Carissa almost sunk to the floor, her legs trembled so badly. He was learning too much about her, and she feared his piecing things together and discovering the truth. What then? Would he hate her even more? Or could he love her?
They were enemies, she reminded herself, and hadn’t her father warned her time and time again that once an enemy, always an enemy. Could she ever truly trust Ronan?
The door opened, and he hurried in, setting the full bucket on the floor. “Give me what you want filled from the rain barrel.”
Carissa grabbed the larger cauldron near the hearth and gave it to him. He once again disappeared out the door. She sunk down on the chair at the table. How was she ever going to survive her time here with him? She feared revealing too much of herself. She had to remember who she was. Hadn’t her father told her that often enough?
Never forget that you are Carissa, daughter of Mordrac the Barbarian.
And didn’t Ronan remind her the same often enough?
The door opened again, and Carissa stood, quickly gathering the bowls. She didn’t want him to find her sitting there in thought.
“Can you hang it on the hook in the hearth?” she asked him.
He did, then hung his cloak on the peg beside hers.
“The weather worsens,” he said, sitting down in the rocker and holding his hands out to warm them. “The snow grows heavy, and the skies look to promise more. If it keeps up, we will be stuck here for some time.”
She didn’t need to hear her worst fear confirmed though she hadn’t expected any different.
“Is there enough food in the root cellar for us?” he asked.
“More than sufficient,” she assured him. “There is even dried meat.”
“Good, for it would not be easy to hunt in this weather.”
“The sky shows no promise of change?” she asked, seeking a shred of hope.
Ronan shook his head. “The sky is barely visible, the snow falls so heavily, and it feels like the storm brews as if it has yet to reach its peak.”
Carissa nodded, knowing that it wasn’t the only storm out there brewing. The one inside the cottage had yet to gain momentum, and when it peaked, she feared the results.
Chapter 9
You would think that there would be nothing to do but wait out the storm, but there was a matter of survival to consider. Which was why Ronan braved the harsh weather several times during the day to gather as much of the firewood as possible to stack inside the cottage. It needed time to dry in order to burn properly.
Carissa had suggested that they collect certain food staples from the root cellar to keep in the cottage so that they didn’t have to continually open the root cellar and lose the much-needed heat.
She also found two extra blankets in the chest beside the bed. Ronan watched as she took a chair from the table, placed its back to the hearth, and draped one blanket over it. She turned the blanket several times, exposing all sides to the heat. She’d test it with her hand now and again, and when it seemed to please her touch, she moved it to the bed and placed the second blanket over the back of the chair.
He wondered over her domestic actions. He never imagined her capable of anything useful. To him she was the spoiled and selfish daughter of a barbarian, who demanded and got whatever she wanted, and that included killing people at her whim.
He had a difficult time seeing her as a capable woman, especially one who could cook more than a decent meal and see to keeping a bed warm with little to help her accomplish the task. Least of all, he had not expected her to provide him with a tankard of hot cider every time he had come in out of the cold.
He had to remember who she was and ask himself why she acted so contrary to her nature. The answer was obvious. She was a cunning creature who would do anything to survive, even change her demeanor. He had to be very careful around her. He couldn’t allow her to deceive him. He had to remember always who she was…the person who had killed the woman he loved.
Night had fallen hours ago, and for supper they had enjoyed the hearty soup that had simmered in the cauldron all day. Carissa had baked two loaves of dark bread, saving one loaf for tomorrow. She had also made some type of apple spread to go with it, and Ronan had savored every delicious bite, not leaving a drop of soup or crumb.
Still, no matter how much he enjoyed her cooking, he had to remember she was a deceitful woman and remain on guard.
She sat in the rocking chair after taking a flat pan from the hearth, placing it in the middle of the bed, and pulling the covers over it. A small crock sat in her lap, and she scooped some salve from it and rubbed it over her hands.
The scent drifted over to him…lavender.
He grew annoyed by the peaceful family scene they shared and stood to rest a hand on the mantel, and to question the woman hiding inside Carissa.
“How did you escape when my brother Cavan attacked your father’s stronghold?”
“I always paid attention to my father’s advice, not that I always agreed,” she said. “He had been abundantly clear about making certain always to have a means of escape wherever one was.” She shook her head and moved the crock from her lap to the floor. “He should have taken his own advice, but then he was so certain all would go his way.”
“And you weren’t?”
“Not in the least,” she admitted. “You don’t declare war on a powerful clan like yours without forethought and a strong strategic plan. My father didn’t have enough of either.”
“Did you express your concerns to him?”
She laughed. “I cherish my tongue, so I kept my opinions to myself.”
He was about to suggest that her father would not harm her in such a brutal way when he was suddenly assaulted with images of her at five years stitching dead warriors and realized that her father was capable of that and more.
“You didn’t believe that your father could conquer my clan?”
“Your clan’s reputation precedes itself, and your friends”—she smiled—“are too many to ignore. A point my father failed to realize. While his troops may have outnumbered your clansmen, they did not outnumber your allies.”
“So you escaped, leaving your father to deal with his foolish actions.”
“It was the wisest choice,” she said. “There was nothing I could do to save him. Fate already had its hand heavy on his shoulder.”
“But not on yours?”
“Not if I could help it.”
“How did you avoid my brother’s warriors?” he asked.
“When I was young, I would escape into the woods and pretend I was fleeing a horrible monster. Most times I could only hide from him, but one day I discovered a way out, and I revisited it often. In case one day I would need it.”
“And that day came,” he confirmed.
“And I was ready.”
“You shed no tear leaving your father behind, knowing he most certainly would face death when captured?”
“Another lesson I have to thank my father for. I don’t cry. He taught me not to shed a single tear. It is a wasted action, serving no productive purpose.”
“When was the last time you cried?” he asked curious.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t recall.”
Ronan didn’t believe her. He had a feeling she remembered full well when last she cried. She just didn’t want to tell him. He had time. He’d find out; though why he wanted to know, he couldn’t say. But he did, and he also wanted to know why she had cried.
“Tell me more of what your father taught you,” he said.
“I’m too tired,” she claimed. “I want to go to bed.”
He stepped away from the hearth. “A good night’s sleep will do us both good.”
She stood, slowly unfastening her blouse. “Then you’ll join me in bed?”
His memory of her naked was still strong in his mind, and he knew it was not a wise idea to go to bed with her.
“We can keep each other warm,” she said, and slipped off her blouse.
Her breasts swelled beneath the shift, her nipples growing hard beneath the white linen. And while he would rot in hell before he touched her, he couldn’t say she didn’t tempt him.
“You have the bed warming,” he reminded. “You don’t need me.”
She smiled that damn wicked smile of hers that could probably cause a priest to sin.
“Ahh, but there’s nothing quite like warm bodies pressed against each other to heat you right down to the soul,” she said.
“I didn’t think you had a soul.” He could see that his remark had stung her, and oddly enough, he felt a pang of regret for his hurtful comment though he couldn’t understand why. After what she had done, she deserved no sympathy from him.
“Go to bed,” he ordered, and sat in the rocker, turning it so that his back was to her. He had no desire to look upon her naked body, and he wanted her well aware of that.
He heard the creak of the bed as she climbed into it, but he refused to turn around and look at her. He had no doubt she would continue to attempt to seduce him, hoping to win her freedom. And he intended to make certain that would not happen.
He leaned his head back against the rocker and closed his eyes, thinking how Carissa would never taste freedom again, and the thought brought him a modicum of joy though only for a moment. He recalled with great clarity what she said death had taught her.
No one can hurt you anymore.
As he dozed off, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the best punishment for Carissa was something other than death.
Carissa snuggled beneath the three blankets and, while she wanted to keep her distance in the bed, in case Ronan decided to join her, there was a chill that drifted off the wall if she got too close.
She was relieved he hadn’t come to bed yet. She feared if he lay beside her, he would detect the rapid beat of her heart and the tremble that rippled through her body. His remark had affected her more than she cared to admit. She had been accused of many things, but never had anyone dared suggest that she had no soul. She had bravely and under great duress maintained and protected the integrity of her soul. It was the one part of her she never shared until…
She fell in love.
Stop. Stop. Stop, she silently scolded in her head and continued to berate herself. For a short time love brought you joy, then it was gone. Why linger on it?
Ula the old slave had told her to embrace joy when it came her way and not to be sad when it left, for it would return and then take its leave once more and that was the way of joy, forever coming and going.
She just wished that joy had remained a bit longer.
A strange sound interrupted her thoughts, and she lay still, listening. It took her a moment to realize that it came from Ronan. He must have fallen asleep in the rocking chair, for he was snoring lightly.
She smiled and stretched out in the bed. It was all hers tonight, and pleased that she didn’t need to worry about keeping to her side, she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Ronan woke and rubbed his aching neck. He silently cursed himself for falling asleep in the chair and for not having added more logs to the fire before dozing off. It had dwindled enough for the room to have chilled, and he quickly added more kindling and logs, stoking it until once again the fire roared in the hearth.
He walked over to the bed, shedding all but his leggings as he went. He wasn’t surprised to see Carissa curled in a ball on her side beneath the blankets. He shivered from a sudden chill and realized that cold drifted in through the wall. The bed would have to be moved, though not tonight.
He slipped beneath the blankets before his body lost its warmth, the chilled bedding giving him a shiver, and when he finally stilled, he realized that Carissa’s body trembled. He reached out and rested his hand lightly on her arm and almost cringed, she felt so cold.
He moved closer, but not enough for their bodies to touch, though hopefully enough for his body heat to reach her. He couldn’t help but stare at her. In sleep she looked so vulnerable, especially curled up as she was.
Her trembling continued, and he grew chilled instead of her growing warm. If they were ever to get warm, they would need to embrace, lock themselves around each other, and share their heat. As reluctant as he was at the thought, the idea that they both should suffer the cold when it wasn’t necessary seemed ridiculous.
Her trembling increased, shaking the bed, and he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped himself around her, the front of him melded to the back of her, his arms secure around her, his hand resting over her fisted ones and his legs snuggled over her curled ones.
In mere minutes her trembling began to subside and, soon after, her body began to heat. Before Ronan knew it, his eyes were closing, and he was fast asleep.
Carissa was so warm and comfortable that she didn’t want to wake up. She preferred to stay as she was in this wonderfully snug cocoon. She was safe here, protected. She had never felt this protected. There was strength to this cocoon that she could not quite understand. She only knew that it was there and that she could count on it. And she didn’t care if it was just remnants of a dream, she would linger and take joy in it.
She cuddled closer, snuggling her face against the hard, though pleasant, surface. She rested her cheek there and before long she detected a sound, a steady rhythmic sound that was quite soothing. Somehow it made her feel all the more safe.
Her ears picked up another noise, a whistle of sorts, and she recalled the storm and realized it was the winter wind whistling a sharp tune. It was then she remembered where she was and it struck her that it was no cocoon she was wrapped in…it was the Highlander’s arms.
Panic almost gripped her, but she quickly chased it away. For a brief time, she had a chance to lie in his arms and pretend that she belonged there. She relished the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his flesh, the safety of his arms wrapped snugly around her. At that moment she felt as if they belonged together, that somehow fate had found a way, against all odds, to make it so.
She tried not to move, fearing she would wake him and her dream would vanish as quickly as a whiff of smoke in the air. A moment, she wanted a moment more, though she would have preferred much longer.
His body suddenly stiffened, and she knew her cherished moment was over. He had awakened and realized that he embraced his enemy.
Chapter 10
Ronan was livid. He had woken to find that it was all a dream. It had all seemed so very real, the scent of apples, her soft body, the silkiness of her hair. But it wasn’t Hope he held in his arms, it was Carissa.
Lord, but he hated her even more at that moment, and himself, for he felt that he betrayed Hope by holding the evil woman in his arms. What had he been thinking last night when he climbed into bed? Why had he even cared that she was cold? She had never cared about him when he was her father’s prisoner. He should have just let her shiver all night.
But then that would make him no better than her.
She stretched full against him, pressing her chest to his and nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck. With his eyes shut and the faint scent of apple drifting off her, he could think of nothing but Hope.
Hope, who had been so kind, so loving, so innocent.
Her lips brushed his, and for a moment, a sheer moment, he wished…
“Damn,” he cried, shoving her away and scrambling out of bed. He retrieved his clothes from where he had shed them last night and quickly dressed, grateful he had left his leggings on. He grabbed his cloak from the peg and, with haste, hurried out the door.
The sharp wind slapped him in the face, and he smiled, needing the pointed greeting to bring him back to his senses. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t Carissa who had stirred his passion but his own dream of Hope. And the devious woman that she was probably realized that and took full advantage of it.
He walked to the woodpile, remaining close to the cottage as he knew that it was easy to get lost in such a storm. He retrieved a few logs, hoping Carissa
would take the time in his absence to get dressed. He had no desire to see her naked again.
While he wouldn’t mind losing himself in a woman, it wouldn’t be Carissa he would give that pleasure to. And lose himself was all he would do, for he couldn’t, nor would he give any more of himself. Besides, there was nothing left for him to give.
He had lost much during his captivity, but he had lost even more when he had lost Hope. He had lost his ability to love.
With his hands near stiff, he hurried his steps and reluctantly entered the cottage. He busied himself arranging the wood and discarding his cloak before he would even look Carissa’s way.
She smiled at him as she threaded the ties of her blouse closed. “I’ll have you between my legs yet, Highlander.”
“Not likely.”
She walked over to him, her smile spreading and her steps lazy, and ran her hand slowly down his shirt. “You are a challenge.”
He grabbed hold of her hand before it slipped beneath his shirt. “That you will lose.”
She laughed, a throaty laugh that had him tensing. She sounded sinister and sensual all at once, and damn if it didn’t prickle his skin in more ways than one.
“We’ll see, Highlander, we’ll see.”
Ronan never found conversation lagging with Carissa. If he wasn’t asking her questions she was asking him. Whether she was cooking or they were sitting by the fire, they talked.
“Tell me, did you enjoy your time with the mercenaries?” she asked, joining him in front of the fire after the morning meal.
He ignored her question, and instead asked, “Why did you sell me to the mercenaries?”
“What makes you think I sold you? You were my father’s prisoner.”
He silently cursed himself though what did it matter now? Hope was gone. What difference did it make if Carissa learned the truth? “Your slave informed me that it was you who convinced Mordrac to sell me to the mercenaries.”
“I knew she was feeding you information,” Carissa said angrily. “And she could not hide her feelings for you. I believe the poor fool even thought that you would rescue her.” She shook her head and laughed. “How ridiculous of her to think that one man could rescue her from a horde of barbarians, let alone my father.”
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