could also be a vulnerable spot that she could use against him. He was so sure that he had captured her, and yet she had weapons close at hand, weapons she intended to use first chance she got.
The thought that there was still a possibility to escape this man calmed her pounding heart and relaxed her wide-eyed stare, but not for long. She suddenly realized that no blanket separated them, and that he was completely naked. His big, muscled body covered all of her, every inch. Through her wool nightshift, she could feel the cords of muscles that ran down his chest to his stomach, and his thick muscled legs made her slim ones appear puny in comparison.
But it was the thick bulge of him settled between her legs that had her heart once again pounding in her chest. Not that she worried he would force himself on her. He hated her too much for that, and, besides, she’d found the Highlanders to be honorable men, unlike the barbarians, who needed no reason to take a woman.
No, her worries rested more on how big this man was in every sense of the word, in the overall size of him, in his determination and in his convictions. A man of such tremendous strength and honor proved a difficult opponent to beat.
And beneath all that was the deep, dark secret she harbored that made every bit of this all the more difficult, but then she was who she was, and that would never change.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
Carissa couldn’t answer with his hand over her mouth.
“How can I reach my weapons?”
Her heart nearly stopped beating, while he smiled, and his green eyes filled with mirth.
“I found them,” he said with a hint of amusement.
She kept her eyes on his, intending not to show any fear, though it raced through her like an uncontrolled fire.
“There’s a question you will answer.”
She knew the question, and though it truly had no simple answer, that would be all she could give him. She nodded.
He moved his hand off her mouth, though his face remained close to hers.
“Why did you kill the slave who tended me?”
With her throat dry, she choked on her answer. “I had no choice.”
He jumped up and pointed an accusing finger at her. “That is no answer.”
She sat up slowly, knowing quick moves would only cause a quick reaction. “It is the only answer I have for you.”
Ronan shook his head. “No, there is more, and you refuse to tell me.”
She wished he would don at least his leggings, for his disregard of his nakedness made him appear even more of a formidable foe. But if she should suggest that he cover himself, he would surely view it as a sign of weakness. She had to pretend that his sculpted body awash with muscles disturbed her not in the least.
“I will have an answer from you even if it is before you take your last breath.”
“How did you find me?” she asked, knowing her best defense was to ignore his threats though privately take them seriously.
He walked over to the hearth and grabbed his leggings. She thought he would get dressed, but he simply ran his hands over them and returned them to the back of the rocking chair, where his other garments were obviously set to dry.
“Let’s say you led me on quite a chase,” he said.
“Not a long enough
one,” she said, wishing she could reach out and pull the blanket across her, but that would indicate vulnerability, and she would dare not let him see that.
She stood and hastily braided her hair as she walked across the room.
He quickly blocked her path, his shadow looming large over her petite size.
It was hard for her not to admire the warrior he was; forged and branded in battle, he had earned it all, and that she had to respect. Though it went deeper than that, so much deeper.
She called on the cold nature she’d developed to serve her as it always had and had earned her the reputation of being heartless.
She tossed her chin up and slammed her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you’re foolish enough to believe that I would make an escape in my nightshift in the dead of night, and in the snow?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you.”
“I’m not stupid, I’m parched.” She stepped around him and emptied part of the water bucket she had filled earlier from the rain barrel outside into a small cauldron and set it to bubble in the hearth.
She was glad for the distraction, glad for a moment to gather her thoughts and assess her situation. And it was a difficult one. Ronan Sinclare had her in his clutches, and he would do whatever was necessary to see that she remained his captive.
As she prepared the leaves, she asked without thinking, “Would you like some?” As soon as her uncharacteristically thoughtful offer had spilled from her lips, she wished she could retract it. But his caustic response set her at ease.
“It could be poison.”
“No poison, just a gentle brew.” She filled a tankard and steeped the leaves, and when it was ready, she blew softly to chase the rising steam from the top and carefully sipped the hot drink.
He walked over to her and snatched the tankard from her grasp. Some of the hot liquid sloshed over the side onto his hand, but he didn’t even flinch. He took the tankard and walked over to sit in the rocking chair.
She fixed herself another, then took a chair from the table and placed it near the hearth, though not near him. She sat and enjoyed the pleasant taste, realizing that the drink was stilling her inner shivers.
He turned his head and stared at her for several moments, the firelight making his green eyes glow like fiery emeralds.
“You don’t fear me, do you?” he asked.
“Not the least.”
“You should.”
She almost shuddered with fear, his voice was so calm and empty. She couldn’t help but recall how kindly he had spoken to the slave. She had never had a man speak kindly to her, and it had been at those moments that she had envied the slave he had grown to love.
She gathered her courage, and said, “Fear is a foe I conquered many years ago.”
“I am a foe you will never conquer.”
“Is that a challenge, Ronan?”
“It’s a promise,” he said.
“Then I needn’t worry, for you aren’t good at keeping promises.”
She knew her words would pierce his heart like a dagger dug deep, for he knew full well the promise she referred to, and the consequences the slave suffered because he had failed to keep it. Surprisingly, his only reaction was the clenching of his jaw…until he stood and walked over to her.
He leaned down, his face a hairbreadth away from hers. “Then I give you my word. You, Carissa, daughter of Mordrac the Barbarian, will die by my hand.”
Carissa purposely grew a wickedly cruel smile as she brought her lips closer to his. “You, Ronan of the clan Sinclare, will never have that pleasure.”
He took a step away and commanded sternly. “Go to bed.”
She had no problem obeying his order. It would put some distance between them, and though she doubted that she would sleep, she would have time to determine how she would escape him.
She didn’t count on him following her, and she worried that his intention was to join her in bed. Wanting to keep control of the situation, she made a quick decision and swerved around so suddenly that he had to grab hold of her to prevent them both from tumbling down on the bed together.
With the situation to her advantage, she smiled, and said, “Your body looks fit for pleasure, so why not come to bed with me?”
He shoved her away, and she stumbled back, falling onto the bed.
“If you were the last woman alive, I would not touch you.”
The malice in his voice made her want to cringe, but instead she shrugged indifferently. “A pity. I would have enjoyed the size of you between my legs tonight.”
Disgust wrinkled his face and filled her to near choking, though she laughed. She couldn’t let him know the truth. God forbid he learned the truth; the consequences were unimaginable.
“Get in bed and lie close to the wall,” he ordered. “I don’t want your body touching mine.”
Relieved, she immediately obeyed his dictate and scrunched herself as close to the wall as possible.
He got in bed after her and slipped beneath the blanket. Even though he kept to the edge, their bodies remained dangerously close. Any movement, and they would touch.
This was a moment where many women might find tears stinging their eyes, but Carissa hadn’t cried since she was six years old. Her father had taught her not to cry, and she had learned the lesson well.
No, tears wouldn’t do any good here. She would devise a plan of escape and return to the only life she knew. She had been foolish to think she could escape who she was, but she had hoped. Hoping, however, had never gotten her anywhere. She didn’t know why she ever thought it would.
Fate had decided her life many years ago, and she had no choice but to live it that way. And she had to keep her heart stone cold; she couldn’t be as foolish as to ever let herself hope again.
And she could never, ever let Ronan of the clan Sinclare know how very much she loved him.
Chapter 7
Ronan woke with a start, Hope’s desperate cries for help pounding in his head like an endless, resonating bell. The dream haunted him almost every night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save her. He was always too late.
He wondered if she cried out to him from the grave, if, when her murder was finally avenged, she would know peace. Then perhaps so would he. He turned slowly in the bed to rest an angry glare on the woman who had caused him so much heartache and grief.
She slept on her back, her arms tight to her sides, her fisted hands rigid on her chest and pressed against one another. She appeared ready to defend herself even in sleep, though one look at her lovely face would have you thinking differently.
Even in sleep, she was simply radiant, her features angelic rather than one spawned of the devil. But then Lucifer was thought to be the handsomest of angels, which made his offspring just as tempting. It was hard for a man to look on Carissa and not want her, she was that desirable. Her hair was the color of rich honey and soft as the finest spun wool, and long lashes of deeper honey framed eyes the color of the bluest summer sky. Full rosy lips and highly structured cheekbones with a hint of a blush rounded out her gorgeous features. And then there was her body, which he had come to know briefly from when he lay across her naked, her thin wool nightshift the only barrier between them. She might be petite, yet she had been sculpted by a master artist. Her perfectly balanced curves and mounds were surely meant to drive a man mad with desire. And you would think one so incomparably beautiful would be one of God’s creations: good, unselfish, and loving.
Not so.
Her body suddenly jerked and her breath caught and for several moments he waited for her to take a breath. He released his own held breath, relieved when she sighed heavily. He wished her death to be at his hands, not something as simple as taking her last breath while in a peaceful slumber. She needed to pay for her crimes, for her sins, and he would see that she did.
Her beauty and tempting body would not prevent him from carrying out justice. He sprang from the bed and hurried into his dry clothes, briefly wond
ering if he would ever feel worthy of wearing the Sinclare plaid once again. With more important matters to consider, he brushed the never-ending question from his mind though he knew it would linger and continue to torment him.
They would need to get a good start against the approaching storm. The farther he had traveled from the village Black, the worse the weather had grown. The snowfall had turned heavy, and the wind whipped wildly, sending shivers down clear to the bone. Twice he had to stop, once due to poor visibility and the other time due to an unexpected icy rain that had soaked him enough that he worried he’d freeze to death. Gratefully, he had been only a short distance from the cottage. And it had been easy to slip the latch with his dagger and gain entrance.
Lucky for him, the journey had been just as hard on Carissa, and she lay in a deep slumber, unaware of his arrival. It had given him time to shed his wet garments and warm himself in front of the hearth to stop his shivers. Then, with his blood heated and his determination renewed, he had been able to subdue her by surprise.
Now, however, he needed to get them both out of there before the storm became such that they would be trapped in the cottage for weeks, if not months. And that wasn’t a prospect he liked to envision.
He also was well aware that he could not return her to the village Black. If she stepped one foot in the village, she would once again be protected, and he was tired of delays. He wanted Carissa on Sinclare land, where he knew her fate would be sealed, but he worried that the weather would not permit it.
When he was fully dressed, he went to the door. As soon as he opened it, it was ripped from his hand by the fierce wind with such force that it almost knocked him down. He had to struggle to remain on his feet as he grabbed hold of the door and forced it closed and locked against the raging snowstorm.
It took a moment to catch his breath, then he quickly hurried to the hearth to chase the intense chill and dry his garments before the dampness soaked through. He held his chilled hands out in front of the flames, though he doubted the heat would chase the cold dread that descended over him.
The Highlander's Forbidden Bride Page 4