He turned to look at Carissa. Her cheeks weren’t burning red any longer, though she remained pale. And he couldn’t understand how suddenly she appeared so vulnerable to him. He had never imagined Carissa weak. She was the epitome of strength, mean-spirited as can be, but nonetheless she was brave. She seemed to let nothing stand in her way.
Yet suddenly she needed protecting, much as he had when Hope had come into his life. And oddly enough, he felt the need to protect her. Was it simply inherent in a man to want to protect a woman? Or did he feel the need to keep her safe for a far different reason?
He grew tired of all the conjecture, all the questions, all the doubts.
He stood and stirred the simmering brew. He spotted the cauldron of stew and moved it off the flames. It smelled delicious, and no doubt would taste the same. Carissa had a remarkable way with food, and there hadn’t been anything that she had cooked that he hadn’t enjoyed.
He went to the table to grab a plate when he noticed that a puddle of water sat beneath Carissa’s cloak. He walked over and was surprised to find the hem, not damp, but wet to his touch.
It took him a moment to realize that she had gone out while he had been sleeping. And it wasn’t a brief excursion; the puddle was evidence of that, as was the fact that her cloak had yet to dry.
Where had she gone?
Why had she been gone so long?
He walked back to the bed and stared down at her.
“What are you hiding from me?” he asked.
She moaned and twisted fitfully, as if uncomfortable with his query.
He hunched down beside the bed. “Who are you truly?”
She moaned softly, and what spilled in a whisper from her lips shocked him.
“Ronan, help me.”
He almost lost his footing and fell backward. That was Hope’s voice and it stung at his heart.
“Please, don’t leave me.”
Her hands had reached out from beneath the blanket as if searching for his, and he didn’t hesitate, he grabbed hold of them.
“Stay,” she pleaded.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her, though he wasn’t sure that she could hear him. Nonetheless, he had to tell her just in case she could hear him.
She twisted fitfully once again in her sleep, then suddenly sprang up in bed and grabbed tightly to Ronan’s arm.
“Don’t let him kill him. Please, he is so tiny, don’t let him kill him.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me,” she pleaded frantically. “Protect him. Promise me.”
“I give you my word. No harm will come to him.”
Her head fell to his shoulder and rested in the crook of his neck. He realized that her fever had spiked. He tried to lay her back in the bed, but she refused to relinquish her hold on him, so he sat there holding and reassuring her.
When he was finally able to tuck her comfortably in bed, he saw that her cheeks once again flamed red. He pulled on his boots and grabbed the empty bucket as he passed the table and headed outside.
He scooped up snow and noticed that gray clouds had grown heavy overhead. He dreaded more snow, especially now, with Carissa needing care. If the weather remained clear, he could at least get her to Bethane.
He hurried inside and sat on the bed beside her. He rubbed small handfuls of snow across her brow and over her cheeks. He did the same to her neck until he was satisfied that she had sufficiently cooled down, He even rubbed a little snow along her hot arms.
The blankets remained off her until he noticed her shiver; only then did he cover her with the lightest blanket. Satisfied she rested comfortably; he took the bucket outside, added more snow to it, and left it just outside the door for future use.
Before heading back inside, he took a moment to survey the area. He couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t alone. Had Carissa gone to speak with someone? And if so, who?
He went inside and finally helped himself to a bowl of stew and a thick slice of bread. He sat in the rocker so that he could keep an eye on Carissa while he ate.
As he enjoyed the flavorful stew, he recalled Carissa’s plea about protecting a tiny…who or what?
He wondered if it had been the fever that made her speak nonsense, or had she recalled a painful memory. Whom had she been trying to protect?
There were far too many unanswered questions concerning Carissa as far as he was concerned. It seemed the more he discovered about her, the more there was to discover.
In all the time he had searched for Carissa, he had only wanted one thing…revenge. He wanted to make her pay and dearly for the suffering she had put him through. Now he wondered if she was truly responsible for his suffering?
He looked over at her in the bed. She slept peacefully and he couldn’t help but wonder yet again who she truly was.
Chapter 18
Ronan tended Carissa all through the night, her fever rising and falling in intervals. She never truly woke though she stirred and spoke incoherently. When the sun dawned and her fever still remained strong, he grew more concerned.
Fearing he wasn’t doing enough for her, he decided the best thing for him to do was get her to Bethane. If he left early and kept a good pace, they would reach the village Black by nightfall.
“Ronan?”
He hurried to her side, her voice full of fear.
“I’m here,” he said, sitting beside her and taking her hand, which was much too hot.
“How long have I slept?”
“It’s almost dawn.”
She shook her head. “The fever remains.”
“I’ve done all I can,” he said, feeling helpless.
“Some fevers simply won’t let go,” she said, as if resigned to her fate.
However, he thought differently. “I’m taking you to Bethane.”
She sighed as she shook her head. “I’ll never make it.”
“I’ll fashion a sleigh of wood to pull you along on. If we leave shortly after dawn, I can have you there before nightfall.”
She shook her head.
He leaned close and whispered, “Ye of little faith.”
She smiled. “I always had faith in you.”
Her response shook him to his soul. How could she have faith in a man who had wanted her dead? More and more he wondered who this woman was. “Good, then hold on to it. We leave here today.”
He fed her a few tablespoons of the concocted brew and set to work. He made certain not to feed the fire in the hearth, wanting it cold before they took their leave. With the single-room cottage soon to lose heat, he dressed Carissa in her linen shift, wool skirt, and blouse, left her stockings off until later, and tucked blankets around her.
It took more time than he liked to form a sleigh from branches and pine, but when he finished, he was pleased with the sturdy piece. He packed the wooden bucket with a few food items and set it aside.
He then went to collect Carissa. He threw the blanket off her and gently took hold of her foot, noticing how small it was. He had always thought of Carissa as a formidable woman, and he supposed one would then believe her tall, but not so. Carissa was petite, much like Hope.
He shook his head. This was no time to let his mind wander. He grabbed hold of her stockings, ready to slip them on to keep her warm during the journey, but her feet were already warm.
“No,” she protested, waking from a light slumber. “I’m too hot. No more clothes.”
“It’s cold out.”
“The blankets and my cloak will do.”
He acquiesced to her concern and wrapped her cloak around her after he sat her up in bed, and as he lifted her, she placed a hot hand to his cool cheek. It felt as if she branded him, but then maybe she already had.
“Thank you.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” he grumbled, annoyed that once again he heard Hope in her voice.
“No,” she said softly, “it’s love.”
He sat her in the rocking chair and shoved the narrow b
ed away from the hearth against the wall. Though he would douse the embers left in the hearth, he wanted to make certain there was no chance of a single one remaining and jumping to ignite the bed.
Almost like embers of their love jumping forth and igniting his heart.
Was he dousing the embers of love in his heart? He grumbled beneath his breath at the crazy thought. He had to stop this. There was no love, never had been.
He rushed around like a madman, wanting to be on their way. And in no time they were. He took the stuffed bedding and placed it on the sleigh. He cocooned Carissa not only in her cloak, but two blankets; the third he placed over her, tucking it around her after he had placed her on the sleigh. He pulled her hood up, making sure to tuck her hair away from her face.
When he was finally done, he hunched down beside her, surprised to see that she had fallen asleep. He felt her brow, and it was hot, though not raging. But if the fever followed the course it had been on, it would spiral soon enough.
He stood, took hold of the rope of knotted pine that served as the reins, dropping it around his chest and stepped forward, pulling the sleigh behind him.
“I won’t tell you.”
“Where is he?”
“Ask me all you want, Father, but I will not tell you.”
“You dare defy me?”
“I love him, and I will not let you kill him.”
“What did I tell you about love?”
“I don’t believe you.”
His large hand stung and her head snapped back from the blow.
Her knees trembled, but she stood defiant. “I won’t tell you.”
She winced, pain shooting up her arm from his sudden grip.
“You will tell me or suffer the consequences.”
“I will die before I tell you. I love him, and I will protect him.”
She cringed as he crushed her slim arm with his powerful hand.
“You will learn the foolishness of love.”
Her head shot back from another stinging blow, then she felt the heat. She screeched as the flames greedily licked her flesh. “I love him. I love him. I love him.”
“Do something,” Ronan said frantically. “She’s in pain.”
“I am doing all I can,” Bethane assured him. “Dreams and memories cause her pain. Also that grip you have on her arm may be too tight.”
Ronan immediately let go, though he remained by Carissa’s side on the bed. “She appears to have grown worse since we arrived yesterday evening.”
“Some fevers like to trick, sinking low before spiraling out of control, while some remain constant, locking onto a person and draining her of all strength.”
“Will she survive?” he asked curtly, though he didn’t mean to, but he was worried.
Bethane placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you want her to?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I want her to live.”
“Why?” she asked walking around the bed to stand opposite him.
“That’s a foolish question,” he snapped.
“No, a logical one. When you left here almost two months ago, you wanted Carissa dead. What has changed?”
He looked down at Carissa in a fitful toss, her cheeks burning red. “Everything.”
Bethane nodded. “You should get some rest. You have barely slept since you arrived.”
“She may not recall us leaving the cottage and will look for me when she wakes.”
“She will feel safe once she realizes where she is,” Bethane assured him.
He was going to continue arguing but thought better of it. He already sounded foolish to his own ears. What must Bethane think of him? But then she had asked him what had changed.
Everything.
His answer reverberated in his head, and he stood.
“There’s a bed in my cottage. Go rest.”
He hesitated.
“If she asks for you, I will come get you.”
He gave a sharp nod and left the cottage, walking the few steps from the door to Bethane’s place, and dropped on the bed, exhausted. Only a short time ago he’d wanted to strangle Carissa with his bare hands and now…he wasn’t even sure who she was.
He sighed with exasperation and slammed his eyes shut as if he could force sleep to claim him. He didn’t want to think, but he had no choice. Thoughts rushed at him, and no amount of dodging prevented them from hitting.
Could he have been the one Carissa had saved from her father?
Had she risked her life for him?
He fell asleep with no answer forthcoming.
Carissa was hot, and something weighted her down. She struggled to get free, pushing past the darkness to a spot where she saw a shred of light.
“Hope.”
Was that Ronan calling out to her? She tried to answer, but she couldn’t find her voice. She continued to struggle. She had to get this weight off her, had to get out of this heat and out of the darkness.
“Hope.”
She stopped suddenly and listened.
“Hope.”
She didn’t move. It wasn’t Ronan calling out to her. It was her father, and he wasn’t calling out her name.
He laughed then, that evil laugh that always shivered her to her soul.
“There is no hope.”
He was wrong. There was hope. She was Hope. He couldn’t take that from her.
“There has never been hope.”
“No!” The scream ripped past her dry throat and shot out of her mouth.
“Hope doesn’t exist.”
She fought the darkness, the weight, and her father’s cruel words.
He was wrong. Hope existed and love would prove it.
“Ronan,” she screamed.
Ronan battled the darkness. He had to find his way out, but first he had to find her. He had to save her. He tore through the dark with his hands, calling out to her. He thought he heard her and stilled, but there was no sound, nothing. He continued clawing the dark.
“Ronan.”
He heard his name clearly.
“I’m here.”
“You promised.”
“I’m here. I’m here.” He clawed viciously at the dark, but seemed to get nowhere.
“Too late.”
“Hope.”
He sprang up in bed.
“Ronan!”
He was off the bed and out the door before she called out again. He burst into the cottage and saw Bethane struggling to hold Carissa down.
“I’m here,” he shouted, and she quieted instantly.
Bethane stepped away when he reached the bed. He sat beside Carissa and took hold of her one hand and brought it to his lips. Her skin was warm, and he kissed her palm, then placed it against his cool cheek.
“I’m here,” he repeated.
She sighed, her sleep finally peaceful. “Don’t leave me.”
“Never,” he said.
When after a few minutes she said no more, he looked to Bethane. She was closing the door he had left open when he rushed in.
“She’ll be all right?” he asked anxiously.
“If the fever continues to go down, she’ll be fine.”
“What if it climbs again?”
Bethane did not hide her concern. “She’s weak from fighting the fever. If the fever jumps again, I don’t know if she’ll survive.”
“She’s a fighter.”
“It would seem so,” Bethane agreed.
“Is there anything else we can do?”
“I would say that you are already doing it,” she said with a smile and a nod.
He realized how odd it must seem, him sitting there holding his enemy’s hand to his cheek. He barely understood it himself. He had gone from having a deep-rooted hatred for Carissa to possibly loving her.
The incredible thought had him placing her hand on her chest and him getting up and walking away from her.
“You’re confused,” Bethane said.
“I—I don’t know wha
t happened,” he said, bewildered, and glanced over at Carissa. “I don’t know who she is.” He ran a rough hand over his face and shook his head. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Chapter 19
Carissa felt a weight on her as she woke. She struggled to open her eyes as if emerging from a fitful sleep that had claimed her much too long. She tried to move her arms, but was only able to get one free, and as her surroundings finally came into focus, she was stunned to see why.
Her arm was stuck under Ronan’s head as it lay on her stomach, his hands at her waist. With a tentative stretch of her free hand, she reached out and gently laid her hand on his head.
She smiled at the feel of his soft dark hair, and as she stirred the strands, the scent of fresh pine drifted off to tickle her nostrils. She carefully cleared his face of loose strands so that she could look upon him.
To her he was the handsomest man alive; though his features were more rugged than sculpted, there was something about him that caught the eye and made the heart jump. She felt that she had been lucky to get to know him first as a man, then as a warrior, for she found the man more courageous and kind than any warrior could be.
She never regretted pretending to be a slave when she had tended him, for if she hadn’t, she would have never gotten to know him. And he would have never gotten to know her.
She missed the time she spent with him as Hope. It hadn’t taken long for them to trust each other or to fall in love. It was as if they were meant to be, as if they had known each other long before meeting.
There was a comfort with Ronan she had never known and a safety she had always longed for but had never found. He was to Hope a hero, a man who would never fail her.
She traced a finger along and around one of his eyes, recalling how swollen both had been when she first had seen him. Her father had wanted to use him as a pawn against his brother, but she had somehow managed to convince him that it would be far better to have Ronan’s vision cleared so that both brothers could see each other during torture.
Her father thought that a splendid idea and ordered her to see to his care. That had been the only reason she had been permitted so much time with the prisoner. She had hoped to heal him, then somehow see him freed. She had never intended to fall in love with him.
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