The day was busy helping Moira in her
workshop, playing with Duncan, and foraging in the woods with Anne
for a strange array of things that Moira requested.
She had barely grabbed a cup of hot cider
from the kitchen and was just about to retire to her room for a
rest when a villager burst through the great hall doors admitting a
gust of winter wind along with his excitement.
“He returns!”
Brianna froze, knowing full well whom he
spoke of and feeling her own excitement at Royce’s return.
Ian entered the great hall, tossing his fur
to a bench and walking toward her. His cheeks were red from the
wind, his dark hair in disarray, and his strides determined.
“You are ready for his return?”
Moira appeared and answered for her,
slipping her arm through her husband’s. “She is ready.” She looked
to Brianna with a smile.
Brianna returned her smile and nodded. “Aye,
I am ready.”
“Is there anything you wish of me, Brianna?”
Ian asked, wanting his sister to know that whatever her decision,
be would abide by it.
She laughed softly. “For you to continue to
be the loving brother you have always been.”
“You make it easy,” he said and kissed her
cheek.
A commotion outside the double doors caught
their attention, and the three walked to stand in front of the
dais, waiting to greet Royce and his men.
Brianna’s heart pounded in anticipation. It
had been several weeks since his departure, and there was not a day
she had not thought about him, not a day she had not missed him,
not a day she had not loved him.
The doors burst open and several men marched
in wearing the blue and green tartan of the clan Campbell. They
preceded their leader out of respect and protection, though
immediately moved to the side, leaving room for his entrance.
Brianna waited, her breath caught in her
throat, her heart beating wildly, and then she saw him and the
sight of him made her gasp and step closer to her brother.
His scars had healed; even the deep one on
his face was nothing more than a thin pale red line. His lip was
normal, his eye no longer swollen and red. His eyes were stunning,
a dark wintergreen color and intense in their boldness as though he
saw all and knew all. His long dark hair was a rich mahogany and
the two braids that hung on either side were entwined with pale
leather strips. She was familiar with his body, but he seemed
bigger and stronger to her somehow. Perhaps it was the pride in the
way he wore his tartan or the glimmer of the gold brooch at his
shoulder. Whatever the reason, he looked more handsome than Brianna
ever thought possible.
He was in essence a stranger to her, and she
moved even closer to her brother.
Ian placed a comforting arm around his
sister, offering his protection and support.
Royce walked forward with an arrogant
confidence and an eagerness that could not be denied. He was happy
and eager to see her, and he made no pretense of his feelings. He
tempered his stride when he saw the hesitancy in her eyes and the
way she remained near to her brother.
He remained confident when he addressed Ian.
“It is good to be back.”
Ian extended his hand. “It is good to have
you back.”
Their hands fell away, and Royce looked to
Brianna. “I have missed you.”
She spoke truthfully. “You look
different.”
“I have healed, but I am who I have always
been.” He should have patience. He had warned himself of its
necessity, but standing here in front of her after having thought
about her endlessly for the last several weeks made patience near
impossible. “We need to talk.”
“You and your men must be hungry and tired,”
Brianna said, hoping to delay speaking with him privately.
“My men will eat and rest in time. Right now
I wish for us to speak.”
Brianna sounded as adamant as he did. “Eat
and rest first—we can talk later.”
Royce had not waited these many weeks to
return to her only to have her ignore him. He had expected a
different welcome, a much warmer and loving welcome, and he found
his patience dwindling rapidly.
Ian stepped forward, actually stepping
between them. “A brief rest might prove beneficial to all.”
Royce would not disrespect Ian, and feeling
as though he were ready to force the issue, he thought it best to
agree. “As you wish.”
Brianna made haste to leave. “I will see to
the food.”
Ian allowed his sister her way, though Royce
made certain he was heard. “We will speak later, Brianna.”
She did not acknowledge him but simply
hurried from the room, with Moira close behind.
Royce was blunt. “Does Brianna carry my
child?”
“I do not know,” Ian said. “She has not
spoken of it to me or my wife.”
Royce rubbed his chin hard. “She is stubborn
beyond reason. I had thought this time apart might make her miss
me.
“She has missed you.”
“She avoids me.” He pointed to where Brianna
had disappeared beyond a door.
“Give her time,” Ian advised.
“I have given her enough time,” Royce said,
and without a glance to Ian, went in search of Brianna.
She had barely stopped in the kitchen to
announce that they had guests when she hurried out and circled
around the great hall so that she could retreat to her bedchamber.
She could feign an illness for the evening and put off speaking to
Royce until tomorrow or perhaps the next day. She only knew that
she did not wish to speak with him right now.
He looked so different to her, as though he
were a complete stranger. She had thought he would heal and had
hoped he would heal well. He had, his fine features returning in
force and leaving him as handsome as ever. She had not thought to
deal with that, and it had upset her.
She told herself he was not a different man.
Looking at him, however, she could not easily convince herself of
that. All she knew was that he was completely different from the
man who so lovingly tended her in the cottage.
She slipped quietly into her bedchamber,
closed the door behind her, and there she waited.
Moira came to her some time later. “He
searched for you and grows impatient.”
Brianna sat on the bed, her legs crossed,
hugging a pillow and remaining silent.
“He has healed well.”
She was quick to answer. “Aye, so much so
that he appears a different man to me.”
“He remains who he has always been,” Moira
said, “except that he has lost his heart to you.”
She grew defensive, though she did not know
why. “He gave me a choice.”
“A conditional choice, but then, you cannot
bear a child, can you?” Moira asked with a smile.
Brianna sighed, half in frustration and half
in relief. “How did you know?”
“It was obvious. You cry all the time, your
appetite has increased, and you rest more than usual.”
“Does Ian know?”
Moira shook her head. “He suspects nothing,
though he has asked me.”
“And?” Brianna asked anxiously.
“I could not tell him what I did not
know.”
“I do not wish to deceive anyone—I only wish
to make my own choice.”
Moira patted her arm. “I understand, I felt
the same myself, but you cannot avoid Royce for long.”
“I know and I will talk with him when I am
ready.”
Moira nodded. “Then I will tell him that you
do not feel well, that your head aches and you wish to rest. But
there is tomorrow.”
“At least I have tonight.”
“I will see that you have food.”
“Oh, please do, I am so hungry,” Brianna
said anxiously.
Moira laughed. “All Royce needs to do is
watch you and he will know.”
“Then I will stay away from him until I am
ready to talk with him.”
Moira walked to the door. “That will not be
easy. He is as determined as you.”
It did not prove easy at all, though Brianna
avoided him for the remainder of the night and most of the next
day. When she would catch a glimpse of him, she would quickly
vanish, which was her present intention. She had seen him a short
time ago speaking with Ian in the great hall, and she made a hasty
stop in the kitchen for bread and cheese and intended to once again
spend the evening in her bedchamber.
Quietly she climbed the stairs, and yawning,
she slipped into her room, locking the door behind her.
‘Tired?”
She dropped the bread and cheese in fright
and turned to face Royce, who was stretched out on her bed.
He immediately stood and walked toward her.
“Do not bother to ask me what I am doing here, for you know full
well why.”
She scooped up the bread and cheese and
walked to the small table near the hearth to set it down.
He was tired of being avoided and followed
her. “Why?”
She attempted ignorance. “Whatever do you
mean?”
“Do not treat me like a fool.”
He stood close, much too close. She could
smell on him the scent of the rich earth and the freshness of a
winter’s day. How could he smell so delicious? And how could she be
so hungry for him? She retreated a short distance since the hearth
was directly behind her.
“There is nowhere for you to go, Brianna.
You have no choice but to talk with me.”
She spoke softly. “You have always given me
a choice; will you not do so now?”
“If that is what you wish, though first you
will answer one question for me.”
She knew what he would ask and attempted to
avoid it. ‘Tomorrow we shall talk.”
“You will answer my question first.”
He was adamant; she could tell there would
be no changing his mind.
“I have been as patient as I can be.”
It was a warning and she heeded it. She
turned her chin up, stuck her chest out, planted her hands on her
hips, and waited.
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding,
and asked on a hushed whisper, “Will you wed me?”
She had been prepared for a different
question, and his query startled her so much that her legs grew
weak and she reached out for support. He grabbed her by the
shoulders, steadying her.
“Listen well, Brianna.” He stepped closer,
his touch turning gentle and his words firm. “I love you and it
matters not if you can bear children. I have missed you terribly,
and I do not wish to live life without you. I want you as my wife
now and always, so again I ask, will you wed me?”
She stared at him wide-eyed, unable to
speak, for words failed her. She had expected him to ask her if she
carried his child, and instead he asked her to wed him. Had he
planned this all along? The thought helped her to respond.
“Had you always intended for the decision to
be mine?”
His hands moved to her waist. “I could have
it no other way. I could never force you to wed me. The choice has
always been yours.”
“Then why insist on my word to wed you if I
carry your child if the choice has always been mine?” She brought
her hands to rest on his arms. She could feel the warmth of his
skin through his linen shirt, and she ached to touch his bare skin.
She had missed him so very much.
He grinned. “A good warrior always has a
second plan of attack.”
A smile escaped her; she could not contain
it. “You planned on being victorious?”
“I never lose.”
“You think I will wed you?”
“I prayed that you would,” he said with a
hushed reverence, as though his words were a prayer in
themselves.
She stared at him, attempting to understand
this legendary warrior, this man who fearlessly entered battles,
this man who solemnly prayed that she would wed him, this man who
gave her choices.
“You look different,” she said, offering
what explanation she could for her behavior. “I thought you
different.”
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?” she asked, confused at his
request.
‘Trust me and close your eyes.”
He asked for her trust and she gave it. She
closed her eyes.
“Listen to my voice. Do I not sound as I
always have to you? Do you remember when we first met and you
screamed in fear, then when you woke again and I introduced
myself?”
She nodded, recalling the moment well and
remembering how caring his voice had sounded, just like now.
“I will introduce myself again if you wish
me to.”
She smiled as she nodded, interested in what
he would say.
He placed his face near hers and whispered,
“I am a warrior who has recently seen battle. I was left with many
scars. Many I did not think would heal, many that were deep and
painful. I thought I could heal on my own; I was
determined
to heal on my own. Then I met you, who needed to heal from an
accident and from her own inner battle. We healed each other. We
are alike, you and I, warriors—determined warriors. And I lost my
heart to you, and I know you lost your heart to me.”
Tears welled behind her closed eyes.
“You know me well, Brianna, like no other
has known me. My looks matter not; do not see me with your eyes,
see me with your heart.”
He kissed her cheek, and with his finger to
her chin he turned her face so her lips would meet his. His kiss
caressed and sent shivers racing through her.
“I love you,” he murmured. “Marry me because
you love me—
me
, Brianna, not the warrior or the legend, but
me
.”
She could not deny her love for him, and she
could not deny that with her eyes closed she heard and envisioned
the man she had fallen in love with—the scarred warrior who had
captured her heart.
She did as he had suggested: she saw with
her heart and chose with her heart. She opened her eyes, a teardrop
rolling down her cheek. With her hand to his cheek she said softly,
“I love you so very much that it frightens me.”
He kissed her fingers. “There is nothing to
fear between you and me.”