Chapter 11

Colleen helped Arran to the bed. She was silent, and he knew why. "Once I have bound yer wound, I will explain everything," she told him.

As a mercenary, Arran knew how to be patient, but he was on high alert for any deception. "I didnae lose much blood, Colleen, but the healing sleep will fall on me soon. Save yer explanation for when I wake—and dinnae feed me any sleeping potions either."

When she left to fetch the basket of lint, he lifted the talisman off his head and clasped it in his hand, hiding it from her. There was something disturbing about Colleen's serene manner. Most women who had been ravaged by a man would be hysterical with shock, but the healer was not. Yes, he reached her before any major interference could occur, but she seemed to be acting like a hollow shell of the person she had been before.

Lifting his head to stare down at his belly, Arran felt the healing sleep coming over him as the flesh knit together and the skin tightened and closed. Deep in the woods, a wolf howled. Sticking the fist that was holding the talisman under his pillow, Arran fought the sleep. He wanted answers. He wanted to organize the villagers into a defensive force. And he wanted to know who that captain was to Colleen.

The last thing he thought before the sleep took him was: They know each other closely, and no matter how hard she tries to hide it, Colleen Cunnigham loves that man.

She was waitingfor him when he woke up. It was as if she knew there was no escape from him.

"Ye are whole again, Arran," she whispered to him sweetly, "I stopped Ben the Shepherd on the road and told him to let the village ken we are safe."

He grunted. His sleep had been dark and stormy, full of echoing cries and shadows.

Getting out of bed, he went to wash outside. She did not follow him, which was a good thing, because he wanted to have a discussion with her in more formal surroundings. A breakfast of porridge, cream, and honey was waiting for him when he came back in, but Arran had to force himself to eat, purely as a way of keeping up his strength—he tasted nothing of what he was spooning into his mouth; his dark violet eyes glowering at her as she watched him.

Pushing the bowl away, Arran folded his arms across his chest. "Well?"

She did not flinch under his interrogation, and he was soon to learn why.

The Cunningham sisters had once belonged to a large and happy family. Before Colleen and Isla had been born, their mother had birthed twins, a boy and a girl. "The sister I told ye aboot who died, she was me brither's twin, Lorna," Colleen told him. "The two of them were so close, they did everything together. Lorna was a wild child, quick to fight with her fists and climb trees. Me brither, Ewan, was just as adventurous, but kind and caring too. Then me uncle died in Inverness. Mither and Faither left Isla and me to tend to the animals, and forced Ewan to stay behind to protect us. ‘Ye're master of the house in oor absence, Ewan, so look after the two young ‘uns for us.' They left with the cart and horse, Lorna giving us a merry wave before it turned the bend. And that was the last we saw of them. They were set upon by brigands and killed. All three of them…"

Silence crept into the room as Colleen fought her tears down. "Ewan could not forget nor forgive. He blamed oor parents. He blamed Isla and me. He blamed everyone, and he hated himself. Oor liege laird had died by then, and the castle servants were scattering hither and thither once the money dried up—so Ewan went to Laird MacKenzie and asked him if he would help him seek his revenge. Of course, Torquil MacKenzie said aye and Amen. Ewan was always good with his fists and quick on his feet. And after the laird helped Ewan find the brigands and kill them, me brither would have laid down his life for the man."

"He put his revenge ahead of yer sister and ye?" Arran scowled. "What a weasel."

Colleen shrugged. "If ye scorn him, Arran, it means that ye have never truly loved. I doubt you can even remember yer own family anymore."

The dismissive way she said it showed him that his lack of sympathy had hurt her feelings. Reaching out for her hand, Arran gave it a small squeeze. "As it so happens, I can remember me family and clan, but that is a story that must keep for another day. Forgive me, lass. Ye ken the way I am and always have been, a man of action. I prefer deeds rather than words."

She understood and forgave him. He was fascinated to watch her face as her mouth curved in a sweet smile. "I feel so dirty from what just happened to me, Arran. Only the touch of your hand and the sound of yer dear voice can erase the memory of that beast from my mind!"

"Och, lass, ye're starting to sound like a true warrior. Every time men enter a fight, most of them never ken how it is going to end. Victory always heats the blood, and to have ye clinging to me for comfort makes me want to cherish oor time together."

"I love your hot blood and I also happen to adore the way ye show yer feelings for me, Arran…I think about one particular action of yers often and always throughout the day—wishing that ye would do it to me again and again—" she leaned forward, whispering the last word in his ear with a tempting blow of air from her pouting lips, "—and again." Caressing the side of his face with one light touch, she asked him, "Do ye forgive me for the deception? Ye and me, it all happened so fast that there has been no time for us to share oor sad stories with each other."

He found her utterly compelling. As she sat at the table opposite him, he could see the subtle sheen of perspiration on her chest. It was another hot, humid Highland summer's day; as he watched, a bead of sweat rolled over the gentle mound of her breasts before it ran down her cleavage. Instantly, he was aroused.

Would she allow him to take her right here, right now, in front of the fireplace? He doubted if his willpower would hold off long enough for him to carry her into the bedchamber.

"Are ye completely healed, Arran?" she teased him, lifting her bare foot off the floor and pushing it onto his lap, "because if ye are, I would love to test yer strength." It was the best way to rededicate their devotion to one another, acknowledging that a lot of love and understanding would be needed to heal the hurts that time had wrought.

All he had on was the Aberkin plaid casually belted above his hips. She had hardly finished saying the words before he was pushing back his chair and lunging for her. Sweeping her into his arms, he lay her down gently on the flagstone floor. It was cool and her body reacted to it, tightening her nipples as they strained up, searching for his mouth, his eager touch.

There was no time for her to undress. He had to take her then or not at all. Lifting her skirts and the hem of her shift, it drove him wild to find her body ready for him. The act was almost, but not quite, out of control. If she had kissed him or removed her clothing to show him what he desired the most, Arran would have lost his willpower and emptied himself into her. But he was able to wait for her to match his strong, urgent thrusts. When her fingers gripped his back, he knew she was reaching her peak.

Everything went out of focus as their union was completed. This time, there was no shy whispering or gentle cuddles. It had been wild and they enjoyed it all the more for that.

Colleen led him to the burn. Naked in the water, they made love again, less violently this time. She sat on his lap facing him, staring into his face with a hungry yearning, her gaze moving across his face as if she wanted to imprint his features on her memory forever. It was the first time in his life that Arran was able to believe perhaps time had no meaning in this hard and dreary world.

Lying on the plaid on the grass, drying themselves under the sun, Colleen spoke what was on her mind. "They will come back. I cannae stay at me home anymore."

"What time does Isla finish the harvest?" Arran wanted to know. "I wish we could lie here together until night comes, but yer sister might have something to say aboot that."

She giggled as she traced a blade of grass down his torso. "I can sense from the way that Isla prefers the companionship of her female friends now, that she is ready to begin looking for a lovelorn swain of her own. I very much fear that next harvest, or the one after that, she will leave her bed at night to make merry in the fields."

"Ten and six is a bonny age for dalliances, but does nae lead to much else. Let her cut her teeth on flirting first. Cherish yer sister. Time passes slow or fast, depending on the circumstances." Staring at the sky with his arms propping up his head, Arran's voice seemed far off and dreamy.

Sitting up and leaning on her elbow, Colleen looked at him closely. "Ye seem troubled, love. What ails ye?"

He laughed loud enough to scare the songbirds out of the trees. "The moment I lie still, me fate comes tapping on me shoulder, reminding me not to pass on me curse to others. I have no bairns and no wife. Nothing to pin me hopes on for the future." Sitting up abruptly, he turned to her, his black brows drawn together with fierce concentration. "I would never hold it against ye if ye strayed to find a man who could grow auld with ye, Colleen. A man who could give ye bairns."

Colleen laughed, got up and reached for her clothes. "It's you I love, dearest one, not yer abilities to beget bairns on me. Let's cross that bridge when we reach it, anyway. Nothing is ever set in stone."

He looked at her closely. "That's what me faither used to say. Because oor talismans all came from the same piece of stone." That caught Colleen's attention. "What stone? Where is it from? I have so many questions now I wish ye had nae given me that wee tidbit of information!"

He grinned, knotting the Aberkin plaid around his waist in a careless gesture. "We'd be here all day if I were to explain it to ye, lass. Let's get back to the cottage. Isla will be wanting her supper."

She probed him to share a bit more information, and he was surprisingly forthcoming. "How many years do ye have under yer belt, Arran?" He laughed before replying. "Och, sweetheart, it might interest ye to ken that I have passed by this way before. In fact, I helped a local laird fight off a band of pirates that had ventured inland by bringing their boats up Loch Ness. It was touch and go for a wee while, I'll not lie, because by the time we got there, they had gained the high ground. I think I had aboot five spear points sticking oot o' me by the time I broke through their shield wall."

"I never kent Aberkin was such an exciting place!" Colleen exclaimed. "I wish I had met ye then so that I might have always had ye by me side."

More seriously this time, he told her "Ye were not yet born, lass. And those were happier times. All the lairds lived to cooperate together to hold off the common enemy, with no one man trying to rise above the other."

Colleen gave him a cheeky smile. "I should nae have been calling ye ‘Master,' Arran, I should have called ye ‘Grandfaither!'"

Hugging her close to his chest after draping his arm over her shoulders, the mercenary kissed the top of her head. Removing the cord from around his neck, he placed it over Colleen's head. "More than friends and more than lovers, sweet Colleen, I think of ye as me family now."

That partof him which always tapped him on the shoulder, urging him to move on, was gone. Arran felt uplifted, happier than he could have ever believed possible. And it was not only because he was a man given unlimited access to a beautiful woman's body—it was because he was in love, and damn the consequences.

The cottage was no good for them now. They had to live somewhere else until Laird Torquil MacKenzie was vanquished. Always the strategist, Arran's mind was working overtime, thinking about how they could lure Torquil out of his stronghold and make him fight. He was far too clever to venture beyond his castle walls now that his squad of men had been so badly beaten.

One of the benefits of living in a close-knit community was that newcomers and spies would be flushed out very quickly. The drawback? News traveled.

"Yon ravenous laird will be waiting for news of me funeral, lass," he told Colleen as they cautiously approached the cottage. "Perhaps we can say ye healed me again?"

But Colleen was paying no attention to what he was saying. "There is no smoke coming out of the chimney…" quickening her pace, Colleen went inside. She shouted out to him. "Where lies the sun in the sky? How long were we by the burn?"

The shadows were lengthening and the air was cooling, a sure sign at this elevation in the mountainous region of the Highlands that evening was fast approaching. No maiden of four and ten years of age would dawdle along the dusty lanes once the sun began sinking westward. Isla's absence made no sense: she had the horse with her and there was no money for rogues to steal because the market was suspended until the harvest was finished.

Every parent warned their children about treacherous specters living in the woods and howling bogies lurking near deep pools of water. And then there was the very real threat of wolves. When Arran followed her inside, it was not so he could tell her what time of day it was.

"Stay here and put the animals to rest for the night. Keep yer eyes peeled for anyone lurking at the gate. If ye can, shepherd the geese to the front so they will alert ye to any intruders. I will run back to the village and fetch her back home." Kissing her on the cheek, he said in a more gentle voice whilst tying his boots on, "Dinnae worry yer sweet head aboot Isla, lass. Like ye said, she is as frisky as a lamb now that she's noticing boys for the first time."

Shaking her head, Colleen answered in a tremulous voice. "It is nae the boys I fret aboot, love. It is MacKenzie's men. If they were able to turn a blind eye while he was ravishing me, what's to stop them seeking out a young lassie all alone on the road for yon Torquil to taunt, or worse?"

Of course, that was foremost on Arran's mind too, but he pinched her chin and told her she was making a bull out of a flea. "I'll be back before ye know it. Dinnae open the gate until ye hear Isla's voice hollering for ye on the other side. There must be no more mistakes."

"Ewan was always very crafty, Arran. Please go carefully. I fear he bears ye a great grudge."

Heeding her words, he returned to the village by going through the forest. It was a nasty route, full of nettles, boggy ground, and swarming with midges, but the pesky insects seemed to stay clear of drinking Arran's blood although that did not stop them from flying into his mouth.

By the time he reached Aberkin, the harvest was over and the tavern was buzzing with raucous voices. The tavern keeper hailed him when he came in. "Sterling! We thought ye had left us to fend for oorselves! Where have ye been this past day?"

Arran was an untrusting man, but he could tell there was no bitterness in the tavern keeper's tone. It seemed as though the villagers had come to peace with the fact that their healer might have met her matrimonial match in the braw mercenary. "Did Ben the Shepherd deliver the message?"

One of the masters from the guild hall broke off drinking long enough to reply. "Aye. We were mighty relieved and might I add very curious to ken how ye did it. David has been uttering some dark predictions about yer uncanny strength and magical powers, Master. If the Wise Woman, Agnes, had nae told him to hush up and be gone, and take his suspicions with him, the lad might be here to ask ye a few pointed questions."

Trying his best to be polite, even though he was burning to leave, Arran remarked that no man should judge another until he has walked a mile in the other's shoes. "It's one thing to scorn a young lad for spewing forth the truth under threat of torture and death, and quite another thing to withstand the temptation under the same circumstances. Where's young Isla? I've come to fetch her home."

Margaret MacMillan, who made a habit out of following close behind Arran at every chance she got and hanging on his every word, piped up. "Isla? She left a while back. She told us that Colleen would want her back in time for supper. Stay and bide with us awhile, Master, and have a drink. Isla will be safely home by noo."

A few of the girls around her giggled at Margaret's boldness, but they backed her up. "Harvest's over, Master. It's time for a merry wassailing. Come, stay here with us."

He smiled, but backed away. "Not even another time, lassies. An auld man such as meself would look right foolish talking up a breeze with a gaggle o' youngsters."

Margaret's confident smile immediately melted off her face. Arran was not ashamed for dashing her hopes. He had too much experience with young maidens who needed no encouragement to fancy themselves madly in love with him. Touching the brim of his bonnet, he bowed. "A very good evening to ye all."