by Eliza Knight
“And she’d be liking that, too, but every time she looked over at ye, she had a fit of her senses.”
Cora bit her lip, willing the tears that wanted to spill to dissipate. Her mother had to be beside herself with worry over the death of her husband, the loss of her home, her daughter’s injury, not to mention her two sons in another land at the mercy of their fostering family. Cora wanted to beg him to let her mother in. To rant that she was well. But the truth of it was, she wasn’t certain she could face the look of anguish on her mother’s face. All of what had happened had yet to truly sink in.
Besides that, there was something she needed to say to Liam. “I must thank you for saving me.”
“I made ye a promise, and this time, I intend to keep it.”
Cora drew in a deep breath. “You did. I am alive and away from that madman.” Finally, she opened her eyes.
“Do ye ken who he was?”
“I do not know.” Cora shook her head, her vision finally clearing. Liam stood beside the bed where she lay. He was taller than she remembered, like a great oak, towering over her. She was fairly certain if he stood on tiptoe, his golden head would brush the ceiling. Broad shoulders and a chest thick with muscle filled out his leine shirt. He didn’t wear his plaid, which she wasn’t surprised to see. One couldn’t exactly ambush an English castle in plaid, else they’d give themselves away.
One look at him, and enemies would run, while ladies would swoon. There was so much command in his very presence, and the strength of him sucked the air from the room. She was mesmerized. The lad she’d first known had grown fully into a fearsome man. A devilishly handsome one at that.
His next words startled her from the entrancing thrall.
“He was my enemy.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest, not saying anything more, but the way his gaze turned hard spoke volumes.
Cora didn’t like the accusation forming in his features. She crossed her own arms gingerly. “An enemy of us both.”
Liam didn’t seem to have heard her, or he was ignoring her response altogether. “Did he tell ye to lure me to your castle?”
Cora blanched, not having expected that line of questioning at all. “What?” Her voice came out distant as the roar in her ears grew louder.
“Dinna lie.”
“I never lie.” Despite the rush in her ears growing louder, she spoke firmly, wishing she could slap him.
Even from his great height, and her lounging on the sagging mattress that reminded her of a bird’s nest, she could see his brow arch high in challenge. Bastard!
“Ye never lie? Is that nae a lie in and of itself, my lady?”
What the devil had got in to him? One minute so caring as he wiped her brow and held her cup of herbal wretchedness, and the next accusing her of only God knew what.
Cora frowned, forgetting momentarily the injury to her hands as she pressed them into the mattress to push herself higher. She cried out in pain, yanking her hands back, and Liam, quick as a warrior should be, bent forward and lifted her up, pressing her chest to his own.
“Ye must be careful.” His tone was gruff, and she felt thoroughly rebuked, even as he held her.
The caring warrior. She swore she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. And yet his accusing words echoed in her mind, stinging as though he’d said them all over again. He placed her gently on the mattress, fluffing the pillows behind her head so she could sit up taller without having to do so herself.
But caring warrior or not, she wasn’t going to allow him to call her a liar and get away with it. “I sent you a letter, sir. I paid a lad who was willing to risk his life to bring it to you. How was I to know the madman was your enemy?”
The infuriating man grunted. “’Twould not be the first time a woman tried to fool a man.”
“Are you easily fooled, sir?” Calling him by name seemed entirely too intimate, especially since he was making it very clear he didn’t trust her to begin with.
The furrow between his brows deepened as he frowned down at her. “Are ye trying to insult me?”
Cora tried not to bristle, but it was mighty difficult. “It was an honest question, perhaps as insulting as the one you asked of me.”
Liam folded his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms fairly bulging through his shirt. “I’ve ridden a long way to find Ughtred, and it seems entirely too easy that ye’d happen to be luring me right to him.”
“Luring?” She winged a brow in both shock and irritation. “And who is this Ughtred? Is that who besieged my home? Killed my father?” She chewed her cheek, her gaze falling toward the tiny sparks of orange flames in the rusted iron brazier that looked to have seen better days. She felt just as corroded. How could Liam be turning her plea for help into something so despicable?
“Dinna play innocent with me. I will get to the bottom of it.” He started to walk around the side of her bed, no doubt heading toward the door.
“Liam,” she said softly, hoping her calm tone would sway him, and it did. “Please don’t leave yet.”
Though he did stop and turn halfway, he stared back at her with a blank expression.
Cora licked her lips, finding breathing suddenly hard. “I made a vow to you, too,” she said. “My honor. My word. I would not betray you.”
The corner of his eye twitched, and she wished she could see inside his thick skull, understand the thoughts rumbling through his head. He gave a curt nod and left the chamber, shutting the door behind him. Cora half expected to hear a key grate in the lock, but there was nothing.
She leaned back against the thin, worn pillows and blew out the breath she’d been holding. She pressed the insides of her wrists to her eyes and inhaled deeply, hoping to steady herself.
This was madness. All of it. Her castle had been overtaken by a lunatic, burned to the ground, and she had somehow managed to escape that tiny death trap. Now the man she’d begged to rescue her was accusing her of betraying him. Cora would never in a thousand years think of betraying him. She’d given him a promise. And her word meant everything.
Nothing was making sense, including how he would have come up with that harebrained conclusion. Then again, he had arrived only a few days after she’d sent the letter, which meant he had, in fact, been on his way to the border of England and Scotland in search of this Ughtred character. Vile little man that he was. She’d caught sight of him when she’d exited her tiny coffin of a hiding spot in her father’s study. He’d been frantically sifting through the piles he’d ransacked, looking for whatever it was he presumed her father to have, instead of trying to put the fire out.
She’d slipped right past him, and the guard that was trying unsuccessfully to pull his leader from the chamber. And yet he’d still been the one who shoved her into the dungeon when they’d come down the stairs.
By some twist of fate, Liam had run into her messenger and come to her rescue, while apparently capturing his own enemy. Saints, but she supposed it did look rather suspicious for her to have called him to the very place his enemy lay in wait.
Still, Cora shuddered to think what would have happened if Liam hadn’t come along. Hadn’t cared to run into a burning castle, or jumped down into the dungeon to find her. Once more, he’d risked his life for her. The idea that he believed she’d tried to get him killed left a dull ache in her chest. She would never…
Cora leaned back, her body aching from what she’d been through, and probably exacerbated by having lain asleep in this bed for two days.
She had to get up and move around. Perhaps now would be a good time to go and see her mother, make sure she was all right and assure her she was just fine, too.
Cora kicked away the blankets covering her and gasped at the sight of her bare legs and her skin showing through her thin chemise. She’d laid there for two days in nothing but this? Cora pressed her thighs together and covered her chest with her arms, her nipples having grown hard from the cold.
Where was her gown? She glanced around
the chamber and found it filled with everything but a gown—furniture, jugs of water or ale, she couldn’t be sure. Medicinal vials, linens and even a cloak that wasn’t hers. But no gown.
And she bet he’d confiscated her knife too… Or maybe she’d dropped it somewhere in the smoky, flaming castle when she’d been looking for her mother. Indeed, the strap where she held her knife on her thigh had been removed.
Cora stood up, her legs feeling shaky and unsteady. She curled her cold toes against the rough-hewn wooden floorboards, fearing she’d get a splinter. Where were her hose? And her shoes? She’d not been wearing boots while hiding, merely some dainty slippers that had probably fallen off in the dungeon.
When she swayed unsteadily, she reached out for the bed post, only to realize too late that this bed did not have any posts. She stumbled to her side, tripping over her own feet and falling hard to her knees. Forgetting all about her injured hands, she put them out to keep her face from smashing into the floor, too. The agony was immeasurable. The sounds her bones crunching into the splintering wooden floorboards echoed in her ears. She gasped, sucking in a whoosh of dust, which caused her to cough uncontrollably. Cora rolled to her side, curling into a hacking, pain-riddled ball, too stunned to do anything but stare in silent, open-mouthed horror at the settling dust beneath the bed.
She should have cried. Screamed even. Just lain there on the floor and cried and screamed for the heavens to take her away from here.
Instead, she started to tremble, until she was shaking uncontrollably, a throbbing ache shooting up her legs, but more severely from her hands all the way to her heart. Gooseflesh rose over her skin in prickling waves.
Up to this point, Cora had never had a serious injury. She wasn’t used to having to be careful. Lying like a pathetic heap, she felt completely helpless, hopeless and like giving up. With the injury to her hands, what would life be like if she couldn’t catch herself from a fall? How was she to pick herself back up again?
Cora closed her eyes, prepared to stay in this one spot for the rest of her days if necessary. But the door to her chamber flung open—along with her eyes—and Liam burst into the room. She watched beneath the bed as his large booted feet marched over to where she was. He muttered a curse and then slipped his strong hands beneath her crumpled body and lifted her from the floor as though she weighed no more than a feather. Ever so gently, he deposited her back on the bed and tucked the blankets up around her chin. His jaw was flexed, the muscle bouncing as he ground his teeth. When he was finished his ministrations, his hands came to his hips, and he stared down at her accusingly. Of what this time?
“What were ye thinking?” he grumbled.
Cora stared into his fathomless green eyes, recalling the very first time she’d ever seen him, and how very much she’d thought a lady could drown in the depths of his gaze. She still thought the same thing, only now, her views of a fantastical future with Liam were clouded by the reproach marring his striking regard.
“I wanted to see my mother.” She chewed her lower lip to keep it from quivering.
He muttered some more under his breath, one hand on his slim hip, the other shredding through his hair as though he’d yank it all out. Then he swiped down his face in a very familiar gesture of exasperation. If her hands didn’t hurt so much, she might have swatted him for behaving like such a curmudgeon. But her hands hurt like the devil, and it was making her entirely ornery. She was done with him acting like that—and she had no problem voicing her opinion.
“You have no heart!” she shouted. “Accusing me of being a liar, a schemer, and letting out your blustery tongue under your breath when I’ve hurt myself. I hid in a dark casket for days, starving and filled with terror. That bastard killed my father and imprisoned my mother. And if I’d not hidden, I’d likely be dead now, too. Instead, I’ve burned my hands so badly trying to save my mother, I’ll probably never have use of them again.” The outburst rushed through her quicker than the blood in her veins. She was on the verge of bursting into hysterical tears, somehow managing to hold on to that last thread before the dam broke.
Liam appeared stunned at her outburst, his eyes wide, mouth agape. He’d stopped rubbing at his face, and his hands hung limp at his sides, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. He took a step back from the bed, mouth forming a little circle as though he’d speak, but then gaping open again, until finally, he said a little breathlessly, “My lady…”
Cora swallowed down her tears and straightened her shoulders as best she could. “I do not want to hear whatever it is you’re about to say. Now go away and send only my mother.” She rolled away from him, her heart hammering behind her ribs, the thin string holding her together was tearing, one fiber at a time. Her trembling hadn’t subsided, either, and she knew it wasn’t from cold, but rather her nerves.
Everything was so uncertain. Everything felt like it was falling apart.
“Lass.” The bed dipped beside her as he sat, his firm body brushing against her rear.
“’Tis very improper of you to sit on my bed. Go away.”
“Ye’re my wife. There’s not a man or woman in all of Scotland, or England, that would agree with ye.”
His wife. Never before had she said the words, and never before had she heard them spoken to her. Up to now, they’d spoken only of vows and promises, neither of them admitting what they’d done all those years ago. How she’d been so afraid to return home, and that he’d given her his name, his protection in the form of marriage vows should she ever need to escape. He’d said bearing his name of Sutherland alone would save her life. How, she’d not been certain back then, but as she’d come into womanhood, the Sutherland name gained weight, even across the border.
That night, they’d been given a chamber to share, and Liam slept on the floor, telling her they did not have to consummate their marriage until she was ready, but the tender kiss he’d given her in the woods had kept her blushing for years.
The following morning, he was in a hurry to return to his king, fearing they’d send out a search party and that he’d be punished for going against orders. She’d refused to go with him to the Highlands then, determined to remain behind at the abbey because even at her tender age, she’d known his life would be fuller, and less complicated, without having to worry over a bride at home. He’d believed her to be safe there. Had told her he would come back for her when they were older. Cora had nodded, fully intending to seek an annulment. But something inside her gave her pause whenever she thought to put the request to the priest.
Months passed before her parents crossed the border to fetch her home. When they’d returned to Segrave Castle, there was no sign of their enemy. They’d scoured the countryside for her, thinking her gone forever. Homesick, and praying they were all right, Cora had written to them to let them know she was well. Rather than return her letter, her father had brought an army with him to the abbey. Unable to fight her parents’ demands, and too afraid to tell them she was married, or for any of those at the abbey to do so, she hurriedly agreed to go home. And vowed never to tell them about her Scottish husband, fearing they’d order their army north and start a war.
Cora’s eyes burned, and she was glad she wasn’t facing him anymore, because she no longer had the strength to hold her tears in. “I’m your wife in name only. We both know I’m not your true wife.”
“Then perhaps we should fix that.”
Cora gasped, tears forgotten, and flung herself around, prepared to give his ears another blistering. But she stilled, mouth wide, when she caught sight of the look of triumph on his face. Oh, the sneaky man! He’d said it only to rile her. She could indeed scratch his eyes out if given the chance. Then again, perhaps she should thank him for turning her despair into anger.
“I jest,” he said with a shrug.
He jested? How was she supposed to take that? Did he not wish to be married to her? Well, it wasn’t like either of them had had much of a choice when they’d gone and exchanged vow
s. They’d been too young and silly to understand the repercussions of exchanging vows, what marriage itself would mean to their families, their countries. Despite being young and not fully understanding what the upkeep of a marriage entailed, they weren’t completely naïve. They’d both known what participating in the marriage bed meant, and she was certain that Liam knew what the bedding act itself had involved, because he’d been the one to say he’d not foist it upon her all those years ago—to which she’d been grateful, since she’d feared what foisting was.
Oh, she was certain if her father had found out the truth, he would have blistered her ears. And her mother… Well, she might wish to still be in the dungeon, ready to perish the moment she learned her only daughter had been married to a Scot. If her brothers had been grown men, they might have gone to war on her behalf, not stopping long enough to gather their weapons or to ask her if she wanted to be married to Liam Sutherland.
That was an interesting question she’d not even asked herself. For the last thirteen years, he had simply been a part of her. A deep, dark secret no one in her life knew about. Of course, it had caused her much anxiety, especially whenever her father started talking about marriage alliances. When she was younger, Liam had been part of an elaborate fairytale she pretended to live in. Whenever she was having a rough time, she dreamed of him riding in and saving her. A knight errant.
Cora searched his stunning green eyes. Intense and powerful as they studied her face. They sat there motionless on the bed for several breaths, seeming to take measure of each other. Strangers who’d vowed half a lifetime ago to love, honor and obey. Neither of them had understood fully what that would mean for them both—and neither of them had been fully devoted to those very vows.
“Marriage is not a jest, Liam.”
“I know,” he said in a tone quite a bit less gruff than before without breaking his gaze from hers. “I wasna jesting when I offered ye my name, the protection of my clan, and I wasna jesting when I said I’d return for ye. I passed by your abbey half a dozen times since. And every time too afraid to present myself to ye, all the while not knowing ye werena there anymore to begin with. Ye’re my wife, Cora, and I intend to make good on that promise from this day forward.”