Return of the Rogue (5 page)

B
y week’s end Honora didn’t know what to do. Cavan completely ignored her, continuing to sleep in front of the hearth on the floor, wake before she did. Then he would disappear, on foot or on horse, for half the day, only to return and continue to keep his distance from her.

She’d heard Artair and Lachlan mumble about how much their brother had changed. Meanwhile Addie scolded both sons, insisting that Cavan needed time, and Tavish Sinclare urged them to give Cavan the respect due him.

Everyone seemed willing enough to oblige the clan laird; after all, he was their leader and had earned the trust and respect of the clan time and time again. So between Addie and Tavish Sinclare, Honora felt compelled to do as requested and be a good wife.

She still hadn’t been able to wake before Cavan in the mornings, but she did make certain to see that his favorite foods were readily available, and she worked diligently on stitching new shirts for him. And always, she kept herself well groomed and
freshly scented in hopes that he would find her attractive and consummate their vows.

So far nothing had worked, but she intended to keep trying, especially since she knew her stepfather was keeping a watchful eye on her. It weighed heavily on her mind that her marriage vows were not properly sealed and that if her stepfather ever found out he’d make her pay dearly.

Now, Honora entered the hall to raised voices and chilling commands. A nearby clan under the Sinclare protection was being attacked by a horde of barbarians. Warriors were already gathering for battle. Cavan wanted to lead them, and his father thought otherwise.

“Artair will lead the warriors,” Tavish said, nearly shouting to be heard over the tumult. “Lachlan will join him. You are to remain at the keep.”

“I am the eldest son. It is my duty,” Cavan argued.

“You have only returned,” Tavish said.

“What does that matter? Do you fear me incapable of leading the men?” Cavan accused harshly. “Or do you think perhaps that my loyalty now lies elsewhere?”

Tavish pounded the table. “How dare you speak that way to me!”

“Then prove me false—let me lead the men,” Cavan challenged.

“Let Cavan lead the men, Father,” Artair said, stepping forward. “He is a much braver warrior than I.”

Cavan appeared surprised by his brother’s con
fidence, or was that doubt she saw register on her husband’s face? Could he think his brother issued a challenge of his own?

“Go,” Tavish commanded. “And make certain that you all return home safe.”

Honora saw the way her husband clenched his hands in tight fists at his sides, and when he turned and spotted her, he strode toward her, his strength trembling the rushes on the floor.

She wanted to cringe, brace herself for a strike, and shut her eyes tightly against the vision of him descending down upon her. But somehow she found the strength to stand as she was, straight and tall, though not without a tremble.

He halted abruptly barely inches from her face. “Don’t dare leave the keep today.”

Honora hadn’t walked the moor in days and was aching for the peace it brought her, and that ache gave her the courage to say, “I intended to walk the moor—”

“No!” he shouted, and grasped her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I forbid you to leave the keep until I return.”

“She’ll do as told.”

Her stepfather’s familiar voice caused her tremble to turn to a rippling shiver.

“See that she does,” Cavan said, shoving his wife toward her stepfather. “I hold you responsible for her protection.”

Honora would have laughed if she didn’t find it so pitiful—her husband leaving her protection in the hands of the man she needed protection from.

“I’ve always protected her,” Calum snapped, and reached out for her.

Honora instinctively backed away, her hands searching behind her for her husband, but he was already gone, a chill wind blowing in from the door he left open behind him.

Her stepfather whispered a harsh warning in her ear. “You’ll be wise to watch your step, lass, and do as you’re told.”

There was no need for him to caution her, since he demonstrated by grabbing her wrist, and while to all who saw, it may have looked like a comforting gesture, he twisted the flesh until her eyes misted in pain.

“I have chores to tend to,” she said, keeping the tremble of pain out of her voice.

“Then tend to them.” He pushed her away and strutted with importance over to Tavish.

Honora wanted to get as far away from him as possible, and as she fled the hall she heard her stepfather say, “She’ll do as told.”

Not this time
.

The thought brought a smile to her face. She had often fled to the moor against Calum’s wishes, and he’d never learned of her disobedience. It had taken practice in slipping past him, though no practice in convincing him that she had been busy with chores that he never paid mind to. Her secret excursions helped keep her sane and allowed her a modicum of independence, something she had longed for yet knew all too well was far out of her reach.

She had promised herself that once she was wed
she would continue to keep her secret excursions. It kept a spark of courage alive in her and allowed her to hope.

Honora needed to get to the stables. She’d hidden a few garments there, a shawl, a cloak, so she could retrieve them without anyone knowing and be on her way for the day. Unfortunately, the warriors nearly surrounded the stable area at the moment, so she would need to be extremely careful and remain hidden until the time was right.

Honora snuck out, though she needn’t had since everyone’s attention was focused on the warriors, making sure they were prepared for battle. She hid in the shadows of the trees, the gray overcast sky making the shadows darker and concealment easier. She watched her husband mount his stallion. He was a true warrior in every way. His claymore was strapped to his back, a dirk tucked in a sheath at his waist, a battle-axe hanging from his saddle. His long, deep brown hair was thickly braided at the sides to keep it out of his face, a face stern and uncompromising; ready to battle to the death if necessary, and the thought chilled her.

Her husband obviously feared nothing, while she seemed to fear everything. How would she ever be the wife he expected?

The warriors were far down the road when she came out of hiding and hurried into the stable to retrieve her cloak to guard against the chill autumn air. A shadow descended over her just as she was about to turn and leave, and she hoped the sky hadn’t grown darker or the rain started.

She turned and froze with a gasp.

Her husband stood a short distance away, feet apart, hands braced on hips as he glared at her with a fire in his dark eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Honora was too stunned to answer, though she voiced her thought aloud. “You rode off with your men.”

He approached her with a caustic laugh. “You underestimate my skill, wife.”

She shook her head as she slowly asked, “How?”

He stopped in front of her, leaned his face down to rub his cheek against hers, and inhaled deeply. “Your scent is undeniable.”

She would have melted against him if his lips hadn’t grazed hers before he whispered, “Disobey me again and you’ll be sorry.”

Honora stumbled back, her arm instinctively shooting up to shield herself.

Cavan grabbed it just above her elbow, though with surprising gentleness, tenderly ran his hand down to her reddened wrist and cupped it kindly in his hand. “What happened?”

She stumbled over an explanation. Did she confide the truth to her husband? Would he believe her? Did she dare take the chance or would he defend her stepfather’s actions? With no answer to satisfy her doubts and fears, she lied. “A kitchen mishap.”

He seemed satisfied, though hesitated in releasing her. “I remind you again to stay in the keep.”

“Why?”

His biting laugh had her wishing she had held her tongue. “You question me?”

“No, my lord—”

“Cavan!”

She jumped at his sharpness. “Cavan, I’m sorry, no, I do not question you, but I enjoy walking the moor and had hoped—”

“Not today,” he interrupted, and surprised her when he explained, “The barbarian tribe that strikes our friends to the south could have other bands roaming the land. I will not take the chance of you being captured. You will remain in the keep until my return.”

“I understand.” And she did. It was his duty to look out for the clan.

“And you will do as I ask?”

He asked, not demanded, and his consideration surprised her. “Yes, Cavan, I will do as you ask.”

“Good, then I will not worry over you.”

He turned to leave, stopped and remained still for a moment before turning around and glaring at her as if he struggled with a thought.

She stepped over to him and instinctively offered concern and comfort with a gentle hand to his chest. “Are you all right?”

She thought she heard him growl deep down in his chest before he pressed his cheek to hers and whispered, “I like the scent of you.”

Then he left abruptly, with such haste that he stirred the hay that littered the stable floor. As if through a hazy cloud she watched him disappear. It took her a few moments to regain her compo
sure, though her flesh continued to tingle and shock wiped her smile away.

She pressed hesitant fingers to her lips. Where had the smile come from? Her fingers drifted to her cheek and she closed her eyes to linger in the heat that tingled her fingertips. Was the heat from her or from him?

I like the scent of you
.

She thought he hadn’t noticed, and had begun to wonder if she was wasting time scenting herself. But he had noticed, and he liked it.

Her shock didn’t chase the smile, which lingered. It came from too deep inside her to dismiss easily, and had been a long time in coming. She couldn’t recall when she had smiled with such pleasure before.

“What are you doing here? You were ordered to remain in the keep.”

The familiar harsh voice chased her smile away in an instant, and sent fear racing through her. But she was quick with an explanation, keeping her distance as she walked past her stepfather. “I wished to bid my husband a safe and successful battle,” she told him.

“Finally you do something right,” Calum said, though it sounded more like an accusation.

“I must see to my chores,” Honora said, hurrying her steps to get away from Calum before he could say or ask anything more, or before he found a reason to raise his hand to her.

“See that you do,” he shouted as she left the stable.

Normally, she would worry over her stepfather’s accusations or actions, but today was different. Today she thought about her husband, especially in the early afternoon when the rain began to fall gently and she sat in the sewing room stitching a shirt for him.

It was then his words grew strong in her head.

Good, then I will not worry over you
.

Her husband worried over her. Her mother had been the last person to truly worry over her, and she’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone care. Her husband might only have worried over her because she was his wife, of course, and that was his duty, but he did worry, and that made her feel cared for and, in a way, loved.

Not that she was foolish enough to believe Cavan loved her. She did not. But she knew that he was an honorable man who did the honorable thing, which was to care for his wife whether he chose her or not.

And for that alone she cared for him.

C
avan dragged a wounded Lachlan off the battlefield and secured him behind the protection of a large boulder.

“Move and so help me God, I will finish you off myself.”

His brother snickered. “Not likely.”

Cavan shoved a protesting Lachlan back against the boulder. “Your leg took a severe blow.”

“I can still fight.”

“The hell you can.” Cavan grabbed Lachlan’s sword and stood. “Fair warning, brother, move, and I promise you, you will be sorry.”

“My big brother warning me?” Lachlan laughed with a grimace.

“Your big brother promising you.” Cavan squeezed his shoulder.

Lachlan laughed. “Go win the battle; I’ll be waiting for you.”

Cavan reentered the battle with an eye on Artair. His father had warned them all to return safely, and with him leading the battle, it was his responsibility to do as his father commanded.

He had lost one brother, he would not lose another.

Cavan fought like a man enraged, and when the battle was done, stood on the battlefield gripping his blood-soaked sword, his warriors staring wide-eyed at him. He had taken down more barbarians than all his warriors combined, and it wasn’t admiration he saw in their faces, but pure fear.

“Cavan!”

He turned to look at his brother Artair.

“Lachlan needs help.”

Cavan carried Lachlan into the keep, Artair following behind. Addie came running, Tavish preceding her, and servants hurried to assist. Lachlan was laid on a table before the hearth, his garments dampened by the rain that had turned heavy just as they entered the keep.

Lachlan was barely conscious. Family hovered around him, Addie examining the wound and shaking her head.

“It is deep.”

Cavan spewed oaths beneath his breath. He should have protected Lachlan, he told himself. He should have been there to deflect the sword. It was his responsibility; he was the oldest brother.

“This wound is bad, very bad,” Addie said, brushing her tears away. “It is deep and I do not know if stitches will hold it together.” Her eyes sprung wide.

“What is it, Mother?” Cavan asked anxiously.

“Your wife, Honora. She is very good with a needle.”

“Where is she?” Cavan asked.

“The sewing room,” his mother said.

Cavan took the stairs two at a time and shoved the sewing room door open with such force that it crashed into the wall.

Honora jumped out of her seat, her stitching falling to the floor, and stared at him.

“I have need of you,” Cavan said.

“Need?” she barely whispered.

“Lachlan has been injured and needs stitches. Mother says you are good with a needle.” He grabbed her hand.

“I have only stitched garments, never people,” she objected.

“There is a first time for everything.”

Honora hurried alongside him, then stopped abruptly. “My needle and threads, I will need them.”

“Hurry,” he urged, and released her hand.

Cavan waited with little patience, and when she reappeared, snatched her by the hand and rushed her down the stairs and into the hall.

“Stitch him,” he ordered when they stopped at the table where Lachlan lay sprawled.

Cavan feared she would protest and run in fright from the sight of the blood, but surprisingly, she remained calm, examining his brother’s wounded leg while people talked around her.

“I think it will take many stitches to hold the flesh,” Addie said.

Cavan watched as his wife reached out, placed a comforting hand on his mother’s bloody one and calmed her with reassuring words.

“We can do this. We can mend his leg.”

In no time the two women worked together, mostly in silence, his mother following his wife’s instructions without hesitation. Cavan watched in amazement as Honora’s fingers deftly stitched Lachlan’s leg as if it were a delicate piece of embroidery. Her stitches were precise and evenly woven, and he was glad that Lachlan had remained unconscious since it took many stitches to close the wound.

“The stitches must be kept dry and the bandages clean,” Honora said with a glance at Addie. “I recall my mother stitching a wound for a neighbor’s lad and she was insistent about both. And Lachlan must remain in bed for a few days so the wound can begin to heal and the stitches can take hold.”

“He’ll stay put,” Cavan and Artair said in unison, bringing a smile to all in the hall.

“Fever could set in,” Addie said as they bandaged Lachlan’s leg.

“No need to worry about that unless it happens,” Honora cautioned. “We can only do what we can at this moment.”

Cavan admired the way his wife handled his mother’s concerns, forcing her to concentrate on the moment and not worry too far ahead. He had learned the wisdom of paying heed to the moment at hand while captured. If he’d thought in the future even only an hour or two, he would have lived in anticipation of the beatings he knew would come and linger in the thought of never seeing his homeland or family again. Instead he had lived for each moment, each day growing strong in mind and
purpose, and was thus ready when the opportunity came to claim his freedom.

He and Artair carried Lachlan to their father’s solar, where a bed had been prepared for him. It would make it easier for the women to tend him, since it was closer to the kitchen and the herbs and brews he would need to help in his recovery.

Lachlan finally regained consciousness after he was settled, though only for a moment, and after his mother fed him a special brew, he slipped into a comfortable slumber.

Cavan had no intention of leaving his brother’s side, though he was exhausted from battle, and his wife seemed to understand his concern.

“I have had the servants prepare a bath for you,” Honora said, her voice low in consideration for the sleeping Lachlan. “Go bathe, then sleep, and after you are rested you can come relieve your mother and me, for your brother will need looking after throughout the night.”

Cavan leaned down and pressed his cool cheek next to her flushed one. The heat seared him like a branding iron, though he didn’t mind being marked by her. “Thank you.”

Honora nodded and quickly returned to Lachlan’s side.

Cavan didn’t return until dawn, exhaustion having claimed his battle-weary body. He rushed to the solar, Artair joining him along the way.

“Sleep imprisoned us both,” Artair said with a sense of guilt.

“At least we are well rested and can relieve my wife and our mother so they may rest,” Cavan said, reassuringly grasping his brother’s shoulder just before entering the solar.

They both froze as they watched their mother and Honora frantically working over their brother, blood everywhere and Lachlan moaning.

“He ripped his stitches after fighting us while in the throes of a dream,” Addie explained.

“Damn,” Artair mumbled. “I should have remembered that Lachlan always relives the battle in his dreams from that day.”

“Since when?” Cavan asked.

“Since you and Ronan had gone missing.”

“That matters little at the moment,” their mother insisted. “It is what must be done now that matters, and we could use your help in restraining him.”

Cavan and Artair positioned themselves at the shoulders and feet of their brother as Honora once again stitched the wound.

When she was finally done, she would have toppled over if not for the quick reaction of her husband. He caught her arm and secured her in the crook of his shoulder.

“Honora is exhausted,” Addie said. “She has not slept a wink, insisting that I take time to rest while she continued to care for Lachlan alone. If it wasn’t for her calming voice and actions…” Addie shook her head. “…Lachlan would have continued to fight us.”

“You will rest now,” Cavan demanded, tilting his wife’s chin up and seeing how the exhaustion consumed her lovely violet eyes.

“I would like that,” she said with a yawn.

Cavan was about to swing his wife up into his arms when Lachlan suddenly attempted to bolt off the bed. He would have been successful if not for Artair’s firm hold on his shoulders. Cavan helped him keep Lachlan stable, but the injured brother didn’t settle completely until Honora rested her hand to his chest and spoke softly in his ear.

When Lachlan finally woke from his disturbed sleep, Cavan was able to order his wife to go rest. He wished he could join her, be alone with her and express his gratitude for what she’d done for his brother, but he was still needed at Lachlan’s side.

He watched Honora, saw that fatigue had claimed her body, and he worried that she wouldn’t have the strength to climb the stairs to their bedchamber.

“Tell me of the battle, Cavan,” Lachlan said, his teeth gritted against the pain.

“Yes,” Honora encouraged. “Tell your brother of the victory.”

“It was a worthy win,” Artair boasted, and soon the brothers were comparing their prowess with a sword.

Cavan slipped out of the solar a couple of hours later to check on his wife. He found her sound asleep in their bed, snuggled deep amidst the bedding, with a strong fire keeping a chill from the room, and he wished he was keeping her warm with his body.

The thought didn’t startle him as he walked over to the fireplace and braced his hand against the mantel to stare down at the flames. Honora had been on his mind much too often and in ways that would probably shock and offend her innocence.

He had been pleased to realize she wasn’t a complete little mouse, afraid of everything, but then again, that sudden knowledge made him all the more curious to learn how she would react to making love.

She had a gentle touch and a sincere kindness to her, and right now he wasn’t prepared to deal with a tender woman. He needed one with strength and hunger for her husband, for his need for a woman bordered more on ferocious rather than tender.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, a steady pain pinching at the base. He growled low in his throat, and it reminded him of the animal he had been forced to become in order to survive. He hadn’t been able to shed that beast inside him, for fear that it might be of use one day, but he worried that he would not always be able to control the beast.

The growl surfaced again when he recalled the trouble Lachlan had with disturbing dreams after battle, another fault he took to heart and considered his own. If he had been victorious against the barbarians, then Ronan would still be with them and Lachlan would not suffer as he did.

He was not the leader he should have been that day, and that was why he kept the beast alive and
well inside him. Never would he allow one of his to be taken from him, never would he not protect his people and his land, and the beast remained to make sure of it.

Cavan walked over to the bed and bent down on his haunches to gently run his finger along his wife’s cheek. “I will keep you safe, even from me.”