Celia Kyle - Battered Not Broken

by Celia Kyle

  Max stopped his search in the pantry and faced him. “She needs to be comfortable with all of us, Conner. I am the most medically inclined out of the three of us, right?"

  "Well, yeah."

  "So, I'm going to tend her wounds. I'm not going to molest her or force her to do anything, but I am going to take care of her."

  Max returned his attention to gathering the jars and bandages he needed, leaving Conner to stare at his brother's back.

  "Why don't you and Ronan see about dinner while I take care of our Gilly?"

  With that, Max, clutching his jars of medicines and bandages disappeared down the hall.

  * * * *

  Max was thankful for the bottles and bandages in his hands, they masked the fact that his hands shook and twitched. Anger of the likes he'd never known coursed through his blood, pushing it closer to boiling with every step he took.

  Max stood outside the bathroom door, pausing for a moment as he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his mouth. Anger and nervous tension buzzed through his body now. He needed to do his best to balance the anger of the beast and the nervousness of the man while he spoke with and tended Gillian. Too much of either would definitely scare her and push her away from him, and them.

  Twisting the knob with care, he nudged the door open and stepped into the steam-filled bathroom. The increasingly familiar scents of vanilla, lavender and mint assaulted his senses, but now there was the added scent of his favorite shampoo.

  Max called out Gillian's name, alerting her to his presence.

  "Gillian?"

  "I'm still in the shower ... I had a bit of trouble and..."

  Her voice trailed off to a quiet mumble he couldn't quite make out. When he turned the corner, he saw her problem immediately. She had managed to drape the towel around her, but couldn't quite get it beneath her rear end, leaving that bit of pale, delicate flesh exposed.

  His eyes swallowed her body whole. Max hadn't managed to get more than a glimpse of her tiny form when she lay in Ronan's bed, but now he had the opportunity to see her—all of her. From her water-soaked golden ringlets to her buttermilk skin and luscious curves, Max could see it all. Her pale brown eyes locked with his and a light blush dusted her cheeks before she looked away.

  Damn, he needed to get a hold of his lust and rein it in. His cock was way too interested in what lay hidden beneath Gillian's towel. And if Conner was right about her past abuse, it could very well be a while before he'd have a chance to explore her body.

  Remembering Conner's words, Max looked at her exposed flesh with new eyes. He picked up every discoloration and marking which marred her beautiful complexion. Conner had been right. Someone had harmed Gillian, grabbing, pulling, and possibly even hitting her hard enough to leave bruises. Some looked weeks old while the one on her neck looked fresh and new.

  He wasn't sure how long he stood there and stared at her, but by the time he finally snapped out of it, her light blush had deepened to a bright red. Max stepped into the shower and dropped to his knees before her, placing his jars on the ground.

  "Here, you hold this,” Max handed her some bandages, “while I treat these sores."

  He wrapped his palm around her calf and raised her foot, propping it on his thigh. She jerked her foot back as if scalded.

  "I can take care of it. Just leave the stuff with me and I'll be fine."

  "No, I'll put the salve on and bandage you up."

  He was doubly careful when he picked her foot back up and replaced it on his thigh. She jerked it away again.

  "Gilly, will you put your foot on my leg so I can take care of you already?"

  She didn't seem to notice when he grabbed her leg again and began working on applying the salve.

  "Gilly? Since when did I become Gilly?"

  Raw sores and blisters covered the tops and sides of her foot, but the sole seemed to have fared well during her trek. With soft touches, he smoothed the sticky medicine on her various injuries before wrapping her foot in gauze. Removing her foot from his thigh and grabbing the other, he answered her.

  "From the moment Conner told me your name was Gillian."

  She snatched her foot away again. Damn, the spirits were testing him. He was going to have to develop the personality of a saint if he had any hope of getting through this. Every time he moved the towel rode higher on her thighs. Soon, he'd be staring at her sweet mound, and more than anything, he wanted a taste.

  "You're not Conner!"

  Sighing, he placed her foot back on his thigh. Of course she snatched it away again.

  "Of course I'm not Conner, I'm Max. Do I look like Conner to you?” He held up his hand to stave off her reply. “Never mind, don't answer that. To you, I must look like him."

  He picked up her foot. Before he even got it to his thigh she'd snatched it back again. This was really beginning to annoy him.

  "You could have said something when you came in. I asked for Conner."

  Sitting back, he let his eyes travel to hers. “Conner and Ronan are making our dinner and I'm the one in the family who knows first aid. I'm sorry I didn't say something right away, but I tend to forget not everyone can tell us apart.” Running his hands through his hair, he dropped his eyes to his lap. His cock was getting very interested in his half-clothed mate, even if she was pissed. “If you want Conner to come in and bandage you up...?"

  "No,” she cut him off. “I was just surprised, that's all. You've ... you've been nothing but kind to me. Please, I appreciate you taking care of me."

  This time she placed her foot in his lap without his urging and when his eyes moved back to hers, she gifted him with the most amazing smile he'd ever seen. It was as if the spirits had gifted him with the sight of heaven in his home.

  Max broke eye contact before he embarrassed himself, instead focusing his attention on the task of treating Gillian's foot. When that was done, he rolled to his feet, but bent down to look her in the eyes.

  "I've taken care of your feet, how about I take care of your neck as well?."

  The blood drained from her face, leaving it deathly pale and her eyes dropped to her twined fidgeting fingers.

  "I'm fine,” she whispered in a tiny voice, almost too low to hear.

  "No, you're not, Gilly. You've got some nasty bruising. If I was a betting man, I'd think someone did this to you."

  "No.” Her eyes shot to his. “I...” She licked her lips and he could practically see the wheels spinning in her head as she sought a good lie.

  "Let me guess, you had a run-in with a door?"

  Gillian's eyes dropped to her folded hands. “Yes, that's right, a door."

  Sure it was.

  "A door that happened to have four fingers and an opposable thumb?” His hands covered hers, stopping her from rubbing and twisting them together while stealing her attention. “Gilly, you don't have to tell me who it was, just tell me if they're coming after you. My brothers and I want to help you, but we can't if we don't know some of what's going on."

  Tears threatened to pour from her eyes and his heart broke for her. From what he could see of her body, it was apparent she was a strong woman who was willing to fight.

  Sniffling, she shared her story with him.

  "The door's name is Kyle. He's been following me for about a week and keeps finding me. This...” she gestured to her neck, “is from the last time he found me. I don't want to drag you three into this. I just need some time to rest and then I'll be on my way."

  "Gilly, how are you going to get out of here without a car? Without warm clothes? You go out in the blizzard and you're as good as dead."

  Wiping the tears away, she stared at him. “My car broke down at the beginning of your driveway. But I'd rather the elements take me to my death than him."

  He believed it. Max felt the truth of her words through his soul and knew if push came to shove, Gillian would rather die in the cold than by Kyle's hand.

  "Okay, Gilly. We'll take a look at your car tomorrow if
the weather allows it. But you're staying with us until it's fixed. There's no way we'll allow you to go traipsing through the mountain side dressed in jeans and sneakers."

  "But he'll find me. And he'll find you. I don't want that."

  "And we'll protect you, Gilly.” As if possessed, he cupped her cheek and his thumb brushed away her single escaped tear . “The Bearclaw brothers can take care of themselves and, if you'll let us, won't let anything happen to you either."

  Straightening, he grabbed the robe Conner had hung on a nearby hook and held it open for her. “Now, if we're done arguing, let's go see what Ronan and Conner have made for us, shall we?"

  Max turned his head as she stood, trying not to look at her nude body when she dropped the towel. He winced in empathy when she groaned—the salve had some anesthetic properties, but it couldn't take away all of her pain. When she slid her arms in, he released his hold and allowed her to wrap it around her body. After she tightened the tie and turned around, he scooped her into his arms, laughing at her high-pitched squeak.

  "All set, beautiful?"

  Gillian slid her arms around his neck and he nearly groaned at her touch. When she laid her head on his shoulder, her breath feathered across his skin and his cock took notice.

  "All set."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  Gillian stretched her tired, aching muscles as she snuggled under the covers in the Bearclaws’ guest bedroom. Over dinner she'd found out the room she guessed was the guest room wasn't the guest room at all. It was Ronan's.

  That had been an embarrassing moment. Sitting around their kitchen table, scarfing down the dinner Conner and Ronan had made, she nearly choked on a big hunk of steak when they told her. Face burning, her eyes shot to Ronan's. How could a man surrounded by so much happiness have such a sparse, cold room? His unblinking gaze rested on hers, as if challenging her, until she dropped her eyes to her plate. His look spoke volumes; Ronan was a man who had lived through a tremendous pain which he still carried with him every day.

  Their dinner continued, peppered with bursts of laughter as the three men told stories of their childhood. They'd told her all sorts of things about them under the guise of storytelling and she'd realized they were good men. Now she felt more comfortable around the three of them than she had when she'd first awoken. After the brief conversation in the bathroom with Max, no one brought up her bruises or why she wandered the miles down their road. They treated her like an old friend stopping over for dinner.

  When Conner scooped her into his arms and carried her to the guest bedroom, Gillian didn't protest. She was starting to get used to being carried around by the brothers. Then again, Ronan still hadn't touched her and she wasn't sure if she wanted him to.

  The cold look in his eyes frightened yet intrigued her. In one heartbeat she felt the need to comfort and kiss the hurt away and in the next, she wanted to cower behind Max and Conner. It was crazy. She shouldn't want to do anything with any of them. And yet she did.

  Closing her eyes against the soft lamplight in the bedroom, she pictured the three of them in her mind. The natural honey tone of their skin pronounced their Native American heritage proudly. Their hair was cut short, but there was enough for a woman to wrap her fingers around. Not that she wanted to, or anything. And then there were their eyes. They were the color of the deep blue sea and Gillian half expected to see dolphins swimming in their depths.

  Once she'd finally calmed down, dinner had been the perfect opportunity to stare at all three of them. True, they were triplets, but there were subtle differences between them. With the three of them surrounding her at the table, she could see it now. Max was quick to smile and crack a joke, never seeming to take anything seriously while they talked and threw insults at one another. Ronan's personality seemed to venture to the opposite side of the spectrum. Smiles came, but seldom and never quite reached his eyes. Conner appeared to be a balance between the two of them with easy smiles with and a hint of vulnerability which lingered beneath the surface. Their muscular bodies were the same, but inside they were all different.

  Geez! Their bodies! Their muscles had muscles. Every inch she could see seemed chiseled and cut from stone. With broad shoulders tapering to trim waists, she wondered if they each sported a set of washboard abs beneath their shirts. Their thighs bulged and shifted with each step they took and she snuck more than one look at their backsides as they moved around the kitchen, preparing their meal. Heaven. Gillian was in hot man heaven and she didn't want to ever leave. Too bad she would ... soon. Kyle didn't leave her any choice.

  Rolling over, she stared at the wall. Sleep wasn't coming and her bladder was making itself known. Throwing the covers off, she hung her feet off the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. Walking would have to happen to get to the bathroom down the hall, but she wasn't looking forward to it. Damn, it was going to hurt, but what could she do about it—nothing. Easing off of the bed, her breath came in great puffs as she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Fuck! It hurt!

  Padding across the room, one aching step at a time, Gillian took a deep, calming breath when she reached the doorway. Even with the salve and bandages, the pressure of walking on her feet sent slices of pain up her legs. Fighting the urge to moan and groan with each step, she leaned against the closed bedroom door as she caught her breath. The seconds ticked by as she waited for the majority of the pain to subside. Gathering her resolve, she twisted the knob on the door and opened it to the pitch-black hallway.

  The moment her foot stepped across the threshold, the door opposite hers burst open and Ronan stood before her. Gillian jumped in surprise, her muscles tensing as her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings in her chest and she let out a small squeak. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, preventing any further sound from escaping.

  "What are you doing out of bed?"

  Even when he whispered his voice was harsh. Narrowing her eyes at him, she answered his question. “I have to go to the bathroom. Does no one have to pee in the middle of the night in this house?"

  Okay, maybe that was a little harsh and bitch-esque, but he deserved it. He'd growled and snapped at her from the moment he'd found her in their home and now he was growling at her because she had to pee.

  He stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them. “Of course we go to the bathroom, but you shouldn't be walking."

  "What do you expect me to do? Yell the house down and wait for one of you to carry me to the bathroom?"

  "Yes,” he snapped, biting the word out so quickly she barely saw his mouth move.

  "Well, too bad. I appreciate you three taking care of me this evening, but I'm feeling much better and ... Omph!"

  He ruined her tirade. Just when she had gotten her rant going, he ended it by scooping her into his arms. What was with the Bearclaw brothers and carrying her around?

  Wrapping her arms around Ronan's neck to steady herself, she twisted her fingers around the hair at the base of his skull and pulled.

  "Ow!"

  "Good. Put. Me. Down."

  It took him several strides to reach the open bathroom door and she tugged and wiggled with each of his steps.

  "Stop moving, dammit."

  He moved through the doorway with her squirming body without hitting the doorjamb. Plopping her down on the toilet lid, he strode back to the door, flipping the lights on as he passed the switch. Grabbing the doorknob, he pulled it behind him, pausing long enough to issue a few orders.

  "Sit there and pee. When you're done, call me, and I will come get you and take you back to bed."

  Yanking the door closed with a soft click, Gillian stuck her tongue out at the man on the other side of the door. Jerk.

  Taking care of business, Gillian made sure her makeshift pajamas were in place before calling for her erstwhile escort.

  "Ronan!” she whispered as loud as she dared. The whole house didn't need to wake up because she had to use the bathroom.

&nb
sp; He came into the room just as she was hobbling toward the sinks to wash her hands. Growling, he picked her up and plopped her onto the counter.

  "What is with you and carrying me? I have two feet, ya know. It may hurt, but I am able to walk."

  Ronan mumbled something in response while he turned the tap on and grabbed a washcloth from a nearby towel rung. She watched as he soaked the cloth and rubbed it with soap with quick, efficient movements. When he reached for her hands, she snatched them back.

  "What was that? I didn't hear you.” She tilted her head to the side and raised her brow.

  As cliché as it sounded, if looks could kill, she'd be dead. Apparently one in the morning was not the time to tease Ronan. Not that any time seemed to be the right time. He reached for her hands and she allowed him to take hold of her wrist and she wiggled her fingers in his grasp, waving hello.

  "Ronan...” She sung his name, prodding him.

  Dropping the washcloth into the sink he braced his weight on the counter and stared at her, his sea blue eyes darkening to nearly black. “You deserve to be treated like fine china, Gillian. We like caring for you, which includes carrying you from place to place. Hell, when your feet are healed we'll probably still be carrying you around just to feel your skin against ours."

  Oh. So not funny.

  Thrusting her hands out, she stared at the wall over his shoulder, praying he couldn't see the hurt in her eyes. We like caring for you? Feeling your skin against ours? Yeah, right. And Gillian was the next president of the United States. As. If.

  The brothers barely knew her. They'd been acquainted for a few hours and they liked taking care of her. They were definitely taking chivalry a little too far.

  Ronan grasped her hands in his and wiped them down with the soaped washcloth, treating her as if she were a child who couldn't wash her own hands. It irked her. No, it pissed her off he treated her this way. She'd stood up to Kyle. She wasn't a victim any longer, but a survivor. She'd be damned if she tolerated being railroaded by anyone. When he rinsed her hands and dried them, she jumped down from the counter while he replaced the damp towel.