by Ria Cantrell
She murmured dreamily, “Rory is not wed?”
Morag eyed the sleepy girl. Hmmm, she thought, interesting question for the girl to ask.
“Nay, Lass, he is not wed.”
“But who was that girl that was with him…when he found me?” With that question, Brielle finally slipped into sweet oblivion, dreaming of the strong handsome warrior who had rescued her and leaving Morag to wonder what girl Brielle meant. Morag was certain Rory hadn’t been traveling with any other women. She decided it was the drugging effect of the herbs and she left the girl’s side to retrieve a night rail from her trunk.
Morag sifted through the young woman’s things and found a soft night rail, she would bring it to put it on the girl while she slept. She felt the soft wool of a worn plaid at the bottom of the trunk. Morag pulled it out and gasped. Campbell colors! Of course! That explained the fear she felt in the girl for Rory. It had nothing to do with Rory being the Wolf of the Highlands. There was something else; something deeper that frightened Brielle Campbell. The girl was less afraid of the blood feud but more of the man. Smiling, Morag thought how this girl was the fated mate for the man who had been like a son to her. Ahhh, Ruiri, yer broken angel is your most hated enemy, but she will love ye the best. I feel it is written…
Chapter Six
Rory slipped back into the room where the broken little angel lay sleeping. Morag had said she was given a strong sleeping draft and that time would tell about possible internal injuries. If it were to happen, Brielle would have a crisis within the next passing of a day, but Morag agreed with Rory that while badly bruised, no bones seemed to be broken. Once the girl was deeply asleep, Morag changed the girl into the night rail with the help of a serving maid, careful to only pull the garment about her to not move her too much. The girl had no fever near as Morag could tell, which was also good. In fact, contrary to fever, there was only one thing worried the old woman. Brielle was unnaturally cold. She had been piled with extra furs and blankets because Morag knew that sometimes shock could sap the body of warmth. Rory stoked the fire in the room and he gently placed a hand to her face. Brielle remained cool. Rory sighed.
Now that Morag had cleaned the blood away from her face, Rory could see the delicate curve of her face as she lay sleeping. Looking at her in the flickering light of the fire, Rory was again brought to the awareness of how beautiful this girl was. It was a shame that she had been so badly hurt. Rory settled his big frame into a chair he had dragged close to the bed and he propped his feet on the side of the bed, deciding to keep vigil over the girl for the night. He took a fur and covered himself, prepared to stay awake all night to assure that Brielle was alright. Yawning, Rory felt more tired than he had realized and he must have dozed off sometime later.
Rory was suddenly startled awake to the distinct moans of the girl before him. He jumped to his feet and sat beside Brielle, on the bed. He touched her and felt she was dangerously cool. She was barely warmer than a corpse, Rory thought miserably.
“Ye canna’ die, Lass. Please dunna’ die,” Rory pleaded to the moaning, unconscious girl. She was piled with covers and still she was positively frigid. She was thrashing, too, and Rory knew he had to do something. Rory also knew the girl needed to be as still as possible so as to not cause further injury to herself. Without thinking about propriety, Rory kicked off his boots and slid into the bed beside Brielle. He gathered her carefully into his arms and he pressed the warmth of his body against her back. She moaned in pain as his arm slipped around her bruised ribs, but in feeling the warmth of his body, Rory felt her relax against his chest. He soothed, “There, there, Brielle, be easy sweetheart. I am here to warm ye.” He felt her subdue and calm almost instantly as he held her and she slept deeply once more. She nestled against him unconsciously; seeking his warmth. He was shocked as to how very cold she was. It seeped through their garments and caused Rory to shiver. He pressed her closer, feeling some of the warmth returning to her from his own body heat. He groaned, feeling her nestle her backside against his groin. He forgot for a brief moment that she had been hurt and newly widowed. She was probably used to having her husband next to her in bed, so it was only natural that she relaxed in Rory’s arms.
Her body was soft and feminine. It had been too long since he had been with a woman and his traitorous body reacted to the feel of her, soft in his arms, fitting herself into the niche his legs created for her.
“Damn,” he muttered, feeling himself rise against her tender backside. She flinched only slightly, but then seemed to fall back to her dreams deeply. He chided himself for allowing himself to become aroused when he should be mindful of Brielle’s injuries. He had to admit it felt so good to hold her; he almost couldn’t help feeling desire rise inside of him. He held her close and breathed in her scent. Morag had cleaned her well and she smelled of lavender and clean fresh herbs. Besides desire, Rory felt pity for this girl. She had been through so much and he knew that without the herbal draft, she would be in so much more pain. He hoped beyond all hopes that she would pass the night without incident. Despite the ache in his loins, the feel of her nestled safely in his arms lulled his tired body and he began to also drift off. It had been a long couple of days. Rory succumbed to the latter, desire put to side once again and he fell to sleep with the girl in his arms.
~ Brielle felt the drugging warmth of the handsome warrior who had come to rescue her. In her dream, he had taken her to a sun-drenched clearing with a crystal pool. As she turned to look at him, he gathered her in his arms and lowered his head to kiss her. Her arms snaked around his neck drawing him down to meet his kiss. When his lips touched hers, all the years of denied passion seemed to be released. Her arms tightened around him and she kissed him, opening herself to him. She melted against him, succumbing to his tempting unspoken invitation. As they slid down to the soft grass, she knew her fate and suddenly, she didn’t care. She wasn’t ugly when he kissed her. She wanted him to touch her. She needed the warmth he was giving off. She was drawn to his warmth like a moth drawn to a flame. ~
********
~ Rory gazed down at the beautiful girl. He knew he should not be alone with her, but he could not resist her and he needed to kiss her. The sunlight reflected off the crystal pool into her beautiful lilac eyes. He bent to kiss her, thinking she may resist but instead her arms had snaked around him, drawing him to kiss her deeply. She kissed him with no hesitation. As they sank to the soft grass next to the crystal pond, Rory murmured, “I am going to make love to ye Brielle…” and he felt her respond, “Aye” with a hunger he hadn’t experienced in a long time, searing her mouth to his. ~
Startled, both Brielle and Rory bolted awake. The sudden jarring caused Brielle to wince.
Rory gathered her gently into his arms and said, “Sshh, it’s alright. Ye are safe.” Was she still dreaming?
“What…what are you doing here?”
Rory let her go as if he had been burned. He leapt out of the bed and said, “Ye were shivering. I only thought to warm ye. I wasna’ tryin’ to do anything improper.”
Brielle sat up with an effort, breathing through the pain that wracked her with every breath. She looked around the room, still disoriented from the herbal sleeping draft and from waking in a strange place. The potion made her feel drowsy and woozy. She still felt like she was having another dream.
She saw the chair pulled close to the bed. In her haziness, she realized that Rory had been keeping a vigil for her. He said, “I am sorry, Lass. I wouldna’ hurt ye or dishonor ye.”
By the flickering firelight, Rory could see the light in her violet eyes. They were enormous, nearly swallowing her face. She looked terrified. She felt heat flood her face and she was grateful for the dimness of the room. She had been dreaming of him and the dream was far from proper. She raised her eyes to his and was again struck with his masculine beauty. He stood next to the bed, legs slightly apart, hands fisted at his sides. His leonine dark hair was tousled from sleep, but it gave him an endearing
boy-like quality.
He cleared his throat and said, “I …I should go. My room is right next door to yers’ should ye need me, Brielle.”
She knew she should say something, but as he turned to go, she couldn’t find her voice. She had to thank him for caring for her. She watched him stoop down to retrieve his boots and she finally said, “Wait…please don’t go just yet.” He turned back to her and she raised her hand to offer it to him. He took it and gently brought her fingers to his lips.
“I meant ye no harm,” he said again.
Brielle clasped his hand and said, “I know. You have been so very kind to me. Thank you for all you have done.”
Rory was again embarrassed by her thanks.
He stammered, “Ye are feelin’ better.”
She nodded, still so groggy. She still was not certain if she was still dreaming. Her body felt like it was not part of her and her movements were slow, or so they seemed.
She nodded. “Well, that is thanks enough, lass.”
He sat down on the bed beside her and he said, “Go back to sleep, lass. It will help ye get well.”
“Will you stay?” Her voice seemed to echo in her head, so very much still like a dream. She must still be dreaming because she would never have had the courage to ask a handsome man to stay with her in her chambers. Besides, only in a dream would she not be afraid of the Highland Wolf.
Rory looked into her eyes and said, “If it helps ye”.
Her hand rose up and she touched his face. Yes, she was dreaming, because only in a dream would she be so bold.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Rory looked confused.
“Because ye were hurt, Lass.” She looked away.
Of course that was why. Brielle reminded herself that Rory MacCollum was an honorable man. She blushed, thinking to feel attraction to this man. She knew nothing about him except that he had rescued her. She did not know if he was married or betrothed, but then she vaguely remembered Morag saying he wasn’t. She tried again to search her memory. Rory MacCollum . . . nay he was not married. Did she remember that he was known as a ladies’ favorite? How could the Wolf be a favorite of the ladies? Perhaps she was wrong about that name. He was kind, and gentle. It was more likely he was a ladies favorite than the blood thirsty beast. And she could see why. Beautiful was an understatement to describe Rory MacCollum. He was beyond the norm of handsome. Dark hair framing his handsome face brushed his shoulders. He was a big man with strong legs and arms strengthened from war training. His jaw line was square and masculine. His mouth was full and sensual and his teeth straight and white. Surely, this was not the dreaded Wolf. Brielle could see the shadow of a day’s growth of a beard, which only defined the line of his sculpted handsomeness. Those golden eyes were soulful and smoldering. They bespoke of passion and intensity, not savagery. Unconsciously, Brielle’s hand brushed over the old scar. She felt foolish in her girlhood musings. Rory MacCollum was being nice to her as he would to a wounded animal. Lest she forget, she was a Campbell.
Rory watched her as something had taken her thoughts. Her expression visibly had changed and something had made her pretty lips draw down into a frown. She had been subconsciously fingering that old scar near her chin. Rory took that hand in his, feeling its unnatural coolness and he pressed it to his lips again. She blushed and pulled her hand away realizing that she had drawn his attention to that very disfigurement. She turned her face away in shame, wishing to hide it from him. She never expected to feel his big hand, warm and gentle beneath her jaw, turning her back to face him. She did not want to meet his eyes, feeling them burn into her. She did not want to see pity in his eyes for her disfigurement. She hated that scar, but she hated being pitied more. She stole a glance at him; sure she would see both pity and disgust in his eyes. Instead she saw a look of intense emotion, like he was fighting rage.
“How did it happen, Brielle? Who did this to you?”
“It was an accident, long ago.” But as she said the half-truth, she saw the fury he tried to hide, heighten only to be tamped down. Of course he would know she was lying. He was a warrior and knew what damage a dirk could do. Damn that potion Morag made her drink. Her voice seemed to disembody in her head and she could not properly discern if this was still a dream or not.
“Did yer’ husband do it?” She shook her head, no.
“P-please don’t look at it. I know it is very ugly.”
He leaned close and brushed his lips over it. Now she was certain she was dreaming. That was such a tender gesture, surely she was still dreaming!
“Nay, not ugly, only I wish to know who did it for if he is still alive. I’d like to carve his nose from his very face.”
His voice became seriously deadly as he made that promise. She had felt her heart quicken as his lips had touched that awful scar. Why would it matter to this man that someone had cut her? She was a stranger; albeit his enemy. It seemed odd that he wanted to punish the perpetrators of that act of violence against her. Certainly, no man had ever wanted to protect her. If she hadn’t been the recipient of Rory’s tender care, Brielle would have been terrified of the intense tamped fury.
Rory was fighting the darkness. It was rising up in him like unbridled rage. Someone had deliberately cut this angel. He couldn’t stand when women were mistreated. The scar was old. He had known that upon finding her. He just hadn’t realized it had been deliberate. Brielle was drawn to the intensity of the gold fire in Rory’s eyes. It was almost like he was fighting a personal war within himself. She spoke softly, covering his hand with hers.
“Please, Ruiri, it happened a long time ago. T’is of no consequence, now.”
A muscle worked in his jaw and he looked at her tiny hand over his. He took a deep cleansing breath. He was obviously frightening her. He didn’t want to do that. She had been through so much. He pushed the darkness back for the moment. It was getting harder and harder to do each time he felt it happen.
“Ruiri,” her voice brought him out of his thoughts. He liked the way she said his name. He put his other hand over hers and he said, “I am sorry, Brielle.” She just nodded, looking into his eyes.
“Rest now, lass. Ye need to get some sleep. I will wait for ye’ to rest and then retire to my own room.” Brielle was confused at the feelings he was cultivating in her. She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t ask him to climb back into bed with her. She also did not want him propped in that chair next to her bed all night. That was no way for him to spend the night after he had been so kind to her. Well, it was her dream after all, so she decided in her dream she would ask him to stay. She couldn’t help herself, but she now lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it.
“Thank you so much, for all your kindness.” He shook his head, but she said, “Thank you for helping me stay warm. I…I…”
“What is it, Lass?”
“I don’t want you …to go.”
Rory felt like he had been hit in the chest. He realized she was frightened and alone, but still her profession knocked the wind out of him. What was it about this girl? He felt drawn to her and he knew he should not encourage it. She was newly widowed. She was very vulnerable. She was the kind of woman used to being wed, he supposed. He was not the marrying kind.
“Brielle…I…”
“I know you will stay sitting in that uncomfortable chair…all night. I don’t want that for you.” She sighed heavily, feeling very tired.
She was slipping deeply into her dreams, she supposed. She lay back down, but continued to meet his eyes. She watched as he slid in beside her. With an effort, she turned on her side, so her back was to him. She felt his hands press her shoulders gently.
And, he said, “Try to rest, Brielle”. He initially felt her tense, but as he pulled her closer to his chest, the heat from his body lulled her and he could feel her relax. She immediately fell back to sleep in his arms, naturally eased and subdued, but not before murmuring something that vaguely sounded like she said, Gentle Wolf. Rory tensed at t
hose words, but then he thought it had just been a soft murmur of a wounded girl sinking into unconsciousness and that he had been incorrect about what he heard. He sighed. He didn’t think he liked the way she tugged at his heart, but he had to help her and he knew that his body heat was what she needed right now. He decided not to make more of it than that and tried to put the memory of his dream aside. Yes, she was beautiful, but he already knew that this girl prompted responses from him he was not comfortable with. Making love to her would deeply complicated things. Still, as she relaxed in his arms, he wondered how she would feel beneath him and how she would taste as he kissed her. Och! It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Seven
Caleb MacCollum looked at the old woman who had become his dearest friend since his wife had died. He pondered Morag's words; Ruiri had found his mate, she had said. Caleb had long wanted Ruiri to settle down. He was too wild in ways since the loss of his beloved Caitlyn. Caleb worried that the damage to Ruiri’s soul would continue to worsen if he never allowed the love of a good woman in to heal his past wounds. This girl! Dear God, why was it this girl? Caleb knew Morag had “The Sight”. She had been right about Bronwyn and Drew.
