Loved By a Warrior (2 page)

Chapter 2

“A
nd your name?” Tara asked, intending to remain focused on the immediate situation as they kept a steady gait. If she allowed her mind to wander off in memories, as it so often did, she'd be in tears soon enough. And if there was a time that she truly required her wits about her, it certainly was now.

“Reeve,” he answered.

“Of the clan?” she asked wanting further clarification of the man she had entrusted with her life.

“What does it matter?”

Tara knew he was merely mimicking her own response to his similar query. And he was right. She should have thought of ascertaining that information before asking for his help.

“You're right. It makes no difference,” she said. What did make a difference was that she believed him an honorable man. And that was the only thing that kept her feeling safe, though the dirk she had slipped into her fur-lined boot also helped her feel safe. So did the fact that she knew how to use it.

The few inches of snow crunched beneath their footfalls, and the air was crisp, but, then, it was the deep of winter. And they were in the Highlands, the precious, beautiful Highlands that she loved so dearly. She had not wanted to leave her home. She had not wanted this arranged marriage, but her father had insisted. She would have much preferred to have remained living the solitary life she had planned on since her last husband had died three years ago, when she was barely twenty.

However, her father had a different idea, and so she had been sent from her home to wed a man she had never met and had never wanted to wed. It seemed, however, that fate had interfered and had sent someone to rescue her, and she couldn't be more relieved.

She cast a quick peek Reeve's way. Strong, bold lines made up his fine features. And no doubt many a woman thought him handsome, and rightfully so. He had dark, piercing eyes that just about matched his long, dark hair. Thick braids entwined with the wool stripes the color of his plaid, red and black, hung at the sides of his angular face. His lean body wore his black shirt and plaid well, and he had wrapped an additional plaid around himself for warmth, draping one end over his shoulder.

He was lean in body though not by any means lacking in strength. That had been obvious from the way he had so easily handled the thieves. Add to that an unwavering confidence, and that made him a man who stood out amongst men and one much sought after by women, though not her.

She couldn't allow herself to think of him in any terms other than her rescuer. She had been lucky that he had happened her way and had unknowingly provided her with an escape and a good one at that. Surely, her father would believe her dead, her bride price stolen, and he, as well as she, would be free at last. And sadly, she wondered if he would be relieved.

Enough dwelling; she needed to remain focused on the present situation, and so she asked, “You know where you will take me?”

Reeve nodded. “That I do.”

“Is it far?”

“Four or five days' journey at most.”

“Far removed from people?” she asked.

Reeve stopped abruptly, and she halted, cautiously avoiding him.

“It is a clan—” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “I will finish.”

She bit at her bottom lip to stop from speaking and folded her arms across her chest.

“This clan will take you in. There are a few empty cottages on the outskirts of the village. You can have your pick. You can make friends or not, the choice is yours. But at least you will have some modicum of protection.”

Tara almost objected, worried that the men might seek her out. Word would spread soon enough though, about whom she was, and then no man would dare even talk with her. And Reeve was right. She did need some degree of protection. While she was self-sufficient to a point, it would be unwise to think she could survive entirely on her own.

“These are good people. You will do well there,” he said, and turned to continue their journey.

She trudged behind him, his strong footfalls clearing a good path for her through several inches of snow that had fallen since yesterday. She tugged her cloak more closely around her, the cold air biting the flesh. And she glanced with worry at the sky. Sure enough, a heavy cloud covering had moved in swiftly, and she had no doubt it promised additional snow.

“We need to find shelter,” Reeve said.

“More snow,” she said.

He nodded. “Finding shelter is essential. There's an abandoned croft a few miles to the west.”

“Will it take us out of our way?”

“Not much,” he said, and switched direction.

Tara followed, pulling up the hood of her cloak and keeping pace with Reeve. Traveling behind him, she couldn't help but admire his tireless strides or the ease in which he vaulted over fallen and decaying trees. The good-sized boulders proved no hindrance to him as well. She, however, skirted around them before he could offer her help.

The sky grew darker, and it took from midmorning, when he had come upon her, until midafternoon for them to reach the croft. Snow started just as they spotted the empty cottage in the distance.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, feeling quite ravenous, having not eaten since early morning.

“I'll hunt after getting a fire going.”

Before they reached the cottage, the wind increased along with the falling snow, and Tara feared a substantial snowstorm. If so, they could be trapped alone for days.

The wind stung the flesh, and Tara kept her hood pulled down to protect her face though it hampered her vision and slowed her pace.

“Keep up,” Reeve yelled against the swirling wind and snow.

She raised her head to see that she had lagged behind him, and so she hurried her pace to catch up. With the snow heavy on the ground and it blurring her vision, it was no wonder that her foot got snagged by a snow-covered log, and she went tumbling headfirst.

Before she hit the ground, Reeve's arm grabbed her around the middle, yanked her up on her feet, and planted her firmly against him.

“Hold on,” he shouted above the din of the storm.

“No!” She tried squirming out of his tight embrace.

“Stop!” he yelled near her ear, and pressed her hard against him.

She was stunned by the strength of his grip and his fearlessness. He had not given thought to his actions; he had simply reacted. He had saved her from falling face-first into the snow, and now he kept her tucked against him, safe from the harsh wind and the possibility of being separated in this wicked storm.

Surprisingly, she found herself complying with his command and burrowing her head against his chest. Once done, he wrapped his other arm around her, and they trudged through the swirling wind and snow to the cottage.

It had been forever since she had been held so tightly. It felt almost as if he never wanted to let her go, or perhaps she merely wished to believe it. It didn't matter that a snowstorm swirled around them; her only thought at that moment was how utterly wonderful it felt to be held again.

She fought the tears and the memories of being loved and all it entailed. She hadn't realized how very much she missed not only the intimate touches, but the simple ones, like now and how he held her so protectively against him, his warmth seeping into her and his strength wrapped around her. And kisses, Lord, it had been too long since she had been kissed. To feel a man's lips again, to know his touch and to be able to touch him . . . no, she couldn't think about it. It just wasn't possible, at least not for her.

He hurried her inside and struggled to shut the wooden door against the storm while keeping her tucked in the crook of his arm.

A brief shiver took hold of her, more from her thoughts than the cold.

He yanked her hood back as he asked, “Are you all right?”

She tried to step away from him, but he refused to let her go. “I'm fine. You should release me now.”

“Why? You fit rather nicely,” he said with a teasing smile.

And she did; she had noticed the perfect fit herself. Her body's contours seemed to meld precisely with his. It was what had churned her memories; for there had been another time she had felt the same. It was as if two missing halves had been reunited, but instead of the thought bringing joy as it once had, now it brought only sadness.

“Please, let me go,” she pleaded softly.

“I am not your intended; therefore, it is safe for me to touch you.”

“You must trust me on this,” she said with sorrow. “It is not safe for you, and I truly wish no harm to come to you.”

He slowly let his arm fall away from her, and as he did, she stepped away from him. She didn't dare look at him. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps she feared she'd see pity, or disgust; or perhaps she more feared what she would
feel
since for the briefest of moments, his innocent touch had stirred dormant feelings within her.

“You'll not be able to hunt in this storm,” she said, wanting to think on anything but that brief spark that had faintly ignited her desire.

“It would be unwise,” he said. “But we will need firewood.”

Tara glanced around the room and saw that two broken chairs and shards of broken crocks were the only items in the one-room cottage.

Reeve didn't waste any time. He grabbed both chairs and smashed them against each other, splintering them further. He broke some other pieces over his knee, and then he piled them all in the fireplace and had a fire going in no time.

“We'll need more wood. I think I saw a woodpile near the door.”

He was out the door and back in no time, and he repeated his actions until there was a good-sized stock of wood inside.

“Hopefully, the storm will stop before morning, and we can be on our way,” Reeve said, pulling the plaid he had wrapped around his chest off and hanging it from the end of the mantel.

“Or it could last for days,” Tara suggested.

Reeve shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him. “Then we'll certainly have enough time to become better acquainted.”

Tara had no intentions of becoming better acquainted. The less she knew about this man, the better for him and for her.

She slipped the bundle off her back and took off her cloak, spreading it on the hard-packed dirt floor in front of the fireplace. Her hand disappeared into her wrapped bundle, and when she finally found what she was searching for, she smiled.

She opened the cloth-wrapped parcel and tore the hunk of dark bread in two, offering one to Reeve. “It's what's left of the bread I baked for the journey.”

He took the bread from her and sat down beside her before taking a bite.

He sat cross-legged like she did, and their knees looked as if they touched, but they didn't. She cautioned herself to move away, not to remain close.

Keep away. Keep away.
The chant repeated like an echo in her mind.

Unfortunately, she didn't listen to her own advice. She remained as she was, allowing herself a modicum of closeness to this man.

“This is delicious,” Reeve said after finishing the piece. “You baked it?”

“I did,” she admitted, realizing he would find it odd.

“You're obviously of noble class, and I've never known a woman of your status to cook, let alone know how. That is usually left to servants, is it not?”

She turned his question on him. “You know
many
women of my status?”

He laughed. “I will satisfy your curiosity, and then you will satisfy mine.”

He was even more handsome when he smiled, and his lighthearted, teasing nature made him all the more appealing. And both were dangerous thoughts.

She nodded and silently cautioned herself that she didn't need to know anything about this man, but she was too curious to listen to her own warnings.

He leaned closer to her, their shoulders near touching. “I'm such a devilishly handsome creature that born noble or peasant, women can't resist me.”

Tara had to laugh since his dark eyes danced with merriment, and his grin was too mocking to take seriously. “That is no answer.”

“But it's the truth,” he said with a wink.

She almost reached out to touch his face, but clasped her hands together instead. She wanted to make certain he was real, that she wasn't dreaming that she was truly sitting beside a man in front of a hearth talking. It simply felt too surreal to be true.

“Now your turn,” he said.

“That was no answer,” she argued lightheartedly. “You claim you are irresistible to women and have known many, even noblewomen. Does that mean you are of nobility yourself?”

She detected a brief change in his eyes, as if a shield had been raised, and she wondered if he hid something from her as she did from him.

“I am of no noble birth, though my numerous travels have allowed me to meet people of all classes.”

Before she could probe for more, he was quick to claim once again that it was her turn.

She was reluctant to explain to him why she could bake bread. The less he knew about her, the better, though perhaps if he learned the truth, he would then be more willing to keep his distance from her. Then, if she should happen to fall again, he would not be so quick to catch her.

“I spent time in the kitchen with the cook who was a jovial and caring woman, and one my father favored, being her food was quite tasty.” She paused, not truly wanting to share the story, but knowing it was for the best. “Then, one day, her husband suddenly died. He was standing there one minute talking with her and on the ground next, dead as dead can be, and the following day he was buried.”

She continued not knowing if Reeve was too shocked to comment or that her revelation had left him speechless.

“Tongues started wagging, and, before I knew it, his death was blamed on me. The women believed that somehow I had infected the cook with my death bride curse, and from then on not one woman would speak with me or come near me.” She paused again, and when Reeve continued to remain silent, she went on. “Soon after, my food began to taste bad. Instead of complaining to my father, I took matters into my own hands and, with the knowledge I had acquired from the cook, I began to cook for myself in a tiny cottage that I had claimed.”