by Rae Monet
"I trust her with my life."
Roan looked at him with surprise. “Good.” Serena came out, wiping her hands on a cloth.
"There was some damage, nothing that will not heal. It is here...” she raised her hand and softly touched the side of Richard's forehead, “that I fear for her."
"I will help her."
"That might not be enough. You must realize this before she awakens.” Serena dropped her hand from his face.
"I will make it well. I swear, I will make her forget this."
"I hope you can. I wish more that anything that your powers could extend that far, I just suspect they do not,” Serena said sadly. “She is high into her fever. I have tried to give her some tea but she kept turning her head, refusing to drink. I think you may have better luck."
Richard hurried into the cottage.
* * * *
Serena turned to Roan with tears in her eyes and moved into the circle of his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he placed his chin on top of her head. The contentment she felt in his arms was still hard to believe at times.
"Oh, Roan, they have a hard road ahead of them.” She sighed.
He lifted his head from hers. With one finger, he raised her chin to look at him. Her green eyes locked with the light blue of his. “And we did not, li'l one?"
Serena smiled. Yes, they had had a hard time coming together, beating their enemies and finding peace in their love for each other.
"I love you, more that I can say. Times like this remind me how lucky we were to find each other.” She paused as a tear rolled down her cheek. When his face moved toward hers, she closed her eyes. His soft lips gently kissed the tear away from her cheek. Her breath caught as it always did when he kissed her, when he projected his love into her mind as he did at that moment.
I love you, Serena. After that unspoken avowal, his lips claimed hers in a fierce possessiveness that was much more than a kiss. It was a uniting of their love. Serena returned the kiss with fervor.
A happy scream pulled them apart, their son insisting they retrieve him from his nanny.
"He is demanding and stubborn, just like his father,” Serena whispered against Roan's lips.
"We will take that up later in private.” Roan laughed at her arching eyebrow.
* * * *
Richard held the back of Megan's neck as he tried to force a drop of the fever-reducing tea down her throat. She thrashed from side to side, crying out as if he were hurting her.
Richard shook his head. To stop her head from thrashing, he tightened his grip on her neck. Immediately, she flung out her hand, violently knocking the tea from his grasp. She screamed, “You willna ever make me beg, you bastard, never."
Richard was stunned motionless. In her fever, she thought him her attacker. He loosened his hold on her neck, then he aligned her ear with his mouth and lifted his other arm around her body, holding her against his warmth.
The raw heat of her body permeated his and her troubled thoughts filled his mind. He felt her pain through every fiber of his being. It was a pain that had never touched her before, almost ripping his heart right out of his chest as he absorbed her anguish into his mind and body.
"Megan, it is Richard. Calm. You are safe.” He continued to chant the words patiently, letting the cadence of the voice she claimed to adore penetrate her terrified feelings and replace them with a sense of safety.
She stopped flailing her hands. Then, inch by inch, they crept around his body. One of her hands tightened into a fist in the cloth of his tunic, released, then fisted again.
Her cries began to lessen and eventually a soft sigh blew out onto his neck. Richard repeated his reassurances and his arms gently tightened on her body.
As he continued to absorb and dispel her pain, tears glided down his face. It was as if he was experiencing the horror she'd been through all over again.
His voice broke at times, but he kept whispering against her ear, “You are safe. Megan, you are safe."
Then he felt a movement, the tiniest flicker of her lashes as they opened against his shoulder. Her head fell back. He gazed down at her as her tears poured out.
"Richard, oh God, why didn't you just leave me there to die? Why did you do this?"
Her arms tightened around his body and she buried her face in his chest. He pulled back slightly and forced her chin up. His green eyes caught hers. Tears flowed like rapidly falling rain from her blackened eyes, pouring down her bruised cheeks and falling to her rope-chafed neck.
"I will never abandon you. Never!” The statement came out much harsher than he intended, almost like a shout. It was a reverent vow, one a knight of the Realm might make to his lady.
Richard watched Megan's eyes widen in surprise. His arms tightened, and she grimaced in pain. He immediately gentled his hold and pressed his wet cheek against hers.
"Never!” he repeated.
"You dinna know what that man did. You dinna...” she stopped, as if unable to continue.
Richard pressed her face into his shoulder. “I know, Megan."
She inhaled sharply. “How?"
Her small voice prickled at his conscience. Should he have told her he knew? “I am a healer of the highest caliber here in the Realm.” He tried to sound pragmatic. “There was no way for me not to know. I sensed all your injuries the moment my hands touched you."
"All of them?"
Richard wrestled with his doubts. Should he affirm what she was beginning to understand?
"Yes,” he answered, knowing it was the right thing to do.
"Ach.” Her Scottish exclamation almost made him smile.
He said nothing. Just held her. When she began to stir in his arms, he laid her back into the bed, easing the coverlet around her body. He reached over to stroke her red hair away from her face.
"Rest, you must heal.” He picked up the cold wet cloth next to the bed and draped it over her forehead while he refilled the cup with tea. This time, she drank without protest.
Her eyes closed. He ran the cool cloth over her forehead and arms until she fell back into a troubled sleep. He sighed as he wrung out the cloth and dipped it into the cool water Serena had brought him. It would be a long night.
She drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the night, continually crying out. At first, her words were unrecognizable. Then, to Richard's dismay, he began to understand her ravings.
"You willna make me beg,” she cried out, again and again.
Richard tried to comfort her, but she thrashed out with her arms and legs, shouting a barrage of Scottish obscenities. Finally, she stopped fighting.
"No more,” she said between hoarse sobs. “Please, no more."
At that instant Richard realized the extent of her torture. Megan was a proud, strong woman and he knew what it cost her to beg.
Her broken voice repeated, “Please, no more.” Then her pleas turned to sobs.
As if his will was shattered too, he rested his forehead against hers and cried. Finally, the tears stopped. Resting both hands against her face, he whispered soothing words in her ear directly throughout the night and into the next day. He sensed the sound of his voice calmed her and gave her the fortitude to fight the demons she battled in her slumber.
Her fever broke at dawn. Richard sank to his knees next to the bed. Holding her hand, he thanked the Gods for her life and then he prayed for her recovery.
After long moments, he sat next to the bed again. With Megan's small hand in his, he slumped over in relief and succumbed to a complete exhaustion of his soul and body.
* * * *
Megan groaned and tried to open her eyes but they seemed to be stuck. She chanced a slight movement and moaned. Eventually she opened one of her eyes; the other was so swollen it opened only a crack.
She glanced around the room and saw Richard slumped in the chair next to her, his head bent at such an angle she worried it would pain him later. His jaw was shadowed with unshaven dark hair tinged wit
h red. In his slumber, his face took on an almost childlike faade. Prominent purple circles below his eyes attested to his vigil over her. Even in sleep, his hand lightly rested against hers. His shirt dipped down, showing his deeply sculptured chest with a light smattering of his black-red hair.
Despite her pain, Megan admired his beauty. He never ceased to draw her to him. He was a combination of masculine perfection and sensual allure that she had never been able to resist.
She endeavored to sit up. Her hand moved, touching Richard's. His eyes immediately opened. His hands captured hers as he lifted from his vigil chair.
"Megan, you have risen. How do you feel?” Removing one of his hands from hers, he raised it to her forehead to test for any remaining fever. She must have been cool to the touch and he sighed with relief. He trailed his finger lightly down her cheek before removing it.
A slight shiver coursed through her body.
"I am well, Richard. You, on the other hand, look poorly.” Megan tried to smile, but the motion made her wince.
Richard helped shift her into a more comfortable position. “You are still gravely injured, you must move slowly.” He sat back in his chair.
"I am beginning to realize that. I am...” Megan tilted her head while she tried to put her thoughts to words, “...grateful that you found me, although I have a feeling I have not expressed it as such."
* * * *
He considered her statement. During the night, she had berated him for healing her, wanting death over living. She still felt a deep sadness.
"I sense you are not earnest in your statement."
Her face eyes widened with surprise before quickly flashing with anger. “How did you know?"
Richard sighed. He had told her when he found her beaten and battered. He wished she would forget what else had happened, but maybe it was better to remember and let the poison ooze from her mind rather than lying dormant, festering.
"My people have a telepathic ability and have since the beginning of our race. I am a healer, and for the most part sense others’ pain. There are times when I am close to someone that I can sense their emotions, as I can with you.
"It has always been such with my people. Serena, my sister, who helped when I brought you here, is a Wolf Warrior, as is her husband. She too has the ability to sense others’ thoughts and emotions. She can also communicate with wolves, including her protector."
"Caine is her protector, isn't he?"
Richard smiled at her perceptiveness. “Yes, she sent Caine with me when I left the Realm over a year ago. Unlike Serena, I can only communicate with Caine on a basic level.” He brought her hands to his lips, his eyes connecting intimately with hers. “When you are well, I will show you this wonderful paradise we have found for our people."
* * * *
Megan was touched that he wanted to share his secret world with her. All the time she had known him, she had always felt he was out of place as a warrior, that his calling lay somewhere beyond warring. She'd suspected he was important in an elemental way, far beyond what he did for the MacGregors.
Now she knew.
She had sensed he was escaping from what he did best, and this was it. He was a healer to these people. She now understood he had been running from the pain he felt in others, from the flood of emotions he evoked with a simple touch.
"How long have you been a healer?” Megan asked, watching as his eyes dropped from hers.
"At the age of six all children of the Realm are tattooed with their vocation. I was chosen as a healer.” He gently placed her hand back onto the coverlet.
"That is why you have the raven mark that others termed the mark of death? It is the mark of your craft, of a healer?"
"Yes.” Richard's voice was low as his eyes came up again to search her face.
"Richard, please do not sense my thoughts any longer."
Her statement stunned him, rendering him speechless.
"That is why you left here? You have already told me it was because you grew weary of absorbing others’ pain and anguish. Do you deny this now?"
He didn't say anything. He must have feared her reaction.
"Dinna lie to me. I ken it to be true.” Her voice rose. “That is why you left, wasn't it?"
He dropped his head, looking at his hands, clenching and unclenching them in his lap. He glanced up again and tried to shield his pain from her, aware that he failed.
"Yes, you know it is."
Megan turned her face away from him. Tears coursed down her cheeks and dropped off her chin, falling unnoticed to the coverlet. “I would like you to leave,” she said, not looking at him.
She heard his intake of breath, felt his surprise. She couldn't let Richard sense the emotions running through her mind or let him continue to absorb the sorrow she felt. She wanted to shield him from her dark thoughts. The ones that told her she should have been killed rather than live with the shame of what had happened.
Megan felt Richard shift off of his chair and kneel next to her.
"I cannot leave you. I am a healer. As I have tried to tell you, I have experienced injuries such as yours more times that I care to admit to you. I can help you.” His low baritone voice was like sweet music to her.
It was at that moment Megan realized how much she loved this man and how badly she wanted to protect him from her pain. Despite her pain, she snapped her head around.
"So you have said. You have dealt with all of my injuries?” she said, knowing Richard had more than likely not dealt with one of them.
Richard's gaze dropped.
"Every single one of them? Answer me, Richard!” Megan pressed him.
"Not one of them."
She turned her head away. “I thought not. Please, I asked you to leave me. I would like to be alone."
"Megan, please let me help you,” Richard begged.
"No.” Megan scooted back down into the bed and turned her back on him.
She felt his own anger rise, but knew that he would have to grant her request and leave. “As a healer are you allowed to give treatment if the patient is unwilling?"
"No.” He gently reached out his hand and smoothed Megan's hair. She pulled the coverlet closer around her body.
He stood. “In the future it will not be so easy to rid yourself of me, but for now I will leave you to rest."
* * * *
Her small shoulders shrugged. He pulled in a breath and let it out slowly as he exited the room. This will be a difficult task indeed, he thought, as he stepped out into the sunlight. As he had stated, however, in the future he would not give up as easily as he had today.
Chapter Seven
When Megan next woke she was alone. She breathed a sigh of relief at not having to deal with Richard's pitying looks any more. Although he had tried to cloak it, his fear flashed in his green eyes every time he looked at her.
Groaning, she shifted to a sitting position and surveyed the room. Seeing the water and glass next to the bed, she reached over and tried to grasp it. But the bulky splint on her injured wrist and finger got in the way and she was unable to clutch the glass.
She leaned over with her other hand. A burning in her ribs made her freeze. She growled with pain and frustration. In anger, she struck out with her immobilized hand, knocking the glass and pitcher to the floor. At the top of the lungs, she screamed, “It is not fair!"
Tears coursed down her face as she inched her legs over the side of the bed. She saw she was in some sort of night rail and was momentarily grateful.
When she struggled to her feet, the pain wiped out any other thoughts. Yet she almost welcomed the hurt; at least she knew she was alive. She squatted down trying to retrieve the cup only to have the splint impede her ability to grab it again. When she tried to stretch out her left arm, her muscles clenched. A vague memory of her arm being twisted came to her. She stood and kicked out at the cup. As if it were a living creature, she cursed it with every Scottish swear word she could recall.
Only
another demand of her body stopped her outburst. Attending to her private needs became more important than getting a drink of water. She stepped toward the door, but a crippling pain made her falter and come to a halt.
Megan laid her braced hand against the wall and for a moment she gave in to tears of pain. Every inch of her body hurt in one manner or another.
Finally she took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall and continued to work her way to the door. She was determined to do this by herself.
Outside the darkened hut the sun glared into her eyes, reminding her of when she had pulled off the blindfold. A flash of her earlier terror took away her sight, leaving her in blackness. Then she growled.
No. I will not succumb to the fear inside of me.
She blinked, her sight returning, and started to stumble toward a thicket of trees about forty feet away. With one eye open and the other half-closed, Megan continually had to look down to avoid stepping on rocks. About halfway to the trees, her strength began to ebb.
She moved her head slightly to see if anyone was witnessing her shame and she caught sight of the people of the village who had stopped in their activity to stare at her. She turned her head away, and took another step forward.
I willna be pitied!
Her knee buckled and she tumbled into the dirt. Sitting, she raised her face to the sky. With the remaining dregs of strength left in her body, she yelled, “It is not fair!"
Her last surge of energy left her. Her head dropped into her hands, covering her face. She cried for barely a moment before her anger sparked, overcoming her self-pity. Shaking with fury, she tried to rip the splint off her wrist and hand. She wanted to punish the one thing that had started her sense of helplessness.
* * * *
Richard yelled in annoyance as his sister hooked his leg and took him down to the ground—again.
"You are not concentrating, brother."
"Really? I wonder why that is?” Richard grabbed his sword from the ground and sprang up to his feet. Serena's eyes locked with his. Panting from the workout she was giving him, he rested his hands on his thighs.
They had been practicing for over two hours. He'd thought if he were warding off blows from his warrior sister, he wouldn't fret over Megan. Sparring would keep him from trying to think what to do next and wondering how he could help her.
