by Eliza Knight
“Nor I, my lady.”
Cora jerked her gaze up, surprised he would have admitted such to her. When their eyes locked, she gleaned the turmoil within him. It mirrored her own. Her heart did a flip. Maybe there was hope after all…
“I would tell you,” she said again, nearly pleading with him for understanding. She touched her bandaged hands to her heart and stepped a little closer, imploring.
Liam stood stock still, his eyes never wavering from hers. “I would know everything.”
“And I would give it to you if I could.”
He frowned, and she didn’t know if it was because he didn’t believe her, or because he was so disappointed. “Be ready to depart in an hour. Eat your porridge.” He stalked toward the door, leaving her bereft and wishing she could heave the nasty bowl into the hearth.
And then he halted, turning around brusquely enough that she took a step back. He let out a curse under his breath and marched toward her. They stood toe-to-toe, and her eyes widened. In her fantasy, this was the moment he kissed her, forgave her for everything and asked a pardon for having doubted her.
But this was not her fantasy.
In reality, all he did was scowl, and lead her to the table with his fingers pressed to her elbow. “I will feed ye, lass, but dinna dally.”
Cora nodded, her voice caught in her throat that he’d not simply left her to her own devices. He did care. Even if he was trying hard not to show it. She sat on the edge of the chair, watching him as he dipped the spoon into the porridge.
“’Tis not the best, I admit,” he said. “But it will fill your belly.”
Cora murmured her thanks and opened her mouth each time he brought the spoon close, eventually easing back into the chair rather than remaining perched. The porridge was revolting, but she’d barely eaten the day before and needed her strength. Besides that, she wasn’t going to tell him no. Not because she didn’t feel she could argue with him, but because the sense of being taken care of, felt so…good.
No one took care of her at home; rather, it was the other way around. Cora was always on her feet before dawn, throughout the day and well into the night, making certain that all was well with the castle. While her mother was very good at certain things, like mending shirts, seeing that the children in the local village were clothed, that her sons were kept in hose and boots, she had not been particularly good at being mistress of the castle. Planning the day’s meals and the running of the castle often fell on Cora’s shoulders. These were all tasks she enjoyed, but because everyone counted on her to do them, she did not often get a break.
Liam stared into her eyes with every bite, as if he were about to pose a question that she may not be able to answer. She felt like she should say something, but no words came to mind, and he didn’t say anything, either.
When he’d scraped the bowl clean, feeding her the very last bite, he picked up a linen napkin and used it to gently wipe her mouth. Then he held a cup of milk to her lips and allowed her to sip. The milk was slightly sweetened, taking away the charred-oat flavor from her tongue.
Finished, Liam stood, and then lifted her up from the chair by holding onto her elbows.
“You didn’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of standing.” Instantly, she felt guilty for rebuking him. “I mean…thank you. It was very kind of you to help me.”
Liam studied her, his emotions hidden, and then gave a curt nod. “Ye’re welcome. Shall I send in your mother to assist ye in dressing?”
Cora smiled weakly. “Aye, that would be good.”
Liam shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. She waited for him to speak, but several moments passed in silence, making her grow more anxious with every breath.
Finally, he said, “I’m sorry I didna arrive sooner.”
She tilted her head to the side, not completely understanding his meaning. “I was still asleep.”
Liam looked her in the eyes, and though he still kept his emotions well hidden, she could see the keen interest in his gaze for her to understand him. “I meant to your castle, lass. If I could turn back time, I’d have come years ago, so that ye wouldna have been…injured.” His gaze shifted toward her hands.
But rather than look at the damage done to her body, Cora kept her eyes locked on his, the meaning of his words sinking in with the power to take her to her knees. “I think we both wondered if our marriage vows might have simply faded. And you cannot blame yourself for what happened to me. I should never have attempted to lift the grate.”
“Och, lass.” He touched the side of her cheek, his fingertips warm and rough with calluses. She found it hard not to lean into that touch. Hard not to close her eyes and breathe him in, to savor this moment. “Ye were brave.”
A sharp burst of laughter came out. “I was foolish. It’s not the same.”
“Being in that dungeon is what probably saved your life. Think ye that Ughtred would not have left ye to burn?”
Cora shrugged. “I cannot say.” Though she guessed that Ughtred would not have marched her outside the keep. In fact, he was probably the one who shoved her into the dungeon to begin with.
“He would have.” Liam’s hand fell from her face, and his features took on a faraway look. “We must all learn from our experiences.”
Cora wrinkled her brow, searching his face for answers she couldn’t find. “What should I have learned from this?”
Liam shrugged, as if he’d not clearly said something she was supposed to find deeper meaning in. “That is nay for me to say.”
Her hands came to her hips, and she stopped herself from tapping her foot in irritation. “Who then?”
Liam’s gaze sharpened, sweeping over her as if she’d lost her marbles. “Ye, lass.”
Cora shook her head, and a few stray locks fell into her eyes. She lifted her bandaged hand, attempting to swipe them away but failing. Thankfully, Liam took pity on her and moved the strands, tucking them behind her ear.
“Thank you,” she said, then returned to what had her shaking her head violently. “I would not change what I did. Had I not hidden, I would have perished. Had I not tried to save my mother, she would have likely succumbed to death. You see, at the end of the day, there was no other choice.”
Liam stroked his hand through his own hair, smoothing it back. “Then ye know the lesson already.”
Did she? She didn’t feel like she did. Cora let out a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to discover what it is.”
Liam grinned softly. “Ye will. Ye’re an intelligent, lass. And I know that not only because ye can read and write, but because ye were smart enough to hide. And smart enough to keep your secrets.”
He had to be referring to her not revealing anything to him. But how could she reveal what she didn’t know? “I have no secrets, Liam, save for the one about…us.”
He grunted. “We all have our secrets.”
“And what are yours?”
“They wouldna be secrets if I told ye.”
“And yet you expect me to tell you all of mine?” She couldn’t help sounding exasperated. For she was. Very much so.
Liam grinned and backed toward the door, not answering her question. “I’ll go and fetch your mother.”
Cora stared into the empty space he left behind, her mouth partially open in both shock and vexation. She felt more confused now than she had upon waking the day before in a strange place.
She barely heard a word her mother said as she fussed with Cora’s hair and gown, muttering about the singed and torn parts, and wishing they had time to have a seamstress come and fix it.
It was almost as if her mother had yet to realize where they were and what their circumstances were. They were entirely at the mercy of the Scots. And though Cora was married to Liam, she dared not ask him for anything. Saving her life was enough.
She’d not even asked him for a gown to replace the damaged one she was wearing, the only one to her name.
Having donned her shabby gown and seen
to her ablutions, the healer came once more and redressed her wounds with a better-smelling salve than the one of onions. She kept her eyes closed the entire time, sucking down more than her fair share of whisky as the salve was spread once more on her hands. Tad had to escort her mother from the room. She cried out worse than Cora—which made Cora say, a little bit slurred from the whisky, that her mother was acting like a ninny.
As soon as it was over, Liam came to retrieve her, making her instantly regret her choice to overly imbibe in the whisky, even if it made the cleaning and wrapping of her wounds bearable.
Liam raised a brow at her, and she wished she could see what he was seeing. A crooked eyebrow? A twitching eye? Sagging mouth? Stupid grin or unfocused eyes? She was certain all of it.
He let out a great sigh. “Can ye walk?”
Cora stood on shaky legs, feeling very much like she might lose all the whisky and porridge she’d consumed that day. Her arms were flat at her sides, her hands flexed outward, palms down as if that might help her become steadier. It wasn’t working. But she nodded anyway, not wanting him to see her as weak.
But whether she affirmed she could walk or not didn’t seem to matter, as after taking a few shaky steps, he swept her up into his arms. The solidness of his arms around her, the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder, was enough to make her sigh. Why did he have to feel so good? Instead of sighing aloud, she protested, as a woman of her status should, about being in possession of her faculties. It simply would not do for the only power she seemed to have left to be taken from her.
“Put me down. I can walk.” She shoved at his shoulders with arms lacking strength and tried to focus her eyes.
“Aye, ye can walk, I’m sure of it.” He winked, and she couldn’t decide if he was teasing her or not. “But I’ll carry ye all the same, lass, as any husband would carry his new bride.”
New bride… She chose to ignore that and focused on him coddling her instead. “I am not a babe.”
“Indeed not.” He glanced down at her, his eyes traveling toward her breasts, and then he winged a brow. “A babe doesna have—”
Cora gasped, cutting him off. “Have you got into the whisky already today?” She glanced around at the people walking with them, afraid someone might have heard and think she was disrespecting their leader. Since they all knew her to be his wife, by the vows she’d taken, she was to obey him, revere him. While he might not mind her jesting, teasing or arguing, nobody else would understand that. If he were like her father, she would be punished. Nobody would disagree. Nobody would understand that she could respect him for the honorable and courageous man he was and take him to task all the same.
But thankfully, no one seemed to be paying them any attention. And Liam was not her father.
Her husband chuckled, the first time she’d heard that sound in years, and even though his laugh was deeper and manlier than it had been when they first met, it had the same affect on her that it had before. She tingled all over, and her voice got caught in her throat.
“You’re teasing me,” she whispered.
“A wee bit, aye.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to understand how his moods could swing so much. One moment he was spitting mad, the next as hard as stone, then sweet and full of chivalry, then teasing and full of wickedness. The man was a mystery to her, a mystery she was sincerely interested in picking apart. She suspected that a lot of the hardness was no more than a show for her. She had no doubt that he was indeed every bit as hard and ruthless as he needed to be on the battlefield. But with her, maybe it was a way to protect himself from getting too close because he thought she had betrayed him.
“A husband should be able to tease his wife,” he said, glancing down at her, “even if she may want to kill him.”
Cora knew exactly what he meant and tried not to laugh. It was funny how much they understood each other, and unnerving at the same time. It was almost as if Fate had brought them together, knowing they would be a good match. Maybe Fate had also intervened to keep them both from annulling their marriage. “So, we understand each other.”
Liam nodded, winking at her. “Aye.” The sound of his voice, the thick brogue and the way his gaze slid over her face, sent a chill, once rare and now more common since Liam had come back into her life, racing through her limbs.
Cora grinned at him, feeling every line of his body keenly against her side as he carried her. “Liam,” she whispered, wanting to once more impress upon him the truth of what happened and what she knew. “I never saw that man before until he was storming into the bailey…” She sucked in a breath, emotion welling within her, enough to make her think she might be drowning.
Liam’s gaze was soft, not accusing at all, and he gave her a slight shake. “Hush, lass. ’Twas not my intention to get ye riled. Nor to discuss that.”
Cora was relieved. Even though he’d yet to say whether or not he believed her, it was enough for now.
They reached the door to the tavern, already flung wide open, and he carried her outside. Sun filtered through the light-gray clouds, fighting off the morning mist, and steam evaporated in soft waves from the ground. The men waited, half of them mounted, while the others continued their preparations. Half were dressed in trews and tunics, the others in their woolen plaids of muted brown, green and blue. They looked as exhausted as she felt.
Cora scanned the caravan until she spotted the one man she’d been looking for—
Ughtred. She stiffened at the sight of him flung like a sack of grain and tied down over the back of one of the men’s horses. She couldn’t see his face with the way he was positioned, and she was glad.
Her mother was already stiffly perched in front of Tad on his mount. Tad’s expression was flat, but he was sitting just as stiffly.
They reached Liam’s massive black mount. The impressive animal’s color set him apart from the rest of the horses, who were equally large, but none of them were sleek and black. Liam’s horse was built for war, and for carrying warriors, but also to be noble, as though he were the chieftain of all the mounts in the Highlands.
They had large horses in England, intimidating ones even, but none like these. Cora wouldn’t be surprised if these horses knew how to fight battles on their own. But even thinking that, she wasn’t afraid. The horse’s eyes flicked toward them, watching them draw closer.
Liam lifted her up onto the warhorse’s back and then swung up behind her. The leather of the saddle creaked as his warm body collided with hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Even still, she gasped a little as his braw arm wrapped around her middle, right beneath her breasts, and hauled her spine up against his hard chest.
“We’ve a long journey, lass. I suggest ye sleep.”
Sleep? Ha! Cora snorted. “I am not in the least bit tired.” Besides, she wanted to see exactly where they were going in case, for some reason, she needed to make her escape.
As much as she was ready to see if a marriage to Liam could work, a small part of her was still prepared to run if necessary.
He might have been kind enough to feed her, to see that her wounds were cared for and that her mother was taken care of, but that didn’t mean she had to fully trust him just yet. Even if he was her husband. Even if her instincts were telling her she was safe with him.
Cora let out a yawn that stretched her mouth wide. Her eyes watered a little. She really was tired. Her eyes grew heavy, and another yawn assailed her.
She woke hours later with a start, nearly falling off the horse. Well, not nearly; that was a slight exaggeration. Liam still had a firm grip on her, but the jolt from her body was enough to disturb the horse, who let out a loud snort.
“Welcome back,” Liam murmured against her ear, sending a shiver racing along her spine.
Did he have to talk to her so…intimately? Oh, she might complain, but there was a very wicked part of her that enjoyed it. Quite a lot. Ridiculous, really. The moment Liam had stormed back into h
er life, a side of her she’d never known existed seemed to have been born or set free.
Cora glanced to the side and saw her mother asleep in Tad’s lap, slumped over his arm, head hanging low, rather unladylike. The sight made Cora giggle a little, for if her mother saw herself that way, it would likely give her a fit of apoplexy. “What did you put in our porridge, a sleeping draught?”
Liam laughed, the rumble in his chest vibrating through her back. “We didna drug ye, if that’s what ye’re inferring.”
“My mother never sleeps well and look at her now.” She chuckled a little. “She looks like a wee bairn after running from England and back.”
“Och, she does,” Liam said with a laugh. “Alas, you and your mother have also never been locked up in a dungeon afore, have ye?”
Cora shook her head, suddenly sober. “Not that I know of.”
“Ye’ve both been through a lot, lass. Sleep is expected.”
Cora let out a sigh. Why did he have to be so considerate once more? It confused her. Maybe that was also the exhaustion.
Cora shifted on the horse, feeling the uncomfortable call of nature. “How much longer until we take a break?”
His thumb stroked over the back of her bandaged hand. “We can stop soon if ye’ve a need.”
“Yes, that would be good.”
“All right.” Liam let out a whistle, and one of the men hurtled past them on his horse. The man returned a short time later to report he’d not seen anything amiss ahead, and that he’d spotted a thin and shallow creek.
Liam and his men followed the scout, and once they’d reached the spot, he helped her dismount.
They were in the middle of a meadow with a tiny creek that cut through the grasses in a winding path. Cattails and waterweeds lining the edge swayed gently in the breeze. There were no trees, nor even a bush she could hide behind to complete her personal business. No small hills, nor even a decent-size boulder jutting from the earth that could provide her a modicum of modesty.
