He could not contain his laughter. “Aye, but
I have the strength.”
She had the need to prove her own strength,
perhaps more to herself than him. She braced her meager weight on
her elbows and attempted to pull herself up off the pillows. The
pain surrounded her, captured her senses, and set her head to
spinning. This time, however, she intended to fight it. She had to
gain her strength back. She could not remain in bed day after day.
She had to grow strong.
He watched the struggle on her face, the way
her eyes squinted against the pain, the way her slender arms
trembled from their effort to support her, and he wasted not a
moment. He reached out to her.
“Nay!” she shouted at him, but had not the
strength to avoid his reach.
His arm went quickly around her, and her
body sagged in relief against the thick muscle of support. Her head
rested in the crook of his shoulder.
“You are a stubborn one,” he said, annoyed
at himself for allowing her to behave so foolishly.
“Determined,” she corrected with a labored
breath.
He needed to make certain she would not be
foolish again, for he suffered along with her and he would not see
her suffer needlessly. “You will do as I tell you.”
She laughed this time, softly but enough for
him to hear.
“You think me humorous?”
“We make a strange pair, both of us needing
healing and both ignoring what is necessary.”
“I do what is necessary for me to heal.”
“Hiding away is necessary to your
healing?”
He took affront to her remark. “I do not
hide. I chose solitude as a poultice for my pain.”
“You chose solitude so that you would not
have to face your pain.”
“You speak foolishly.” He arranged several
pillows so that he could brace her in a comfortable sitting
position. He eased her up against the pillows, making certain the
soft wool blanket remained covering her breasts. He then grabbed
for the white wool shawl that hung on the square bedpost where he
had placed it if needed. He draped it around her bare
shoulders.
She placed a gentle hand on his bare arm,
his shirtsleeve having been pushed up for him to work more safely
with the fire. ‘Tell me of your scars.”
“You have no need to hear of them.”
He tucked the shawl around her,
concentrating on his task, but she could tell that her question had
disturbed him.
“You have need to speak of them.”
“And what of your scars?” he challenged in
defense.
“You hide them within you. Why do you fear a
man’s touch?”
She was too tired to react defensively, so
she answered as honestly as she could. “I had a husband who treated
me poorly, and I simply do not know how to react to a man’s touch
be it gentle”—she paused, weighing her words, then spoke without
hesitation—
”or intimate.”
He was impressed with her courage to admit
such an intimate truth, and he was angry with the fool husband of
hers for having made her so fearful of a touch that was meant to
give comfort and pleasure.
“An intimate touch is gentle.”
“I knew no such gentleness”—she paused
again, giving thought to her words—”I knew obedience.”
“Intimacy has nothing to do with obedience.
It is about caring and sharing, smiles and laughter, pleasure and
satisfaction.”
“You sound as if you possess much
experience. Are you married?” She laughed at her own remark. “I
forget that a man has no need for marriage to gain experience.”
‘True enough.”
“A man has a freedom that a woman does not,
and now that I have tasted that freedom I intend to keep it.”
“You do not wish to marry again?” he
asked.
“Nay, I wish no marriage. I wish to keep my
freedom.”
“You have a man’s protection?”
“My brother,” she answered but gave him no
more.
“He does not mind you remaining with
him?”
She smiled. “Nay, my brother wishes only my
happiness, as does his wife. He will let me live my life as I
choose.”
“And you choose loneliness?”
“You think me lonely because I have no
man?”
“Nay,” he said seriously. “I think you
lonely for you have never truly known a man.”
“I was married,” she said, not understanding
him.
‘To an idiot.”
She could not help but grin.
He smiled along with her and encouraged her
to continue.
‘Tell me about your husband.”
“Will you tell me about your wife?”
He admired the way she diverted his remark.
“I am not married.”
She raised her hand slowly, her fingers
gliding ever so gently over his swollen lip. “You have no one to
care for you.”
Her words affected him more than he cared to
admit. He had no one special who cared for him, who worried over
his safety, who prayed for him when he faced battle. He had only
the occasional woman who satisfied his needs, but no one who was
always there for him. No one who would reach out and touch him in
his time of need like Brianna had just done.
“And yet you have a caring soul and give
without thought to its return.” Her hand fell slowly to her
side.
Her tender touch left a tingle on his lips,
a tingle that spread slowly through him. And his thoughts were
anything but caring. “My soul is not what you think.”
“I do not think you know your own soul.”
‘Teach me,” he challenged and was not
surprised by the sparkle that shone in her eyes.
“Aye,” she said on a yawn. “I will do
that.”
He wanted to ask her more questions,
especially about her husband, but she was tired and needed to rest.
They had time to talk, time to learn about each other, and he
looked forward to the many talks they would share, but for now she
needed rest.
“Rest, and then you will eat.”
“I have rested enough and I am not
hungry.”
“You persist in having your way.”
“As do you.” Another yawn attacked her and
she grew annoyed.
“Why fight your need to rest?”
“How can I grow strong if I do nothing but
lie in bed?”
“The first few days you did nothing but
sleep and moved not a finger. Now you sit up, move your arms, your
legs, and remain awake longer. You heal, slowly aye, but you heal.
That is what is important. And you must eat, for the food fuels
your body.”
“You are wise in ways I would not expect a
warrior to be.”
“A warrior sees much, much too much.” His
voice grew soft as though he did not wish to hear his own
words.
She thought to ask him what he saw, but now
was not the time. He did not need to relive such harsh memories.
She found the strength once again to raise her fingers to his lips.
“If you look in my satchel, you will find a pouch of herbs. I can
make a poultice from them that will help heal your wounds.”
He realized it took great effort for her to
hold her hand up, and he realized he wanted to continue to feel her
tender touch. His hand went to her wrist to gently give it support.
She was pleased that he did not mind her touch.
She had reached out to him without thought,
wanting only to offer comfort, a strange reaction for her, for she
was taught never to touch her husband without permission. Yet she
gave no mind to touching him, and he gave no mind to her
action.
“When you are stronger,” he said his warm
breath a gentle whisper on her fingers.
“The sooner the poultice is applied to the
fresh wounds, the better the healing.”
“Then you will instruct me how to prepare it
and I will make it.”
She pouted like a child who was disappointed
in not having her way. “I wish to make the poultice.”
He took her hand and held it lightly in his.
“Squeeze my hand.”
She understood he intended to prove his
point, and she intended to prove him wrong. She eagerly did as he
directed, mustering all the strength she possibly could. She
focused on her hand, took a deep breath, and with all her might she
squeezed.
She paid dearly for her effort. Her hand
throbbed and her arm trembled and a vicious pain stabbed at her
side. Her eyes fluttered and she whispered in urgency, “Royce.”
“Damn,” he mumbled. He soothed her with
comforting words, kissed her forehead, her hand, her cheek, and she
turned her face to rest her cheek to his.
“I feel so safe with you, so very safe.”
“Always. You will always be safe with me. I
will allow no harm to come to you,
ever.”
“You do have a good soul,” she whispered and
kissed his cheek before her eyes fluttered closed.
It was a silent nay that echoed in his
head.
How could he have a good soul when he had no
soul at all?
“You will be as you are when I return.”
“That sounds like an order.” Brianna smiled
and watched Royce make ready to leave the cottage.
She had such a pleasant smile that he could
not help but return it, though he had come to realize her smile
could precipitate her stubbornness. “It is a wise edict.”
“I am feeling better.” She actually was
feeling stronger and had managed to move herself around in the bed.
Her bruises, the ones that she could see, were healing nicely. It
was the bruise she could not see that gave her the most discomfort.
Her sleep had calmed considerably, but then she had Royce to thank
for that. His arms were always there to ease her restlessness and
she had grown accustomed to seeking them even when not necessary
and the thought troubled her.
“When I return I will help you into your
night shift, and if you feel able I will help you to stand.” His
look was stern, or as stern as it could be with his features so
distorted. “For only a moment and then it is back to bed. Until
then you stay as you are—in bed.”
“You will not be long?” she asked, not
worried about remaining alone but wishing time to perhaps attempt
to do something on her own.
He walked to the bed, looking twice his
size, his shoulders and chest encased in leather and fur. “Does it
bother you to remain alone?”
His voice was full of concern and it touched
her heart. He had been and continued to be so very good to her, and
she wondered why. She was a stranger to him and yet he cared.
“Nay, I will be fine. I but wonder how long
the hunt will take you.”
“The snow has stopped and the animals are as
hungry as we. It should not take me long.” He reached out and
tucked her dark hair behind her ear. “You will be safe here. The
cottage is in a remote area with no distinct path leading to its
door, and with the freshly fallen snow no one will be about. And I
will not be far off.”
She smiled and nodded.
He hesitated as though he thought to say
more, and then without a word he turned and walked out of the
cottage, closing the door firmly behind him.
Brianna thought she would feel a sense of
relief when he left, instead she felt an emptiness descend over
her. She could not possibly miss him, she barely knew him, though
he was no longer as much a stranger. He kept much to himself but
actions oftentimes provided information about a person’s strengths
and weaknesses.
In her present condition she had much time
to watch him. He was methodical in his movements and always aware
of his surroundings. He paid heed to all words spoken to him. And
he had a caring soul, which was important to Brianna, for that
quality allowed her to trust him or perhaps to trust her
instincts.
She felt that she had been unwise in her
judgment of men. She had thought most men were like her brother and
his friend Blair. While both strong men, their tongues could charm
and their smiles could steal hearts. They treated her well, though
teased her much when they had been young, and they had always been
there to defend her.
Not so with her husband. He had charmed her
to get what he wanted, and then abused the very person he professed
to love dearly. She had felt so very foolish having been so easily
deceived by him. And she vowed never again to trust a man so
easily.
She had, however, no choice but to do just
that with Royce. And as the days passed, he seemed to win her trust
more and more. He tended her with gentle hands, and never once had
she felt threatened by his touch. Actually, of late she found his
touch more soothing than she had ever realized a man’s touch could
be.
He showed concern for her pain even when she
knew his own wounds must cause him just as much discomfort. He
never complained of his own suffering and was immediately at her
side if she issued the slightest moan or sigh. He was like no man
she had ever met, and the thought brought a smile to her face. She
quickly forced it to fade.
Whatever was the matter with her? She was
acting as if she had an interest in this man. She wanted an
interest in no man. They were not worth her time
or
effort.
She was presently content with her life, and she wished to keep it
that way. Her brother cared not if she married. She was welcome to
live with him and his wife Moira, as long as she wished. And she
decided that she wished to remain with them until her dying day.
They were her family and she would have no other, after all, she
could have no children.
She was barren, as her husband often
reminded her.
Her hand slowly moved across her flat
stomach. She would never know the joy of a child cuddled safely in
her womb or the pleasure of creating a child with someone who
deeply loved her as she did him.
She wondered what Royce thought of her body
when he tended her. He saw more of her naked body than her husband
ever had. Arran would insist they make love in the dark, for her
body displeased him and he did not wish to look upon her.
She had noticed that at times Royce diverted
his eyes from her body. Was she that displeasing to a man? But
there were other times his eyes would linger over her.