The woman stopped suddenly, hesitant to approach him, and he couldn’t blame her.
He was far from presentable, his garments soiled from his arduous journey and worn from the years and elements. He also needed a good soaking to wash away not only the grime and odor, but who he had become these past five years. A man who had lost all sense of who he had once been. A man he’d become far too familiar with over time. A man who killed far too easily and a man who had laid with women he cared nothing about. A man who had lost all honor.
He reached back to his past, recalling manners he hadn’t needed in years. “Please forgive my unpresentable state, Lady Learmonth. I have only returned home after a long journey and I am not as presentable as I should be.”
When she failed to respond, he wondered if she was too offended by his appearance to even speak to him. Or was it the shock in seeing that he had lost a hand that kept her silent? Or hadn’t he sounded sincere enough? He had had no call to be mannerly while captive and it felt foreign for him to do so now.
Annoyed she refused to speak to him, he held his temper that was rising and tried to engage her again. “You have been most kind to my clan in my absence.”
Still she gave no response and she didn’t even move. She appeared frozen in place. What did she think he was going to do, attack her? Had his appearance changed that much? Did he look that menacing?
He couldn’t keep his temper from erupting. “Since you find the sight of me to reprehensible to speak with me, then get on your horse and go. And don’t bother to return.” He turned to walk away, anger burning in the pit of his stomach.
“Royden?” the whispery voice asked.
He turned with a scowl at the questionable mention of his name. “Aye, it is me and who is it I know that takes such offense to my appearance?”
The woman raised her hands and lifted her hood, revealing her face.
“Oria.” He nearly roared her name, at least in his head, since it came out more gently, and the fire in his gut burned like the fires of hell when he realized that the woman he loved was wed to another man.
Chapter 2
Oria was having difficulty finding her voice. She couldn’t believe the man who she loved was finally standing there in front of her. She had prayed every day for his safe return and now that he had finally returned, she found herself speechless. Her instinct was to simply throw herself at him, feel his arms wrap around her once again, hug him tight, and never let him go, but she quelled the urge when he took a step back away from her.
She looked at him then, truly looked at him, and saw a much different man than the one she had loved since as long as she could remember. He appeared far taller and larger than she had remembered him, not that he had grown in height, though he had in width, thick, solid muscle straining at his garments. He also held himself more erect than she recalled, his chest taut, his chin a slight lift to it as if daring anyone to come near him. There were small telltale signs of scars here and there on his chin and neck and one on his brow that had long healed.
They reminded her of her own scar and she was glad her hood hid the hideous scar that ran along her jaw on the right side of her face. They both had been left scarred and not only with visible ones.
“You’ve wed,” Royden said, voicing the only thought that filled his mind.
Betrayal, that’s what she heard in his remark and in a way, she couldn’t blame him. It was how she had felt when she exchanged vows with Burnell—that she had betrayed Royden.
Raindrops suddenly began to fall and Royden stretched his arm out toward the keep doors. “Come inside.”
Oria couldn’t hide her surprise at seeing that he had lost his left hand. She had to fight back the tears and the pain to her heart hurt for what he must have gone through, the suffering and having to learn to live with only one hand. She wished she could have been there for him—to help him and to love him.
Royden had grown accustomed to no longer having his left hand, not that it didn’t anger him at times, but others sometimes looked with shock upon his covered stump just as Oria did now.
“No need to look with repulsion at my stump, it will never touch you,” he said. “Now get inside out of the rain.”
There was anger not only in his voice but in the pinched lines around his dark eyes, lines that hadn’t been there the last time she had seen him. How could he think that she was disgusted by his suffering? Didn’t he realize that she never stopped loving him? Her thoughts churned as badly as her stomach as she lifted the hem of her cloak to hurry up the keep’s stairs and inside to the Great Hall.
Royden had learned to contain his anger since it had done little good to unleash it while held captive, though relief had come through battle. He had fought every battle as if fighting the foe who had destroyed his life, his family, his clan. Battle after battle had been like revenge after revenge, though it never lasted long, which was why after a while he had looked forward to the next battle.
Now, however, not only seeing how the woman he loved looked at him with disgust but also seeing that the Great Hall, the place where his family had gathered for meals, for celebrations, the place where he would have wed Oria resembled a battlefield after a battle. Tables and benches lay scattered and broken, while a few were piled on top of each other, and only one table and two benches sat in front of the large, cold fireplace piled with ashes. Tapestries that had once graced the walls were gone and the only light provided in the room was from the two narrow windows and a lone candle on top of the one trestle table.
Bethany entered the room balancing a pitcher and a large wooden bowl in her arms.
Oria was quick to help her set both on the lone table.
“Some of the warriors that stayed here helped, the last lot not so much. They took more than they got,” Bethany explained. “Penn has been good about providing meat for the village since the last group of warriors left and the women fish the stream. We’ve kept up with the kitchen garden. Penn has started work on the fields and the few men left here have begun to help him.” Bethany nodded to Oria. “Lady Learmonth kindly supplied us with ale and wine after the last troop took their leave.”
Royden clenched his one hand. He wanted to strike out at someone, preferably the person responsible for destroying everything he held dear, everyone he loved. In time, he would have his revenge and he would enjoy making those suffer who had made so many suffer.
“Thank you, Bethany. We’ll talk more later,” Royden said.
Bethany bobbed her head and with a smile to Oria, she left the room.
“Sit,” he said, though he was aware it sounded more an order.
Oria had no choice but to lower her hood so she made sure to sit where her scar wouldn’t be visible to him.
Royden filled the two tankards before Oria could. He didn’t want her serving him, taking pity on him because he had only one hand.
Oria cupped the tankard in both hands, hoping to stop them from trembling.
Royden downed his tankard of ale and filled it again, remaining silent a moment afterwards. “Thank you for helping my clan.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. Did he forget the Clan MacKinnon was to be her clan too? How could he think she would forsake a clan that was like a family to her?
“I would never desert the Clan MacKinnon,” Oria said.
“Yet, you wed another,” Royden snapped, knowing he had no right to accuse her when she probably had had no choice, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you even protest the marriage?”
The day she wed Burnell was burned in her memory. She could never forget it. “I had little choice. I did what I was ordered to do.”
“Something we all did,” Royden said, his anger far from subsiding, though it wasn’t directed at her. He was angry at himself for failing to protect her, keep her safe, keep her from being forced to wed another. It was all his fault.
“Royden,” she said softly and ached to reach out and touch him, feel his familiar strength a
nd the comfort it always brought her, and offer him comfort.
“Do you know what happened to my sister?” he asked, his tone brusque.
It hurt more than she ever thought possible that he dismissed what had been between them, appearing not even willing to discuss it, as if it was over and done or would never be again. It was like losing him all over again.
Because of a promise she had made, she did something she’d never thought she’d do. She lied to him. “No, I know nothing about Raven.”
“She couldn’t have just disappeared,” he said, shaking his head. “What about my da? Did you hear anything about him? And your da, Oria, how is he?”
Oria’s heart went out to him. At least she knew what went on here in the years that had passed. Royden knew nothing of what happened to his family, the people he loved, his clan, his home. He would learn all that had happened, though not all at once. The only thing she could do for him at the moment was give him hope.
“Raven’s tenacious nature no doubt got her through this ordeal. I’m sure she’ll return home one day. As for your da,” —she paused, not comfortable with having to lie to him again— “I heard he was wounded badly and managed to make it into the woods. There’s no word after that.”
“Five years and not one sign of him leaves little hope that he survived,” Royden said.
She heard his ache, his sorrow, and felt it as well, and she wished she could tell him all of it, but she had given her word and for a good reason.
“And your da?” he asked.
“He survived the battle, but not what followed. He died three years ago.” She couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes, though she managed to keep all but one tear from falling.
Royden wanted to leap across the table and take her in his arms and not only hug all the sorrow and hurt out of her, but he selfishly wanted to feel what he once had with her. That feeling of comfort, warmth, love. Good, God, he ached for her love. Unfortunately, he no longer deserved it. No more was he an honorable man, since an honorable man wouldn’t be thinking how he wanted nothing more than to scoop Oria up in his arms, rush her to his bedchamber, strip her naked and do what he should have done five years ago, make love to the woman he loved—a married woman.
He offered the appropriate response. “I’m so sorry, Oria. Your father was a good man.”
“He was,” Oria said and wiped the single tear off her cheek with her finger.
Royden dropped his one hand beneath the table, not wanting her to see him clench it in anger. He hated to see her hurt and to know he hadn’t been there to help her through her da’s passing. She had faced it alone and that tore at his heart.
“What became of your land?” he asked, hungry to learn all he could about what had happened in his absence. He hoped it would help him discover who was responsible for it all.
“That’s the odd part,” she said. “A group of warriors remain there and sees to providing for the clan. My da wasn’t replaced as chieftain and when he died no chieftain was appointed. The keep sits empty, though it is maintained, as if it waits for someone.”
“That is odd,” Royden agreed. “Why were you forced to wed Lord Learmonth and not one of the warriors left at your keep?”
This was not the reunion with Royden she had imagined, endless questions and what seemed like accusations. What had he expected after five years? Neither of them were who they once were. How then was it that she loved him even more today than she did those many years ago?
Bethany entered the room with a man following behind her and Oria couldn’t be more pleased, since another lie would have slipped from her lips.
“Pardon, Chieftain Royden, but Penn wanted to speak with you right away,” Bethany said.
Chieftain Royden.
Bethany bestowing the title of Chieftain on him made him realize the loss of his father and he felt a stab to his gut, though he didn’t let his sorrow and anger show.
Penn stepped around Bethany and Royden ran his eyes over him, taking in all of him. He was a head shorter than Royden, his long hair light, not a usual color for a Scotsman, and his body solid though lean. He stood erect, his shoulders back, a stance of confidence, something Royden had learned while captive. He wore a plaid with a pale yellow shirt beneath and the only weapon he could detect was the hilt of a dagger sticking out of the top of one boot.
“I’m Penn, sir, and I wanted you to know that I chose to remain here of my own accord and I will work to prove my worth and my loyalty.”
“Were you taken prisoner and forced to fight?” Royden asked.
Penn shook his head. “No, I joined the mercenaries, hoping to eventually find a place to settle, to call home. I found that here with Emily. I love her and will do whatever is necessary to remain with her.”
“Who is the leader of these mercenaries?” Royden asked.
Penn shrugged. “I don’t know. His identity is known only by a chosen few.”
“So you were part of a group of mercenaries who pillage men’s lands, take what isn’t yours, and you expect me to accept you into my clan?” Royden asked, glaring at the young warrior.
“I have scrounged for my existence since I’ve been eight years and knew hunger long before then. I had little choice but to take what the mercenaries offered me, food and shelter, and in an odd way, family. I wasn’t proud to pillage, but I also wasn’t too proud to survive the best I could. I will do whatever you ask of me to prove my worth to you. I only ask that you give me a chance.”
Royden looked to Bethany. “What say you?”
“He was a help while the last lot of warriors were here and much more help after they left. I think he should be given a chance. Besides, Emily is round with his child and she needs her husband.”
Royden turned a deeper glare on Penn. “I make no decision yet. You’ll go and take stock of what repairs are needed to the village, the storage sheds, and what is needed to be done in the planting fields. You’ll report back to me by nightfall.”
“I can tell you now,” Penn said with a lift of his chin.
“I have no time for you now. I will summon you when I’m ready,” Royden ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Penn said and followed Bethany out of the Great Hall.
“Do you know anything about Penn?” Royden asked Oria once the young warrior was gone from the room.
Oria was reminded of old times when Royden would sometimes ask her opinion and it was like spying the Royden she had once known.
“Only what I have seen on my visits here. He keeps the village fed, makes what repairs he can on his own since it has taken time for the clan to trust him. And he treats Emily well. You can see how much they love each other when they are together. Love shines in their eyes and in their smiles.”
Like ours did once, Royden couldn’t help but think.
“I should go see to the few people who are in need of tending,” Oria said, it growing more painful to sit there and talk with him as if they were nothing more than acquaintances.
“A few more questions and you can be on your way,” Royden said, not that he wanted to let her go, but what choice did he have?
She nodded, though she would have preferred to run from the room, her heart was breaking so badly.
“Do you know Chieftain Galvin of the Clan Macara, his son Bayne or daughter Purity’s fate?” he asked.
“Chieftain Galvin survived. Bayne died in the battle.” She paused a moment before letting a partial lie slip from her lips. “Purity hasn’t been found.”
“And the Macara land? Does Galvin still retain it?” Royden asked.
“Aye, he does. Since Purity was never able to be found and forced to wed, Chieftain Galvin’s land remained with him. He’s encouraged some of your clan members to come join his clan.”
“He what?” Royden snapped. “Did any go?”
“Instead of offering help, he preyed on their fears, saying none of the MacKinnon men would return,” Oria said, recalling the day she had heard him make such
a claim and letting him know what she thought about it. “None believed him and no matter what he said, no one would leave here.”
Royden felt ready to kill Galvin Macara. He had searched for answers to the attack that day five years ago. How had the troop of warriors been able to surprise them? Why hadn’t their sentinels alerted them? Had they waited for that specific day, his and Oria’s wedding day, when so many chieftains would be present to purposely attack? And had Galvin, sending a missive to Chieftain Burnell of the Clan Learmonth, been in any way the catalyst that had started the chain of events?
“Chieftain Thurbane. How has he faired?” Royden asked. These men’s lands bordered his land and he needed to know for the safety of his clan. He would take no chances. Not ever again.
“Thurbane does well. The man, Fergus, his daughter Alynn was forced to wed, treats her well. They have two children, a son almost five years and a daughter three years,” Oria said, thinking how she and Royden probably would have had two bairns by now if fate hadn’t been so unkind.
Royden had the same thought and all that he had lost came rushing back to him like a blow to the face. He wanted to roar out his fury, thrash someone or something, he needed a battle, but there were no more battles and while he was glad for it, he also feared the repercussion of not having an outlet for his anger.
“I should go,” she stood quickly so he couldn’t stop her and turned with the same haste.
Royden got so fast to his feet that the bench he sat on tumbled over. His face was a mask of pure rage and anger and his tongue so sharp that his words pierced like the point of a blade. “Who did that to you?”
Oria had moved so quickly she had forgotten about the scar along her jaw. Royden had seen it, though it wasn’t disgust she saw in his eyes when looking upon it. It was that feral look he’d get when angry, though much worse than she had ever seen it before. It was as if he was more animal than human and it frightened her.
Royden vaulted over the table, landing beside her. He took hold of her chin, turning her head so he could get a better look at the scar that ran along her right jawline, puckering in a couple of places.
Pledged to a Highlander Page 2
