Chapter 13

13

B raden had not intended to kiss Roselyn, but gazing into her eyes, and seeing her pretty smile, had brought forth the feelings he had harbored ever since he had first set eyes on her. He was falling in love with her and kissing her had been a way of showing those growing affections. Had she enjoyed it? She had not fled as she did before, nor had she seemed embarrassed, even as he dismissed himself as ever being worthy of her affections.

She's an English lady, the daughter of a duke. She's bound to have any number of men wantin' her hand in marriage. Why would she think twice about a silent Scottish laird? Braden asked himself, shaking his head, as he sat down by the loch and sighed.

Roselyn had gone into the woods to play with Apollo, the dog having interrupted them at just the moment when their kiss might have turned into something more. Braden allowed his mind to wander, picturing Roselyn's reflection in the pool by the waterfall, and the touch of her lips against his. She had tasted sweet, like honey, and Braden found himself wanting only to kiss her again.

But watch how she leaves ye – she'll nae stay here. She'd nae marry ye, he told himself, shaking his head, as he picked up a stone to skim across the water.

The thought of marriage had been playing on Braden's mind, even as he had resisted it. It was Kenna who had planted the seed, reminding Braden it was his duty to produce an heir.

"Anythin' can happen, Braden – think of what happened to our father," she had said, and Braden had taken her words to heart.

He knew he had to marry, but so far, he had met no one whom he could imagine spending the rest of his life with. Until now. There was something different about Roselyn – not only the fact of where she came from.

She had intelligence and wit, and the strength of character necessary for the role of mistress of the clan. In Roselyn, Braden could see all the qualities necessary for the wife of a laird, even as he feared she would refuse. It was one thing to share a kiss, but quite another to share a romance. Braden found it difficult to tell what a woman was thinking or feeling, and Roselyn was no exception.

She doesnae want to marry ye. She might kiss ye, but tis' all. Daenae think too much of what might be, he said to himself, even as he knew his feelings for Roselyn were growing stronger with every passing moment.

He looked around him. The flowers she had picked, and the one he had given her, were lying neatly on the bank, close to Braden. He smiled, picturing the look on Roselyn's face when he had presented her with the flower. But where was she? He had heard Apollo barking, but now there were no sounds coming from the forest, and rising to his feet, he approached the undergrowth, peering through the trees and seeing no sign of either Roselyn or the dog.

Tis' strange – she was here.

Apollo could never be kept quiet, and as Braden made his way through the undergrowth, he found himself becoming increasingly concerned.

Where is she? She cannae have just disappeared, he said to himself, as his search now became more desperate.

The trees grew thick here, tall, and straight, blotting out the sun above. The forest was dark and foreboding, and Braden's hand went to the hilt of his sword, sensing danger, as he glanced around him. A sudden cry echoed through the trees, and to Braden's horror, he now caught sight of Roselyn, locked in a struggle with a man.

The bastard. – Braden recognized the man from the dungeon. He drew his sword, and charged forward through the trees, as the bearded man looked up in surprise.

He had Roselyn in a tight grip, choking the life from her. She was struggling, trying to fight him off, even as he dragged her to her feet, trying to pull her away into the undergrowth.

Braden had controlled his anger in the dungeons – he had even felt a certain sympathy for a man accused with no evidence.

But that sympathy was gone, replaced by a pathological rage at the sight of the woman who had trusted him to protect her now so savagely used. As Braden charged towards him, the man let go of Roselyn, allowing her to scramble back, falling to the ground, her dress torn, as the bearded man made to defend himself.

"Yer woman did nae put up much of a fight," he snarled, circling Braden, who now lunged at him with his sword.

The man drew a dagger from his belt, holding it, jabbing it forward, as Braden swiped at him with the flat of his own weapon. The man leered at him, his mouth open and toothless, his straggling beard covering an evil face.

Again, Braden lunged at him, but the man caught him, striking at Braden with the dagger. Braden felt a sharp pain in his arm, but with a cry, he pushed the man backwards, his sword falling to the ground as he struck out, knocking the man to one side. The villain fell, striking his head against a rock, and rolled onto his back, motionless, his eyes wide and staring.

Dead, and good riddance, Braden said to himself, as blood oozed from a wound to the man's head.

He picked up his sword, breathless from his exertions, and kicked the dagger away. His arm was smarting, and he raised his hand to the wound, finding it covered in blood, as Roselyn now came hurrying to his side.

"Oh, Braden… I'm so sorry. I didn't think… he came on me so unexpectedly. I… I was so frightened. He was trying to drag me away. I don't know who he was. If you hadn't come… oh, I was so foolish," she exclaimed, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

She noticed his injury now, taking out a handkerchief and offering it to him. It was only a flesh wound, and Braden held the handkerchief to his arm, staunching the flow of flood.

"Did he hurt ye, lass?" Braden asked.

"No, he… oh… Braden, you spoke," Roselyn exclaimed, staring at Braden in astonishment.

For a moment, the danger was forgotten, and Braden, too, stared at Roselyn in return. He had not intended to speak, nor did he know what had prompted him to do so. His eyes grew wide with astonishment, as Roselyn stared back at him. Braden could not understand what had brought about this extraordinary transformation.

"I… I spoke," he said, and Roselyn nodded, stepping back, and taking his hand in hers.

"I always thought you could, but… oh, I don't understand… to hear your voice. It's like… how?" she asked, but Braden did not know.

Speech had suddenly come naturally to him. There had been no conscious decision on his part, no question of whether he would or not. He had just spoken, as though he had always spoken. He had made a promise long ago, and yet…

"Aye… I daenae know. But with ye… tis' different. Ye brought it out of me. I was worried about ye – I'm still worried about ye. That man… well… I just saw him in the dungeons. My uncle brought him here. He said he murdered my father. But… oh, I should've run him through there and then," Braden exclaimed, cursing himself for not having acted earlier, and feeling confused as to why the man had been set free, or been allowed to escape.

Roselyn looked at him in surprise.

"I still… after all this time. You didn't need lessons. You didn't need me to teach you to speak," she exclaimed, but Braden shook his head.

She was right. He had not needed lessons to help him speak. He had always been able to do so. But he had needed someone to bring out the possibility of speech, and Roselyn was that person.

It was she who had caused him to speak, and in doing so, she had accomplished what she had come to Scotland to do. The sight of her in the arms of that wicked man – the knowledge of the danger she was in – that had roused Braden to action. He had wanted to protect her, and his concern for her made him speak, even as he wondered what would happen now.

"I… I needed ye, Roselyn," he said, and she looked up at him and blushed.

"Then… I'm glad to have been here," she replied.

The bleeding from his arm had stopped, and now he dropped the handkerchief to the ground, slipping both his arms around her and drawing her into his embrace.

He wanted only to protect her, and now he glanced at the body of the man he had just killed, who lay sprawled on the ground. He shuddered to think what might have happened, and he pulled Roselyn into a tighter embrace, terrified at the thought he might have lost her. He then started to lead her away.

"I'm sorry. I should've protected ye," he whispered.

"You couldn't have known. No one could've known. But you came to my rescue again. You were fearless," she said, and Braden smiled.

"And ye were brave, too, lass. Ye tried to fight him off," he replied.

They were conversing as though they had always done so, as though speech was entirely natural to Braden. But with every word he uttered, he wondered if it would be his last. Would he continue to talk? And what of the others?

"But he was too strong, and I don't know where Apollo went. He was in the undergrowth, and then the man seized me. It was terrible. I've never been so frightened," she said, and Braden kissed the top of her head.

"Tis' all right, lass. I'll nae let anythin' happen to ye. I promise," he whispered, and Roselyn looked up at him and smiled.

"I'm just glad… well, that you were here," she said, and now he leaned forward and kissed her, as she clung to him, their lips pressed together in the passionate embrace of a danger faced together.

Braden knew he cared for her, and now that he could speak, he wanted to show her how much he cared for her.

"Ye're beautiful, Roselyn," he whispered, as their lips parted.

She smiled at him as he ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her again, his hands running down the length of her back, pulling her more tightly into his embrace.

"I… I didn't know. It was so hard. I'm sorry about the other night – running away as I did. I didn't mean to. But I wasn't sure how you really felt," she said, but Braden shook his head.

"I felt… what I felt when I first set eyes on ye. I felt somethin' – but I cannae describe it," he said.

He had never admitted as much to any woman, because he had never been able to admit as much. Speech had always eluded him, the possibility of words, rather than signs, holding back his true feelings.

He felt something for her, and he wanted her to know it. But the words sounded strange – all his words. To hear himself speak was like hearing another person speaking. It was distant, and almost otherworldly, as though it was not meant to be, even though it was.

"Did you really? Back in England? And on the journey north? I never realized… well, why would I? You couldn't speak, and I couldn't understand your signs – not all of them, at least. But… I felt something, too," she said, and now he kissed her again, caring nothing for how it seemed, or what others might think.

Their kiss was passionate and prolonged, their arms around one another, caught up in the sensuous passion of their act.

"Then I hope ye'll stay? Even though it seems yer work is done," he said, as their lips parted.

Roselyn looked up at him and smiled.

"I couldn't imagine leaving now," she replied, smiling up at him, as he kissed her again.