Chapter Six

Alex rode beside his wife. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. He turned in his seat and did what she had not done once since setting out—he looked back at the now distant Castle.

"We can visit often," he said, hoping to reassure her.

"He didn't tell ye, did he?" She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"I feel as though there are a great many things your father did not tell me."

"He's dying. He'll not live out the season." Before he could reply, she nudged her horse and trotted forward, leaving him behind.

He started to go after her, but Jamie caught his arm. "Give her some time."

Alex knew he was right. Still, he desperately wished to follow. Somehow in the brief time spent together, they had shared moments so profound. His instinct commanded he chase after her, refusing to let the rare taste of intimacy and trust slip away. But he knew authentic feeling could never be forced. He exhaled a slow breath and resolved to give her the space she so obviously craved.

They had ridden for a few hours when the sun began to set.

"The stone hut is not far," Jamie said. "And should be empty this time of year. Shall we make camp?"

Alex nodded. "Go on ahead and start the fire. I shall take first watch." He urged Midnight forward.

"There is a place just off the road up ahead where we can rest," he said, reining in his horse beside Cora's. She looked up at him. Her face betrayed her heartache. God's Blood, he wished he had known the full extent of William's poor health. He would have insisted they remain. The pain of losing his father was still fresh. He searched his heart for words of consolation, but in the end he kept silent. Some pain had to be felt. It had to cut deep before it could heal.

He pointed to a narrow path carved into the wood. "Follow me and stay close. It will be darker among the trees."

Craggy branches and bramble shooting up through the snow enclosed the small stone hut like a cage. Jamie had already cut through a thorny tangle to free the door. Stepping inside, Alex nodded his approval at the plaids covering the ground and a woolen blanket, which Jamie had spread out for Cora.

Turning to her, he asked, "Do you need to make yourself more comfortable?"

When she nodded, he gestured toward the bent and weary trees.

"What are ye doing?" she asked when she noticed he followed.

"I will guard ye. None of us should wander these woods alone."

"If ye think that is necessary," she said absently, stepping forward as though in a daze.

He followed behind, keeping his distance. His eyes traveled the length of her tall, slim frame. She moved like a song in the twilight. Her white gown had become luminous in the dark, and her long, golden braid dragged the ground. He marveled at her beauty. How could this angel be his wife? He thought of the time they had shared alone in her room earlier that day. She seemed so different now, so closed off. Had he only imagined the significance of their time together in her room or the power of their kiss? His hand reached unbidden to his marred face as doubt took hold.

Cora scanned the trees, seeing deep into the thicket. Her eyes no longer required the moon or torch to light the dark. She cocked her head and listened to the soft padding of wolves on the hunt and the scramble of other creatures whose scent she did not recognize. She could tell some were innocent while others savored wickedness. Still, she was unafraid. None of them could harm her—she was already damned.

Alex watched her come out from behind a tree. She started toward him, but her foot caught on a root and she stumbled forward, landing on a fallen branch. He rushed toward her at the sight of blood staining her white sleeve.

"Let me help ye." Alex knelt and reached for her arm.

"'Tis nothing," she said, jerking away. Then she scurried out of reach.

"Ye're bleeding. Ye must let me dress it."

She shook her head. "I told ye already ‘tis nothing."

"I insist, Cora. ‘Tis dangerous to travel with an open wound no matter the size."

"Please, don't touch me."

Her words fell like a stone on his heart, crushing the hope he had nurtured that she of all women was immune to his appearance. He turned his head to the side, hiding his scars. "If that is your wish. I shall see ye back now. Ye can let Jamie dress your wound."

HEARTACHE CROSSED HIS features, and she was the cause of it. Her refusal to let him touch her had inflamed a deep and old pain. He believed his scars were to blame, but he could not have been more wrong. On the contrary, his scars were a beautiful reminder of the humanity she had lost. But how could he understand that she had no choice but to refuse his aid while she still guarded her secret so closely. There simply was no wound to dress anymore.

He walked ahead of her now. She admired his broad shoulders and tall frame. She could hear his racing heart. A breeze swept through the woods, covering her in his scent. It was a smell she could wrap up in at night. It excited her, inflamed her senses. God above, she was hot enough already without his intoxicating company. She struggled to control her feelings, to lock down her desire. She had to maintain control or else release that which so easily stirred awake. And how would he judge her if he knew?

From the moment they first locked eyes she had known he had a good heart, which was why her father had chosen Alexander MacKenzie as her husband. But what of him? Did he not deserve a wife who could withstand the touch of a man, who could love him unabashedly? Sweet Jesus, what was she saying? Did Alex not deserve a wife who was human? On the inside, he was made of beauty and light, and she was dark and full of demons, a monster through and through.

She glanced at her shoulder. Her creamy skin shone unblemished to her powerful eyes. She reached for the hem of her dress and tore a strip of fabric, which she wrapped around her arm as a makeshift dressing but not to protect her wound. She did it to conceal that her body had already healed itself.

She wished to catch up to him and tell him that her words and actions had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her, but fear made her hesitate. She stared longingly at the strong man whose name she now shared. His long, black hair glinted in the moonlight. None of this was fair to him. Her father should have left her to fend for herself and let fate stake claim of whatever was left of her soul.

"Wait," she called. He turned around, one green eye and one blue bore into hers. His scent grew more potent as moments passed while he looked at her expectantly. She searched her mind for words that would make everything right, but shame clouded her thoughts. Perhaps all could be well if only her secret remained hidden. To do so, she just had to maintain control.

She took a deep breath. "Forgive me. I'm used to caring for myself."

He opened his mouth to speak but apparently thinking better of it, he looked away. Then it was his turn to take a deep breath. "It has been a very long day," he said gently. When he might have distanced himself or spoken harshly, he, instead, soothed the tension from the moment.

A smile tugged at her lips as she marveled at his kindness and patience. "Aye, that it has, one full of surprises."

His gaze did not waver. She did not doubt his mind was swimming with questions, but he kept his silence and offered her his left hand to hold. She held his gaze as she slowly circled around to his right side, his scarred side, and then she slipped her hand in his.

"Thank ye," she whispered. He was allowing her to hold on to her privacy for at least one more night.

She reached up, pulling his head down to hers. He flinched and tried to draw away, but she insisted and pressed a kiss to his marred cheek.

His eyes softened. Taking her hand, he brought it to his full lips. "Come, let us get out of the night."

The fire had warmed the small hut. Jamie already lay stretched out on the far side with his back to the room. Whether in earnest or simply for courtesy, he appeared to sleep.

Cora eyed the woolen blanket. Her pulse began to race. Dear Lord, help me. Already perspiration gathered on her brow. Between the fire and blankets, she was growing hotter than hades.

"Are ye unwell?" Alex asked.

"Nay." She ignored the tremble in her own voice. "Only ‘tis warm in here."

Alex closed the distance between them and touched her forehead. "Ye're burning up." He turned toward his sleeping kinsman. "Jamie," he barked. "On your feet. The Lady Cora has a fever. Fetch some water from the river and set it to boil."

"What for?" Jamie asked, rising to do his laird's bidding.

"I do not ken. 'Tis what Margaret does whenever anyone takes ill?"

"Wait," Cora said. "Please, I'm not unwell. My body holds warmth. I...I've always been this way. I'm not accustomed to fires, even in winter."

Jamie arched his brow at her. Then he turned to Alex. "Do ye wish me to put out the fire?"

She grabbed Alex's arm. "I don't wish either of ye to be chilled. Really, I'm fine." Her agitation was increasing. Her heart pounded in her chest. "Please, let us forget the matter."

He looked at her for some time. Then he shifted his gaze to Jamie. "Go back to sleep. The lady is fine."

She swallowed her sigh of relief when Jamie returned without hesitation to his pallet and lay back down with his back to the room.

Alex unfolded the top of his plaid and wiped the sweat from her brow. He stood so close. His scent surrounded her. She looked up at his full lips and into exquisite eyes. Her gaze swept over his scars and she felt reassured somehow. She decided they were not so different after all. He knew what pain was. He knew what it meant to live with darkness. Perhaps he would understand. Maybe he could even love her.

She lost her fear in his intense eyes and leaned forward, allowing herself to fall into his strong arms. His eyes widened with surprise, but he caught her and held her close. His heartbeat, which she had listened to since they first met earlier that day, now pounded in her ears, drowning out the sounds around her, the trickling stream, trees creaking in the cold, the pounding of her own heart. It was hypnotic to be consumed by one steady sound rather than the cacophony of noises that made up her day to day existence. Her breathing started to slow. His strong arm came beneath her knee, and he lifted her into his arms. A sigh escaped her lips when he laid her down on the blanket and curled himself around her. Engulfed in his scent and the beating of his heart, she almost forgot her sorrow as she drifted off to sleep—almost.