Chapter 4

It was soon very clear to Brutus – he had to keep that name firmly in his mind, to keep from falling into the old habits of his former life – that time and her impending marriage hadn't changed Reyna's nature one bit.

She was angry at him, angrier than she'd ever been at Blake Sinclair, and even facing the fate she'd dreaded as a young lass hadn't dampened her spirit. The years had certainly not tamed her tongue or her wits, and she made full use of them as they rode. He was glad of the arm he was using to hold her in place in front of him. He was very sure that without that restraint she'd have either slipped a knife between his ribs or jumped from his horse and made a run for it at the first opportunity, despite her words to her father.

As it was, she was not at all shy about asking questions, or letting him know exactly what she thought of him, at least once she got over the shock of being manhandled onto his horse without so much as a by-yer-leave. "Tessa told me o' yer reputation. Is it true?"

He shrugged. "Parts o' it."

"Which parts?"

He shrugged again. "Whichever parts ye like."

She scowled up at him. "Ye ken ye're famed throughout the Highlands fer yer temper, and also yer skill? Are ye really such a great warrior, or are ye nae more than the boggle in the night tae scare little children?"

"I'm aware o' how I'm seen. But I am what I am, and make o' that what ye will." he was tempted to defend himself to her, but knew that if he did, he'd surely give himself away. It was difficult enough to avoid saying something foolish in their present circumstances.

Her lip curled. "Make o' it what I will? And what then, am I tae make o' a man who was rude enough tae toss me up intae his saddle like a sack o' grain and drag me away from me kinfolk, without even giving me the option of a carriage, or even a mount o' me own, fer a two-day ride?"

He knew it was dangerous to engage in any sort of argument or discussion with her, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Being in her presence was a heady feeling and provoking her was like having a fifth glass of potent scotch – he knew it was a foolish move that would come back to haunt him later, but the burn and the heat that followed were worth it, and far better than the icy silence that was the alternative. "Ye can make o' it that I'm a warrior loyal tae me laird. ‘Twas he that commanded I bring ye with all haste, and carriages are slower than a rider. Likewise, two riders on separate horses are oft slower than one rider, or two riders on one horse."

"Isnae as comfortable, and mayhap nae as safe."

Blake smirked at her. "Well, if that's what yer worried about… I'd say ye're fair spoiled, and it's glad I am that I've got ye safe in hand, if yer riding skills are nae up tae a journey like this."

The accusation of being spoiled was a deliberate attempt to needle her, and from the heat that flared in her eyes, it had worked. She hit him on the arm with one delicate fist. "I'm nae spoiled, and I can ride well enough, and mayhap better than ye! But I think ‘tis a poor start tae our life taegether that me husband-tae-be cannae even see tae me comfort, or consider it when making plans tae bring me tae his keep fer the first time!"

Blake grimaced. As little as he liked to think about it, she wasn't wrong in her words. And he knew quite well that she was neither spoiled, nor a poor rider, but the fact that Oran Murray hadn't made much effort to concern himself with those facts did not speak well of the relationship the two were going to have as a wedded couple.

Then again, he'd known for a long time what sort of man Laird Oran Murray was, and he was well aware that Reyna had disliked the man for far longer.

At length, he tipped his head to regard her. "Ye'll tak' it as ye will, but dinnae pretend that ye've nae idea what sort o' man yer new betrothed is. I'm sure ye've heard the rumors about his temper and his attitude toward women."

She shivered and looked away from him. He almost regretted unnerving her so, but it was better that she be on her guard, rather than permitting herself to think that Laird Oran was anything other than what he was – cold and ruthless.

A second later, he was yanked from those thoughts, and nearly from his saddle as she tried to wrench herself free. "Stop!"

He pulled the horse to a stop, more because he was afraid of unseating them both than because he intended to listen to her. "What the devil are we stopping fer? Ye ken we've a long way tae ride."

"I ken but let me down. Those flowers are perfect for healing and strengthening teas, and I've nae any in me stores!" She pointed at a collection of plants a little way off the road.

"Ye can get healing herbs and flowers later, or elsewhere. Tis nae a concern fer the moment, when the laird has bid us make all haste."

He started to lift his hand to coax the horse back into motion, but she grabbed his wrist as fiercely as she was able to and twisted to glare up at him. "Ye'll stop and let me down so I can get me herbs, or I'll find a way tae break free and jump, and I dinnae care what the end result is. Ye decide if Laird Murray will be more angered by a small delay tae gather herbs, or a longer one because his bride-tae-be fell off yer horse and injured herself."

He scowled, but she was right, and the gleam in her eyes said she knew it. He supposed he could tie her to the saddle, then keep going, but he knew she'd not make it an easy task for him, and the delay would probably be longer than it would take for her to gather her flowers.

With a heavy sigh, he released her. "Go on then. But dinnae stray far, or tak' long."

"'Twill be less than half a candle-mark." She hopped down, using his arm to steady her. Once she was safely on the ground, a bundle of sachets and a basket from her bags in hand, he swung down as well.

To her credit, she made no attempt to break free or run away. She simply marched straight to the flowers she'd indicated and began harvesting.

Blake watched her, a soft, fond smile tugging at his mouth, since she couldn't see it. It was good to see she'd never changed in this regard. Ten years, and she was still the same passionate herbalist he'd known, the woman he'd affectionately called "Little witch."

He hadn't intended to speak the words aloud, but it had been so long – ten lonely years with nothing but the memories and wistful dreams of their shared days in the meadow to cling to – that the sight pulled his youthful nickname for her from his lips before he could even think to stop it. He spoke softly, and for a brief moment he thought she was too far away to hear the words, and his momentary weakness would do no harm. Then Reyna stiffened. Blake went cold as she straightened and turned slowly to face him, her eyes wide and the small trimming blades near-forgotten in her hands. "What did ye say?"

* * *

The ride with Brutus Murray was easily one of the most uncomfortable Reyna had ever endured in her life. His bulk crowded too close to her in the saddle for her to feel at ease, and his arm felt like a trap where it circled her waist.

And yet, despite her discomfort, she hadn't really fought him or tried to escape. For all her determination to despise him, there was something about him, like that little glimmer of recognition she'd felt on seeing him for the first time, that kept her from struggling too much. His ruggedly handsome face and masculine scent were oddly alluring. Likewise, his confident, cold demeanor irritated her, but at the same time, she could appreciate his candor in regard to Laird Murray's nature, even though it unnerved her. And it was interesting, and comforting, to be able to verbally spar with him. She'd been afraid, given Tessa's warning, that he'd hit her or gag her the minute she defied or irritated him. Instead, he let her speak her mind, and sometimes argued back. Even when his only response was an offhand ‘make of it what ye will', it was better than being ignored or treated like she was some sort of chattel, intended to be seen and not heard.

It confused her and left her feeling more flustered than she was comfortable with. She'd been prepared to despise him, for being Laird Murray's man, for being Laird Murray's kin, or simply even for being a cold, unpleasant brute. But the more they sparred, the more she found herself thinking she might have met someone from Murray clan that she could almost have a cordial relationship with.

The sight of those flowers, bright little flickers against the soft gray heather, was a gift from the gods. She badgered him into letting her down, and was just working her way through her second spray of flowers when she heard him whisper a phrase she hadn't heard anyone say to, or about her, in ten years.

Little witch. There was only one person in all of the Highlands who'd ever called her that, especially with that tone. She turned to face him, scarcely aware of the slim harvesting tools she held in one hand.

Blue eyes, raven-colored hair, and the expression he hadn't quite erased from his face before she turned around. A crooked little half smile that teased one corner of his mouth and gentled the lines of his face. Now that she was looking for it, all the signs were there. The face had changed much over the years, but it still belonged to the lad she'd known so many years ago – the boy she thought she'd mourned and thought lost forever. "Blake…"

She half-hoped he'd look confused, perhaps frown and ask who she was talking about. Instead, she saw alarm wash over the scarred features. She thought for a moment that he might deny it, even though that fleeting expression told her the truth. Then he took a deep breath and stepped closer. "Reyna... lass…"

Herbs forgotten, she flung herself at him, hammering at his chest with her fists as all the feelings she'd been forced to set aside and ignore over the past ten years came roaring to life like a bonfire with a spark cast into it. "Ten years! Ten years ye've been gone and nae a word! Why? How could ye leave me there, with nae a word, nae explanation! Ye disappeared, and there was nae one I could turn tae fer answers! Why did ye dae that?"

She shuddered, caught on the cusp between fury and pain, heart aching with a feeling of betrayal she wasn't sure she could endure.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, bigger and more callused than she remembered, but just as gentle. "Reyna... lass... calm yerself. I ken ye're angry, and I dinnae fault ye. But I cannae answer ye if ye dinnae let me. I didn't intend fer ye tae find out the truth this way Reyna, so please…"

She knew what she'd seen in his face, and suspected he'd never intended for her to know the truth at all. The thought hurt, like the bite of nettles. She gulped back more screams and fought the hot sting of tears in her eyes. For several seconds, all she could do was stand there and take deep breaths. And while she sought calm, several other things came to mind at once.

He'd called himself Brutus Murray when he came to fetch her. He was also clad in Murray clan colors.

She raised her eyes to meet his. "Ye're a Murray now. Was that the plan all along, tae woo me until ye learned all our secrets? Was all yer concern fer me a trap, tae drive me family intae the arms of the enemy?"

An even more horrible thought occurred to her, one she could scarcely bear to voice. "Blake... did ye kidnap me braither Finlay, tae force me intae a marriage with a man I despise?"

There was a brief moment of silence, a hesitation she didn't like and didn't trust, before he spoke. "I didnae kidnap yer braither."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted it with her whole heart. And yet... how could she trust any word he spoke? His last words to her had been a lie, a lie that had brought her nothing but pain and a year of grief and loneliness. She felt more tears welling up, choking her and making it hard to breathe. "Ye bastard... ye faithless, pox-blasted, son of a kelpie... dae ye ken what ye put me through? A whole year I waited, coming tae that meadow every day, hoping tae see ye again."

She punctuated the words with another series of blows to his chest, uncaring of how much it made her hands ache. At some point, she'd dropped, or put down the picking shears, but she was too distraught to remember doing so. At that moment, she didn't care where they'd ended up either, as she poured out her anguish.

"I waited, ye heartless goblin spawn, fer any word from ye. I even sent a letter tae yer cousin, but he wouldnae tell me aught more than the official notice o' yer faither's passing said. And then, even when I could nae longer bring meself tae come tae the meadow, I kept hoping fer a word, a letter...

She swallowed hard. "A year I waited, and ever since then I've grieved... Ten years, Blake… ten years and now I find ye wearing the colors o' me clan's mortal enemy, leading me intae the grasp o' the one-man ye swore I'd never face marriage tae. Kenning that, how could I possibly trust a word out o' yer lying mouth? And why would I want tae even try, kenning that all the tears I've shed fer ye were utterly meaningless?"

She wanted him to say something, but he just stood there. When he finally did speak, it was only to mutter a soft "I'm sorry, Reyna." He gave her no explanation. No answers. No solace.

She jerked back, suddenly unable to bear being close to him, and swiped the moisture from her burning eyes as hurt transformed to anger. "Keep yer apologies, fer they're as worthless as the rest o' yer words, and I want none o' them. I'm through shedding tears fer the likes o' ye... Brutus."

She spat the last word, then turned on her heel and bolted toward the woods and away from him, horse and basket and herbs all forgotten. Nothing mattered anymore, save getting as far away from him as possible.