“I find that time can be a friend rather than an enemy, which is another reason I stopped to visit. Can you tell me how long it will be before you know if you are with child?”
“About two weeks,” Carissa answered.
“You are feeling well?” Zia asked.
Their conversation continued about birthing and babes, and Zia regaled her with stories of the Sinclare deliveries and babes and how Carissa would meet the little darlings later at supper. And then she left.
When the door closed, Carissa’s hand went to her stomach. She hadn’t given much thought to being with child. Perhaps it was because she had thought it only a distant dream that would never come true. But now there was a possibility that it might.
She didn’t know what she would do if she was carrying Ronan’s child. However, she did know that it would present problems, one being that Cavan would not pass judgment on her.
The thought disturbed her, for then she would never be free. And the Sinclares would be forced to accept her.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to be forced on anyone, least of all Ronan.
The solution to her dilemma came easily. If she was with child, she would not let anyone know. Then she realized it could possibly cause her another problem. Cavan just might punish her, and that could harm the babe. And what of Ronan? Didn’t he have a right to know that he would be a father?
She stood and paced before the hearth.
It would be so much easier if she wasn’t with child, yet she had so wanted children. And she would probably long for one of her own even more after meeting the Sinclare babes tonight.
She shook her head. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t participate in a family meal with the Sinclares and watch the love and happiness they all shared and know they had yet to accept her.
She didn’t wait for Ronan to come collect her for supper. She notified the guard that she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be taking supper with the Sinclares. He looked ready to remind her that Cavan had ordered her to the meal, so she gave him two apple buns and hot cider, spiced with her own flavorings.
A short time later he knocked on the door and told her he would deliver her message and that he hoped she was feeling better, and by any chance did she have another apple bun to spare?
Chapter 30
Ronan got finished tumbling on the floor with his twin nephews and stood, brushing the rushes off the little lads, then himself. Blythe had clapped with glee, and Roark had kept steady eyes on them all.
He couldn’t believe his family had grown so much and in ways he had never imagined but loved nonetheless. He had never given much thought to children, his brothers and he too busy enjoying the pleasures of being young and free. But his ordeal had made him view life much differently.
He had never realized how very important his family was to him. And though he had worried that he would feel estranged from them, they had not changed. It was he who had changed, or at least thought he had. And while he might look at some things differently, he was who he always was—a Sinclare.
“More!”
Ronan laughed at his namesake, who stretched out his tiny arms to him. “Time to eat.” He snatched the little fellow up in his arms and pretended to chomp at his cheeks. The lad laughed with glee until his mother, Honora, took him, which then had him crying in disappointment.
Ronan grabbed the lad’s chin. “We’ll play again, but first you must eat.”
The lad seemed appeased and went with his mother.
Ronan turned and joined Cavan where he sat alone at the end of the table.
“Ronan loves his uncle Ronan,” Cavan said with a smile.
“What’s not to love?” Ronan teased.
Cavan shook his head and laughed.
“I thought one day there would be children to carry on our name.” Ronan shook his head. “But I can’t believe that day is already here.”
“I look at my sons and think the same,” Cavan said.
“As I do,” Lachlan said, joining them near the hearth.
“Sons?” Artair asked as he approached. “Wait until you have a daughter, then you will know what it is to worry, especially when you recall your own wicked ways.”
Lachlan slapped Artair on the back. “Look on the bright side. Blythe has three male Sinclare cousins to protect her innocence.”
“Knowing her mother’s spirited nature, do you think that consoles me?” Artair asked with a grin.
“It will have to do for now,” Cavan said.
“Truly?” Artair asked. “I wonder if you will feel the same if it is a daughter you have next.”
Cavan cringed, then swore then said, “Daughters obey their fathers.”
His remark was like a punch to Ronan’s gut. Had Carissa obeyed her father whether she liked it or not?
“Will you consider that when you pass judgment on Carissa?” Ronan asked.
“I will consider it all, including how I screamed, then passed out when she threw water on my open wounds after I had been whipped mercilessly,” Cavan said. “And I certainly will remember how she laughed and told me to embrace the darkness.”
“Wise advice,” Zia said, walking over to the table, her daughter reaching her tiny hands out to her father and Artair taking her with a smile and snuggle.
“What do you mean?” Cavan snapped.
“If Carissa told you to embrace the darkness, then she knew you would pass out from her action. It is how you felt when you woke,” Zia said, “that matters the most.”
Cavan looked perplexed.
“How did you feel?” Zia asked. “Were you in pain? Or was your suffering bearable?”
Cavan looked ready to answer, then held his tongue, and his brow crinkled in thought. “I was on my stomach when I woke and someone, a soft, caring voice, ordered me to remain that way. And the pain—” He paused and shook his head. “The pain was minimal.”
“Hope,” Ronan whispered, though not quietly enough.
“Hope?” Cavan reiterated. “Of course I kept hope strong.”
Ronan shook his head. “No. Hope helped you as she helped me.”
“You’re suggesting Carissa helped me?” Cavan asked irritably.
“If you weren’t so stubborn, you might see that it is a strong possibility,” Honora said, returning with one of the twins, who looked as if he wore his food rather than ate it.
“Your namesake is a fussy eater,” Cavan said, ignoring his wife’s accusation.
Ronan leaned down and playfully pinched the lad’s cheek. “I know someone whose food you’d enjoy.”
Honora smiled. “I had one of Carissa’s apple buns. It was delicious.”
“She made apple buns?” Ronan asked. “I need to get some.”
“Carissa won’t be joining us for supper,” Cavan informed him. “She isn’t feeling well.”
Ronan turned on him with a sting of anger. “You just inform me of this now?”
“I only learned of it a short time ago,” Cavan said.
“And you didn’t think to inform me?” Ronan asked annoyed. “Especially knowing she could be with child?”
Zia was already walking to the door. “I’ll see if she’s all right.”
Ronan joined her.
The others stared at Cavan.
“I am laird,” Cavan said.
Honora huffed. “Then act like one.”
Carissa had just taken the cauldron from the hearth to cool. She was looking forward to the rabbit stew that had simmered for hours. The scent was delicious, and her mouth watered for the first bite.
She had managed to calm her thoughts and intended to enjoy a tasty supper and retire early and hopefully meet with Dykar at sunrise to see if Septimus had unearthed anything new about Cregan.
Therefore, her door bursting open was completely unexpected and startling to say the least.
Ronan was at her side when he asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Are you su
re?” Zia asked, having hurried in behind Ronan.
Carissa nodded, still startled by their appearance.
“We were informed you were ill,” Ronan said.
“More tired than anything,” Carissa said, which was the truth. She was simply fatigued by her whole ordeal.
Carissa saw that Ronan surveyed the room, and she knew he’d reach the obvious conclusion.
“You planned to eat alone,” he said.
Zia gasped. “You shouldn’t be alone if you aren’t feeling well.”
Ronan agreed, and before Carissa knew what was happening, she was hurried to the keep, where Zia, with help from Honora and Alyce, had her tucked at the table with a soft wool blanket wrapped around her.
Ronan had seen to her rabbit stew being brought along with her as well as the fresh bread she had baked and the remainder of the apple buns, to the disappointment of the guards.
She was tucked and snug against Ronan as the Sinclares began to fill their bowls with her stew and share the bread she had made, while the twins happily ate the apple buns.
Carissa listened though she did not partake of the banter among the Sinclares. They were family, and while she sat among them, she still could not claim herself one. But she wished she could. They loved and laughed. They teased and tormented. But always, always, they were family.
She could even see how the Sinclare brothers—all but Ronan—tried hard to accept Hagen. Ronan had no problem with Hagen since he had fought by his side and knew him well. And Ronan trusted that his brothers would discover Hagen’s worth for themselves.
This, she realized, was family. Something she had never known and what she had always hoped for and dreamed of, and yet never found. Now that it was in her reach, she ached to be part of it.
Carissa ate very little and hadn’t realized that Ronan urged her to eat more. She had been too consumed by what went on around her.
“More! More!” the lad Ronan yelled, and his brother Tavish joined in.
“They love your apple buns,” Honora said.
“I do too,” Cavan said, splitting the last one to share with his twin sons.
“I’ll make more tomorrow,” Carissa said.
“Only if you’re feeling well enough,” Ronan insisted.
“Ronan’s right,” Cavan said, “only if you feel up to it.”
Carissa remained silent, the whole night remaining strange to her. Laughter mixed with chatter. Praise for her cooking circled the table, and when Cavan suggested that she share her cooking talent with the cooks, she thought for sure she was in a dream.
But it was when Ronan walked her to the cottage and closed the door behind him and took her in his arms and kissed her that she believed a dream.
“Do you know how much I want to make love to you?’ Ronan asked.
“You can’t,” Carissa said, telling herself it had to be this way. There was no choice. It was for the best.
“Why?”
“Your brother dictated as much,” she said.
“My brother cannot dictate love.”
Carissa managed to regain some of her senses, his kiss having rendered her vulnerable. “But who do you love, Ronan?”
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear before nibbling along it and sending shivers down her spine.
“Who am I?” she asked, surrendering to his hands, which had managed to find their way beneath her garments to tease and tempt.
“The woman I love.”
Carissa groaned when his mouth attacked her neck with nibbles and nips that tormented her beyond belief.
Somewhere reason assaulted her as he continued to taste her. “We can’t do this.”
With a strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, Ronan lifted her against him and carried her along to the bed. “I have let far too many people dictate my future. You are mine. You belong to me. And no one, not even my laird, will tell me that I can’t make love to you.”
Chapter 31
Ronan went down on the bed with her, and she sighed with the pleasure of his body covering hers. And though he felt so very good, and it felt so very right for him to be there with her this way, a nagging voice warned her against it.
“Ronan—”
He captured her mouth with his and kissed her senseless. It took her a few minutes to gather her wits, and the moment she did, he kissed her again, leaving her breathless.
“We need to talk,” she said quickly before he stole another kiss.
“No,” he said, and claimed her mouth again.
When he finished, she caught her breath, and said sternly, “Enough, we must talk.”
He was off her in a flash, but not before she caught a hint of anger in his eyes. She didn’t have to wonder over it. She knew what had caused it. He had recognized Carissa in her commanding tone.
He turned his back to her when he had stood and had yet to turn around and face her. No doubt he attempted to compose himself, but it didn’t truly matter. Even though it was for a brief moment, she had clearly seen anger in his eyes where only moments before she had seen love.
That brief flare of anger was sparked by the hatred he felt for Carissa, and she wondered if he could ever truly love her as she was.
He finally turned around, and she sat up on the bed.
“What else is there to say?” Ronan asked.
She stood and placed her hand to his chest and with a soft, kind voice said, “There is much for us to say.”
He smiled, and his eyes brightened. Gone was the doubt and anger, replaced by sheer joy, and he wrapped her in his arms. “Let’s love first and talk later.”
She would have loved to do just that, but she needed to know if what she had seen in his eyes lay dormant and would rear its ugly head whenever Carissa spoke.
“Do you truly love me?” she asked snappishly.
There it was again, that flare of anger that seemed to deepen the color of his green eyes. And was that tightness around his mouth? And where was his response? Stuck in his throat? Or was it the truth that he simply could not love Carissa?
The thought hurt her terribly, but then she had been a fool. How could she think that he would love her? His love was all for Hope, not a shred of it was for her.
“No answer?” she asked softly.
Again his anger dissipated, and he cupped her face in his hands, warm, tender hands that sent shivers racing through her.
“I love you.” He kissed her gently. “Only you.”
“Is that Hope or Carissa you speak of?” she asked, her tone reflecting Carissa.
She was relieved he simply frowned and that no anger flared in his eyes.
“I wish the answer was that easy, but it’s not,” he admitted truthfully.
“Isn’t it?” She walked away from him, making certain the table separated them.
Ronan rubbed at the back of his neck and seemed reluctant to speak.
“Talk to me, Carissa,” she demanded.
He fisted his hand and shook it at her, his green eyes blazing with anger. “I’ve hated you for two years. And that hatred grew when I believed you killed the woman I loved. When I hear that familiar tone and recall her—” He stopped and dropped his fist to his side releasing his tightly curled fingers and shaking his head. “You can’t expect me not to react to Carissa’s voice. I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”
He turned away from her for a moment, then swiftly turned around, throwing his arms wide. “I loved Hope more than anything in this world. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have searched so hard for her. I would have returned to my family, my home. But all I could think about was saving Hope and building a life with her.” His anger returned though not as bitterly. “And what of you? You could have told me the truth.”
Carissa laughed. “And what would your response have been?” She answered for him. “You would have never believed that Carissa could have a heart. You had known only her cruelty. And like your brother, you would have believed it all a ruse, a plan of mine to learn more
about the Sinclares and eventually destroy them. After all,” she said defiantly, “I am my father’s daughter.”
“Then where did Hope come from?”
“From you,” she snapped.
He lunged forward, and though the table separated them, she stepped back, for his face raged red, though his words startled her.
“No, love created Hope,” he said, pointing a finger at her, “your love and mine.”
She stared at him, bewildered.
“Somehow,” he implored, “somehow in the melee of anger and hate, love was born, our love. And if we don’t fight against all odds to save it, hatred will win, and love will have lost.”
“Father warned that love never lasted.”
“Help me prove him wrong,” he said. “Love me, no matter what. Love me as I will you. Love me until there is nothing left between us but love. Hatred will have no choice but to vanish forever.”
“You believe love can do that?” she asked, hoping he was right.
“I believe our love can do that,” he said, slowly walking around the table. “I already love Hope with all my heart. Give me a chance to love Carissa.”
“You don’t fear as your brother does that it’s a trap?”
A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth as he got closer to her. “How do you know I’m not trying to ensnare you?”
She could tell by the glint in his eyes that he teased her. She reached out and took hold of his shirt and drew him closer. “You already have.”
He brought his head down, bringing his lips close to hers. “I’m glad you realize that, since I’m never”—he kissed her—“ever”—he kissed her again—“going to”—he grabbed her around the waist and held her tight as he kissed her again, then whispered hotly in her ear—“let you go.”
She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body hard against his, and their lips found each others yet again, and they feasted.
Breathless when the kiss ended, she pressed her cheek to his and after a moment, said, “I want to make love with you.”
He grabbed her chin and wore a wicked grin that only served to excite her more.
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