“Where have you been?” Mara snapped. “You scared me half to death.”
“I went to greet our guest. He arrived sooner than expected,” Carmag said.
The man looked around the table and his eyes settled on Tara.
Her eyes had been drawn to his face as soon as he had walked in. She couldn’t tear them away; his face captured her attention, though he was not near as handsome as her husband. But there was something—something—there that drew her to him.
She hadn’t noticed that the room had turned silent, the only sound the pop and crackle of the fire in the fireplace.
Tara suddenly turned completely pale. “Oh my God!” She scurried off the bench and ran around the table. The stranger smiled and spread his arms wide, capturing her as she flung herself into them.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, hugging him tight.
“Nor I,” he said, his voice deep and strong. “But as soon as I heard, I knew it could be no other.”
“I feared you were—”
“As you can see, I’m fine,” he said.
Her hand went to his face and gently caressed his scars. “But left with reminders.”
“That have long since faded, except for you.”
“I’m so very glad to see you,” she said.
“And who is it you are glad to see?” Reeve said, walking over to her with a scowl.
Her smile refused to fade. She reached out her hand to her husband, and said, “I want you to meet a good, dear friend. Stone.” Her smile grew wider. “Or so that is what I called him.”
“You called me correctly,” Stone said.
“I could think of no other name that fits you more,” she said.
“You are the son of the witch who cursed Tara?” Reeve asked.
“He is the prophet Neil told us about,” Carmag said.
Tara dropped Reeve’s hand and grabbed hold of Stone’s hands. “You can help rid me of the curse your mother placed on me.”
“We need to talk,” he said seriously. “Alone.”
Tara turned to Reeve, and he looked none too pleased.
“I know you have waited for this, so go and do what you must, but first—” He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “You are mine.”
“And I am yours.”
They kissed, not caring who watched, and when Reeve bought it to an end, he took her hand and walked with her over to Stone. “She belongs to me.”
“I know, and I knew that Tara would find you, and you would save my friend.” Stone held his hand out to Reeve.
Reeve took it, and they shook.
“I’ll take Stone to my cottage,” she said.
Reeve frowned.
Mara stepped forward. “Why not use my sewing room?”
Reeve smiled and slipped his arm around his mum’s shoulders.
“You’ll be telling me more about this as soon as your wife leaves the hall,” Mara whispered.
“Anything for you, Mum,” Reeve said, and kissed her cheek.
Tara hurried Stone up the stairs to Mara’s private room. The roaring fire kept the small room toasty. Stone removed his cloak and draped it over the back of the chair then sat, stretching his hands out to the fire’s warmth.
Tara sat in the seat beside him and waited, though she itched to ask him if he could remove the curse. Could he help free her?
“I’ve already told you that you were free.”
Tara glared at him. She hadn’t spoken her thoughts aloud, had she?
“Don’t you remember how we would talk without talking?”
“I thought it was simply the way between us because you could not speak.”
“I didn’t speak for the longest time,” he said. “I was too busy listening. With you, however, it had been different. I found it easy to hear your thoughts and was surprised that you could hear mine. But you don’t want to talk about that.”
Her hand reached out to rest on his arm. “I believe you were my first love.”
He smiled. “And you mine though I knew I would not be your last.”
“Or I yours.”
“You are patient when you rather wish to know if I can remove the curse,” he said.
“Can you?” she asked, squeezing his arm.
“It has already been removed.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“You had a dream.”
“Last night,” she gasped. “Someone told me that love had freed me.” She gasped again. “It was you?”
“Let me explain,” he said, and Tara fell silent. “The woman you know as my mother is my aunt. My mother died when I was young. She was a powerful seer, and I inherited her skills. My aunt was good to me and treated me as her son. But she was a woman who found it hard to forgive. As I lay beaten and thought I would die, I sensed that my aunt would curse you. I wanted so badly to help you and then my mother’s voice came to me and I repeated the words I heard in my head.
“My gift to you comes from the heart. It will allow you a fresh new start. No matter what words follow mine. There will come a time. When love refuses to let go. In a dream you will know that you are forever free. And that this special love is meant to be.”
“You protected me,” she said tearfully.
“The only way I could.”
Tara stared at the fire for a moment. “Rory and Luag, the curse killed them.”
“No one can say for sure, Tara, if it was the curse or simply time for that person to die. Some will believe it was the curse that struck, and others will insist it was death who laid claim. I have learned and seen for myself that fear and love are potent powers. It depends on how they are used. My aunt chose fear for revenge; I chose to combat it with love.”
“Reeve was right. He told me to trust our love, and the curse would have no power.”
“He’s a wise man.”
Tara smiled. “He’s always right.”
Chapter 35
The day finished with a joyful feast, the brothers having started it in Trey’s bedchamber, letting him know all that had happened. They taunted and laughed with each other and regaled the women with stories of their younger days, Mara often correcting their memories.
When Trey had grown tired, his eyes closing, Willow chased them out and offered to sit with him so the family could continue feasting.
It wasn’t until late that everyone retired, happy and content. Reeve and Tara, while eager as always to make love, found themselves talking first.
In bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, Reeve said, “So now you finally realize that I’m always right.”
Tara laughed. “I’ll concede to that.”
Tara had hurried to tell Reeve everything Stone had told her. His family had heard as well, and Mara had declared it was time to rejoice. Tara was free of the curse and Trey was healing nicely and Mercy was feeling good and even Willow was finding peace here. All was well, and a celebration was called for.
“Please tell me there is no impending mission,” Tara said, “that we will have time together before you must go off to serve the true king.”
“There are no missions presently planned,” Reeve assured her. “I’m all yours. You may grow tired of me.”
She shook her head. “Never will I grow tired of you.”
He kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss.
She ended it, easing away, her brow scrunched. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Tell me.”
“For some reason the prophecy about the true king kept ringing in my head this evening. I don’t know why, but it wouldn’t leave my thoughts.”
“It is a myth many people find comfort in repeating,” Reeve said. “It gives them hope of a better day, a better future.”
“It does more than that,” Tara said. “It gives a hint as to the identity of the true king.”
That had Reeve sitting up. “What do you mean?”
Tara sat up beside him, the soft wool blanket dropping away to reveal her lov
ely breasts, but she noticed that Reeve didn’t pay any heed to her breasts as he usually did. Anytime they were in front of him, he couldn’t keep his hands or mouth off them, and here he was ignoring her bosoms. His wide eyes were focused on her face, and that was an indicator that what she had been thinking might just prove true, and so she proceeded to find out.
“It’s very visible. Anyone could see it,” she insisted.
“What?” he snapped. “What could they see?”
“Listen. Hear it yourself,” she said softly, and began to recite. “When summer touches winter and the snow descends. The reign of the false king begins to end. Four warriors ride together and then divide. Among them the true king hides. When he meets death on his own. That is when he reclaims the throne.”
Reeve shook his head. “I see nothing that hints at the true king’s identity.”
“Nothing?” she asked, shaking her own head.
“Nothing at all,” he confirmed, falling back against the pillow and taking her with him to cover him.
Tara frowned, resting her elbow on his chest and her chin in her hand. “It seems so obvious to me.”
“Forget it. There’s nothing there,” he said, his hands beginning to explore her.
“But there is,” she said, her soft tone suddenly changing to a forceful one as she repeated. “Four warriors ride together.”
His hands abruptly stopped exploring, and he stared at her.
“Want to tell me something?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Reeve insisted.
“Then let me tell you what I think.” She didn’t wait for him to agree. “Four men were raised as brothers to protect the true king and to help him claim the throne. What better way to make certain that the true king was protected than to raise him in the bosom of loving and protective brothers? They would not only fight for the king, their brother, they would also die for him. And so four young lads were raised together, the true king among them. The four warriors are the four lads raised as brothers. The four brothers are you, Duncan, Bryce, and Trey, which means . . .”
She waited to see if he would finish it, and when he didn’t, she did. “One of you is the true king.”
He groaned and shook his head.
“Don’t try to deny it. I know I’m right.” Her smile grew.
“You know nothing,” he said.
“I know, but I will say nothing, or don’t you trust me?” she asked with a tinge of disappointment.
Reeve’s arms went around her. “I trust. It’s just that it’s a difficult burden to carry.”
Tara laughed. “I carried a far heavier burden.”
“Precisely, I don’t want you to carry another.”
“We carry it together as you did with mine,” she said.
He nodded. “I see the wisdom of that, and it would be nice to finally share it with someone I can trust as Duncan did with Mercy.”
“She knows who the true king is?”
“No, and neither will you,” he said. “What you do know that others don’t is what you have already surmised. One of us—me, Duncan, Bryce, or Trey—is the true king of Scotland.”
She grinned. “You mean I actually could be married to a king after all?”
“It’s possible,” he said. “Would you mind?”
“Mighty warrior or powerful king, I love you no matter.”
“That is good to know,” he said, and brushed his lips over hers. “You can say nothing of what you have learned to anyone.”
“I understand. The king must be protected at all cost,” she said. “Did you know since you were young?”
“I can discuss no more with you,” he said firmly, “for your safety as well as his.”
She nodded and then grinned. “So I could be sleeping with a king tonight after all.”
“You’re going to be doing far more than just sleeping,” Reeve said, and with his arm around her waist, he swung her off him and under him.
She gasped, startled, when she came to rest beneath him.
“But first I have something to say, I’ve been aching to say to you. You refused to let me say to you. And now I am free to say it to you.” Reeve brushed his lips across hers and whispered, “I love you, Tara. I will always love you.”
A smile burst across her face. “Tell me again.”
And in between kisses, he did.
A special preview from the next book in the
Warrior King series
Coming 2012 from Donna Fletcher and Avon Books
The little urchin ran like the devil was after him. His worn boots pounded the dirt, leaving a wake of dust in his trail. He couldn’t let the soldiers get him. He couldn’t. They would give him a thrashing for sure and then? He shivered as he ran, not wanting to think of what would happen if they discovered his secret.
He hadn’t been able to help himself. Hunger had gnawed at his gut until it had pained him. It had been two full days since he had eaten, and he had to have food, even if it was a stale piece of bread cast carelessly to the ground by a noblewoman.
No sooner had he scooped it up than the woman had started screaming, “Thief! Thief!”
It had been little more than a crumb and had done nothing to appease his pain. While the woman looked like she had not suffered from missing a meal in some time. It mattered not. Once the trio of the king’s men heard, they jumped into action and ran straight at him.
He barely had time to put distance between them, and fright gave his bone-tired body the strength to flee. He dodged and darted in and around the marketgoers and ware-barterers, slipped under makeshift tables, jumped over barrels and yanked free of the hand that grabbed at the back of his wool vest. His skinny legs pumped as fast as they could to avoid the soldiers gaining on him, perhaps even toying with him, making him believe he’d escape them when he truly didn’t have a chance.
His dark eyes darted in panic, desperate to find an avenue of escape. At the last minute, he spotted it: big, broad, and solid. Surely, he could take shelter beneath it. With all the strength he had left, he hurled himself at the solid mass, sliding on his stomach between the two limbs that stood rooted to the ground. Then he hurriedly wrapped his arms around one thick leg and held on for dear life.
A quick tilt of his head had his eyes settling beneath the Highlander’s plaid, and he gulped. Good lord, he was a big one, which meant he was strong and could protect, and the lad needed protecting.
“Please. Please, help me,” he begged, peering past the plaid to the giant Highlander, who stared down at him with a look of bewilderment.
“Hand him over,” one of the three soldiers ordered, while almost colliding as they came to an abrupt halt.
The urchin hid a smile, relieved at their reluctance to approach the large man.
“And what will you do with him?”
The urchin liked the sound of the Highlander’s voice; it confronted and dared all in one breath. He was not a man to argue with, but one to fear and respect.
“That doesn’t concern you,” the soldier said with trembling bravado.
“Why wouldn’t it?” the Highlander demanded sharply.
“He stole from a woman and must pay the price,” another soldier spoke up, not daring to step from behind the soldier in front.
“What is the price?” the Highlander asked.
“A good whipping and service to the woman to pay off his debt,” the soldier in the front said, a bit more daringly.
“It was nothing more than a crumb off the ground,” the urchin snapped. His dark eyes glared menacingly, while his arms clung tenaciously to the Highlander’s thick-muscled leg.
“It wasn’t your crumb to take,” the soldier snapped.
“The lad looks in need of more than a crumb,” the Highlander said, much too calmly.
From the way the three soldiers took several steps back, each tripping and trying to get out of the other’s way, the urchin knew that the Highlander must have sent them a menacing look.
“He
broke the king’s law,” one soldier said from behind the other two.
“The king wants his subjects to go hungry?” the Highlander asked, his voice rising in anger.
Before the soldiers could respond, the woman whose crumb the urchin supposedly had thieved came upon them with laborious breath. Her large bosoms heaved, and she fanned her flushed face with her hand.
“That dirty little lad”—she stopped for a breath—“stole from me.” She took another needed breath and stopped fanning. “Now he owes me, he does.”
“What will you take for him?” the Highlander asked.
The woman stared down at the urchin. “He’s worth a good amount.”
The Highlander lurched forward, causing the soldiers and woman to retreat in haste and huddle closer together. While the urchin, having no intention of letting go of the intimidating Highlander’s leg, was dragged along with every step he took.
“Don’t think me a fool, madam,” the Highlander snarled. “He’s a skinny lad not fit for most chores. He isn’t worth a pittance.” And with that said, he tossed a meager trinket at her feet. “Take it and be satisfied.”
The one soldier was quick to pick it up and hand it to the woman. She took it and, with a snort and toss of her head, stomped away.
“We’re done here,” the Highlander said.
The urchin heard the tight anger in his tone, and as the soldiers turned and walked away, he grinned. That is until the Highlander’s large hand reached down, grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and lifted him clear off the ground to dangle in front of his face.
“Have you no sense, lad?”
A shiver ran through him. It wasn’t only the breadth and width of the Highlander that intimidated, but his features as well. His long, dark hair the color of the deep rich earth was swept back away from a face with defined features. Wrinkles ran across a wide brow and at the corners of his light blue eyes. He had a solid chin that no doubt could easily deflect a hefty fist, and a nose so finely shaped that it proved he had been the victor of many a fight, for it looked to have never been broken.
“Answer me,” the Highlander demanded, giving the lad a quick shake.
“I’m starvin’, I am,” the lad snapped.
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