‘I don’t know.’ She met his gaze, uncertain of what he intended. This man unnerved her, and she worried about sleeping at his side.
Raine didn’t seem to care about her wariness. Instead, he stretched out beside her, pulling her body against his. He pulled his cloak over both of them and did the same with the blanket. His gesture was only meant to help her get warm, but against her nape, she could feel his breath. A sudden rush of awareness slid over her, bringing goosebumps to her skin.
He is not to be trusted, her mind warned. She knew that, even as she nestled closer to him. His presence was so dangerous to her good sense. Never before had she lain this close to a man. And especially not one who wanted her to act as a traitor.
She was fascinated by the contrast between them. He was muscular, a large man with a great deal of strength, whereas she was weak and softer. The hard planes of his body offered a shelter she welcomed. Even wrapped within the coverlet, she could feel the warmth of his arms around her. For a moment, she imagined that this was what it was like to lie with a husband.
A fragile twinge of regret caught her. At one time, she had dreamed of a life where she would be Lady of Carrickmeath with a husband and children. When her father had betrothed her to Rory Ó Connor, she’d been filled with terror and loathing. Brian had believed he was giving her a dream, not a nightmare.
But she felt no loathing beside Raine de Garenne. Instead, his embrace was welcoming, granting a solace that made her grateful. She had needed the warmth of his body, and he had offered it to her. Though she should feel guilty about resting beside him, she didn’t. Raine was a stranger to her, a man who might escort her to Laochre Castle, and then it was doubtful she would see him again.
She tried to close her eyes and find sleep, but the longer she remained in his arms, the more she grew aware of the heavy chain mail he wore. He could not possibly rest, wearing such armour.
‘You could...remove your armour if you want to sleep. It’s difficult in chain mail.’ She couldn’t imagine trying to sleep with the weight of the metal links pressing down.
Raine didn’t answer at first, but then he sat up, pushing back the coverlet before he walked towards the fire.
She never took her gaze from him as he turned to face her. Though he remained silent, she felt the censure in his stare. Out of courtesy, she closed her eyes. ‘I won’t look, I promise.’
‘Carice,’ he said quietly. ‘Would you prefer it if I left you to sleep alone?’ His stare held an intensity that made her uncertain of what he truly wanted. But it did seem that he was trying to determine whether his presence had made her uncomfortable. And that wasn’t it at all.
‘No,’ she answered. It made her feel safe to have him near. ‘I would rather have you stay. Unless...you do not wish to be near me.’
‘I will stay.’ His green eyes held her spellbound as he removed the leather corselet. ‘But trust that I will not harm you. If you want me to leave you alone, I will.’
He set aside the corselet and reached for the chain mail hauberk. Though she knew she shouldn’t watch, she couldn’t tear her gaze from him. His blond hair gleamed against the firelight, and he fixed his attention upon her as he removed the armour. Only a linen undertunic remained, but it was unlike those she had seen before. This one was worn, but made of a finer weave of cloth, like one a nobleman might wear. It hung open at his neck, and she spied angry, reddened flesh.
‘Are you hurt?’ She hadn’t realised it before. ‘Your skin looks as if it’s still healing.’
His expression tightened, and he paused a moment before lifting away the undertunic. His torso was rigid, resembling the honed body of an ancient god. There were scars of battle, but the reddish markings near his throat spread over one shoulder. He turned his back to her, and she saw that the skin was red and mottled, as if he had suffered from burns.
It hurt to look at the healed flesh, knowing how badly he must have suffered. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I was caught in the fire when this abbey burned. I nearly died.’ He still remained facing the hearth, not looking at her. ‘I saw the flames when my men were camped nearby,’ he said. ‘I alerted my commander, but he didn’t want to intervene. “It’s not our battle,” he told me.’ Raine rested his hands upon the stone wall, and the muscles in his back flexed. ‘I went there anyway, but I was too late to stop the raiders.’
Carice was glad to hear that he hadn’t been responsible for the men’s deaths. But she sympathised with him, imagining what he must have endured. ‘And you were trapped in the fire?’
He turned back and nodded. ‘One of the monks helped me escape. Then he died from the smoke. He couldn’t breathe.’ Raine’s voice was cool, as if it didn’t matter. But beneath his expression, she sensed guilt and regret.
‘Why did you return?’
‘After my wounds healed, I received permission to bury them. I do not think the bishop was notified, for the bodies were rotting when I arrived. But soon, they will come to rebuild this place.’
She couldn’t suppress a shudder, but she now understood why he’d come back. It was the right thing to do. His actions made her wonder more about this man and who he truly was. He was keeping so many secrets, it was difficult to understand him. ‘And now? After you take me to the MacEgans, where will you go?’
He lifted up the linen undertunic and donned it once more, setting the chain mail aside upon a chair. ‘I will return to the king’s men and my commander.’ He didn’t offer anything further but went to sit upon the foot of the bed.
‘What of your family?’
There was a trace of unrest that passed over his face. ‘Go to sleep, chérie. I have no wish to speak of them now.’ He stretched out beside her, on top of the coverlet. She remained facing the fire, acutely conscious of his presence.
But she found it impossible to sleep with him so near.
Chapter Three
Being so close to this woman was slowly killing him. Carice’s scent allured him, tempting him to hold her close as he had earlier. She wasn’t speaking, and he knew she was only feigning sleep.
And yet, the raw need to touch her was pushing away his good sense. He might claim that he was only intending to warm her, but the truth was, he longed to hold this woman. She was innocent, utterly fragile, like a newly-opened blossom.
He flipped back the coverlet and slid beneath it, well aware that he should not be sharing a bed with her. Though they were alone, with no one to cast blame, he understood how dangerous this was. Already he had tasted her lips, and he knew how soft and yielding they were. He wanted to kiss her again, but it would only heighten the temptation.
She moved back to him, snuggling her backside against him, drawing his arms around her body. The moment she did, he gritted out, ‘Dieu, you’re cold.’ She was slender and hardly seemed to have any body warmth at all.
‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But it’s impossible to sleep when I’m so freezing.’
He pulled her body against his, bringing his leg over hers, to keep her even closer. She sighed and murmured, ‘That’s so much better. Thank you.’
It wasn’t at all better for him. Her presence aroused him, and he could not prevent the instinctive response. He had a beautiful woman in his arms, and despite her cool skin, his mind was envisioning other ways to warm her.
Her brown hair was silk against his cheek, and her limbs were tangled with his, seeking comfort. His conscience warred with his body’s needs, and he couldn’t stop thinking of the way she had reached for him earlier. Despite her boldness, he didn’t at all believe she had any intention of seduction.
In time, her breathing slowed, and her skin was not so frigid. He lay awake, staring at the fire, wondering if this was what it would be like to have a wife. He had never married, not after all that had happened after his parents had died.
> But a part of him hungered for a life such as this. To lie with a woman at night, to take comfort in her softness. War was a part of his blood, and he lived in a world where killing was expected of him. There was no peace, no sense of contentment.
Whether or not she knew it, Carice Faoilin was bringing him towards a greater temptation. And each day he spent with her made him more aware of the loneliness surrounding him.
With reluctance, he rose from the bed and went to stand by the fire. He’d revealed his burns to her, expecting her to be repulsed by them. Instead, she’d sympathised and had lain close to him.
He should take her to Laochre as she wanted. She needed to remain in a safe place where she could be surrounded by friends—not with a man like him. He walked over to stand by the bed, reaching for one of her long curls. He traced it between his fingertips before releasing it.
There was a restless energy within him, the sense that all was not right. He put on shoes and his cloak, taking his weapons before closing the door behind him.
The air was frigid, and his breath formed clouds in the air. He decided to go and check the grounds, to ensure that there were no intruders. Once he was convinced it was safe, he might be able to sleep.
The scent of Lady Carice haunted him, tempting him to taste those lips once again. He strode down the stairs, needing the cold night air to temper the fire rising within him.
Raine seized a torch from the wall and walked outside. It was snowing lightly, the ground covered in a dusting of white. As he walked the perimeter of the ruined abbey, he thought of King Henry’s orders. The man had no intention of allowing Rory Ó Connor to reign over the lands he wanted for his own. Henry was ambitious and ruthless, a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. The High King’s death would ensure his success.
Raine stopped beside the graves of the monks, the burden of their deaths troubling him.
He pressed his hand against the skeletal remains of the building, remembering the vicious pain of the burns. His men had taken him away, and over the course of several weeks, he’d gradually healed. But he’d needed to return, to silence the ghosts that dwelled within him.
Dieu, what was he still doing here? He’d been granted two days, no more. He had to return to the soldiers, to face his commander and obey the orders given to him. Time was slipping away from him, and he had to uphold his duties.
But the woman waiting in bed for him could not survive on her own. He had to either use her to get close to the Ard-Righ—or he had to bring her to Laochre and wash his hands of her. Leaving her behind was not an option.
Reluctantly, he returned to his quarters, stomping the snow from his feet before he ascended the stairs once more. The moment he opened the door to his chamber, he saw the dim glow of the fire illuminating Carice’s face. Her features were softened in slumber, and she had the face of an angel. From deep within him came the desire to guard her, to protect this woman from all harm.
She reminded him of a life he could have had, if tragedy had not befallen his family. For a moment, he allowed himself to dream of being a husband...or even a father. Guilt slashed through the vision, reminding him of his purpose. His family had died, while he’d been too stricken to move. He could not set aside the blame, and a life of solitude was what he’d earned.
Raine removed his boots and strode towards the bed. It was better if he left Carice alone to sleep before they departed. But he remembered the softness of her body pressed against his, the womanly allure that held him captive. And most of all, her kiss.
He cursed himself, even as he slid beneath the covers. When he reached towards her, he felt the coolness of her skin. She still wasn’t nearly warm enough. The moment he moved closer, she rolled to face him, snuggling as near as she dared.
Her touch was like a slow flame, consuming him. She was a physical torment, tempting him in a way he couldn’t resist.
Raine shut his eyes, forcing himself to remain utterly still. Though Carice was pressed up against him, he didn’t touch her, nor did he let himself imagine anything more. It was nearly an hour before he managed to calm the urges of his body, and even longer before sleep came.
But when it did, the nightmares returned.
* * *
He heard the sound of screaming. Raine bolted awake in his chamber, not knowing what was happening. He dressed quickly, not even bothering with armour, and seized his sword. His heart thundered with worry for his family or worse, their liege. King Henry was visiting Peventon Castle, along with fifty of his soldiers and servants. The scream was a woman’s, but whose?
Raine hurried down the stone stairs, his weapon drawn. He froze at the sight before him, unable to believe what he was witnessing. His father’s face was purple with rage, and he clenched a dagger in his fist. King Henry held his own blade and stared back at Neil de Garenne with arrogance.
‘You dare to draw your weapon before me?’ Henry said, his voice icy.
A sinking feeling caught in Raine’s stomach, a rise of mingled fear and nausea. To threaten the king was a death sentence. His father knew that, so why would he do such a thing?
‘You dared to touch my wife,’ Neil shot back. ‘I care not that royal blood runs through your veins. If you have harmed her, I will spill every damned drop.’
Only then, did Raine notice his mother weeping in the corner. Estelle sat on the floor, holding her knees, her clothes torn and in disarray.
God help them all.
Raine started to move towards her, but a soldier caught him by the arm. ‘Stay out of this.’
He ignored the man and wrenched his way free, moving towards his mother. Tears streamed down her face, and her expression was filled with terror.
‘She knows better than to deny her king. Sheathe your weapon, de Garenne, and apologise.’
But his father lunged at Henry, a war cry roaring from him. One of the king’s soldiers came from behind and stabbed Neil.
Raine froze in place. His limbs felt as if they were iron, bolted to the floor. He stood in shock as his father’s blood spilled over the stones. Estelle rushed forward, reaching for her husband.
And though he knew he had to move, had to help them, he could do nothing.
Too fast. It had all happened too fast for him to respond.
Then, Raine watched in horror as his mother seized her husband’s knife and stabbed herself.
* * *
Raine gasped for air, jerking awake.
Carice startled at his motion, and realised that he was sweating, his breathing uneven. ‘What is it?’
When he didn’t answer her whisper, it seemed that he was still under the spell of a bad dream. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, touching his shoulder. ‘I am here.’
The top of his tunic had come unlaced, and her palm brushed his bare skin. He jolted as if she’d burned him, but his eyes flew open. Even then, he did not appear aware of who she was. ‘It was only a dream,’ she whispered, reaching out to stroke his cheek.
He gripped her wrist roughly and shoved it against the coverlet. ‘Do not touch me.’
His abrupt transformation frightened her. In his eyes, she saw a wildness of a man who was gripped with visions that were all too real. She pulled back, bunching the covers around her. This time, he got out of bed and donned his chain mail once more, adding the leather corselet atop it.
‘What were you dreaming of?’ she asked.
But he would say nothing about the nightmare. Instead, he ordered, ‘We should leave now. It’s nearly dawn.’
She wanted to argue with him, but the look in his eyes was shielded, as if he were holding back terrible memories. Instead, she rose from the bed, reaching for her shoes. She found that she was hungry again, and she took some of the food he had brought last night. Though her weakness lingered, at least the vicious stomachaches had
abated.
Carice drew her cloak over her gown, tying it closed. Raine eyed her appearance, his expression stoic. ‘You won’t be warm enough in that cloak. It snowed last night.’ He gave her his own outer garment, before he dragged one of the blankets off the bed and draped it around her shoulders. Carice gathered it up like a brat and added the extra layer.
‘You should take back your own cloak,’ she insisted. ‘You’re only wearing chain mail armour.’ She couldn’t imagine that he could stay warm in that, despite the leather corselet.
‘The cold won’t bother me.’
Of course not, she thought drily. Men didn’t get cold. Or if they did, they’d never admit it.
Raine opened the door and waited for her to follow him. In the narrow corridor, he reached for a torch from one of the sconces. It cast shadows upon the wall while she descended the stairs. As he had predicted, she felt the cold chill of the night air slipping beneath the layers of wool.
Once they stepped outside, she paused a moment to watch the fat snowflakes drifting from the sky. There was beauty in them, and she held out her palm, trying to catch one. A bemused smile crossed her face, and she reached down to form a snowball.
‘Do not consider it,’ Raine warned.
But Carice smiled. ‘I was just thinking of my brother, Killian. He used to throw snowballs at my face when we were children.’
‘You never spoke of a brother.’ The hint of censure in his voice made her stop a moment.
‘He’s not really my brother. At least, not by blood.’ She struggled to explain it to him. ‘We had different parents, but Killian lived at Carrickmeath, and we grew up together.’ A pang caught her, for she did miss him. ‘He’s the brother of my heart, I suppose you could say.’
‘If he was like a brother, then why didn’t he escort you to safety?’ Raine led her towards the horses, and she dropped the snowball. She didn’t miss the implication that Killian had failed in his duties.
‘It’s...complicated. Killian is the High King’s bastard son.’
Warrior of Fire Page 5
