Chapter Thirteen

She awoke cocooned in warmth and cradled against a rock-hard surface. She opened her eyes to find Graeme’s concerned gaze a hairsbreadth from hers. “Thank the gods ye’ve awoken.”

The worry in his voice surprised her, as did the way her belly tightened being so near him. And his smell... by the gods, the man smelled divine—of wood and fire and fresh air. “How long have I been out?” she asked, her voice coming out in a creak. My, but she was parched. Before she could even ask for something to drink, Graeme was pressing the wine skin to her lips.

“Here, and take a hefty swallow. I was just about to clean yer wound and dress it.”

She started to sit up, and that’s when she realized she was actually in Graeme’s lap. Her bottom was nestled against his groin, and her hand—She snatched her hand from between his legs where it had been lying against his man parts.

“Dunnae fash yerself,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve been far too concerned for ye to be struck by desire.”

“Well, ’tis nice to hear ye dunnae wish me dead,” she replied, sitting up with Graeme’s help.

“Of course, I dunnae,” he replied. As she started to try to stand, he stopped her with a hand to her back and one to her shoulder. “Let me help ye.” He lifted her off him to set her on the rock he’d been sitting on. He stood, unwound his plaid, spread it on the ground, then held his hand out to her as he nodded toward the fabric. She had to force herself to look away from him. His body was a testament to his physical training. He was all muscle and no fat, and without his plaid on, she had a very good view of the way his braes clung to his hips.

“Ye can rest yer back against the rock,” he said, interrupting her sinful thoughts, “so ye’ll be more comfortable when I cleanse yer wound.”

She nodded, feeling foolish and a little lightheaded, which was no surprise given she had nothing in her stomach. She set her hand in his, and his grip tightened around hers as his other hand came to her back with a tenderness she had not expected from such a big man.

He lowered her to the ground, then crouched in front of her with his forearms resting on his knees. “Ye gave me a fright when ye fainted.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m the one who should apologize for nae ensuring ye had nae been injured, feeding ye a proper meal, and making ye a shelter for a good rest. But I’ll be doing all that from now on.”

If he continued to act like this, it would be very easy to come to care for him, which would be foolish unless he gave up his vengeance against her brother. She blinked with surprise at her own thoughts.

He held the wine skin between them. “Take one more swing. The Wound Fire will burn.”

“What’s Wound Fire?”

He held up a small black pouch. “’Tis a cleansing potion for cuts that the healer at my home has us all travel with. It will hopefully stop the infection, but I’ve seen grown men weep when doused with it. Of course, my sister, Sorcha, was also dosed with it, but she did nae weep. But then, she’s as tough as steel.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m just as tough as yer sister, so I’ll nae weep,” she declared, praying she didn’t make herself look the fool.

“Lie back and close yer eyes,” he said.

“Nay. I’ll watch. It will be worse if I dunnae ken what’s coming.”

With a nod, he said, “I’m going to pull up the edge of yer undergarment now, but I’ll tell ye when I’m going to cleanse it.”

“Verra well,” she said, her heart starting to beat harder in dreadful anticipation. Cool air caressed her heated skin as he gently lifted the material away. He had leaned over her, so she could see no more than the top of his head and very broad shoulders. He sat up and held a stick out to her. “Clench this between yer teeth and bite down.”

She did as he’d instructed, and before she knew what was happening, he took her right hand with his, gripped her around the wrist, and then dumped the contents of the small black pouch on her cut. The liquid burned like fire into her skin. She arched up, whipped her left hand up to smack him, spit out the stick and bellowed, “’Tis burning my skin off!”

He gripped her left forearm and brought it between them to join with her right. “’Tis nae burning yer skin off,” he said, his voice soothing.

Her throat tightened with the need to cry, her eyes began to water, and her nose tingled. “I’m going to cry,” she whispered, feeling alone and beaten.

“Nay, lass.” He released her hand to cup her cheek. “Ye said ye would nae, and ye are a lass of yer word.”

“The pain is too great,” she said on a shudder. “I need a distraction.”

He released her other hand, stood, scooped her into his arms, and settled beside the plaid he’d laid on the ground for her. She didn’t protest his holding her so intimately. It gave her the comfort and protection that she desperately needed. He settled her on his lap, against his chest, and he brought the plaid over her legs. Then he slowly ran his fingertips gently through her hair as he hummed a soft tune. With a contented sigh, she settled her cheek against his chest, listening to his song and the steady beat of his heart. Her pain faded as she sat there, and her eyes became so heavy she could no longer keep them open.

She awoke snuggled in the plaid, with another one under her head, and the smell of rabbit roasting. In front of her, Graeme crouched with a stick in hand, a rabbit speared on it. He held it over the fire, turning it as he sang the same tune he’d been humming when she had fallen asleep. She smiled to herself. He had a tender side to him, though she suspected it was hard for him to show it, especially to her.

She thought back to the events of the night—his gentle touches, his concern for her injuries, the thoughtful way he gave her a stick to bite gathered her in his arms to comfort her. Her wound throbbed but another ache joined it. This one was deep in her core, and as she lay watching Graeme, still bare from hip bone to head, she knew what she was feeling was desire. Strong, powerful desire.

She had never felt this sort of pull to Aidan. Aidan had been by her brother’s side as long as she could remember as his closest friend, and she had developed a liking for him because he was a good, kind person. He had always treated her with respect and as though her opinion mattered. And when her world had been turned upside down by her father’s death, he had been there, telling her it would be all right and sticking by her family’s side when others had scorned them. She appreciated his loyalty, and though she had developed tender feelings for him, she knew for certain now that he did not stir a passion within her.

Just looking at Graeme made butterflies turn in her stomach. She feared she could fall for him if she wasn’t careful, and what then? Before the question could be mulled over, he turned to look at her and gave her a half grin that made her heart lurch. That was exactly how she wanted her husband to make her feel. Well, she wanted love, too, of course, and given his visceral hatred of her brother, she didn’t think he would ever allow soft feelings to develop for her as long as he thought Brody treacherous. Besides, she could not allow feelings to develop for him, either, because then she’d be torn in her loyalty.

“Ye’re awake,” he said, rising and coming to her.

“Aye, only just,” she fibbed and sat up.

He kneeled in front of her and plucked a piece of the rabbit off the stick. “I thought ye might be hungry, so I cooked a rabbit.”

“Ye made me a camp?” she asked, looking around.

“Aye.”

She took a bite of rabbit he held out to her. She moaned. “’Tis delicious. How did ye learn to cook a rabbit like this?”

“One of the monks at the abbey, Gaufrid, taught me, though he was nae supposed to.”

“What do ye mean he was nae supposed to?”

“Bernard forbade me being taught any useful skills, and he was almost always our shadow when we were nae locked up, so it was impossible to try to teach myself. But sometimes Gaufrid would make up a reason he needed my services, such as carrying something heavy for him, and when I was with him one of those times, he showed me how to cook a rabbit should I ever learn to hunt.”

Her heart ached for what he’d endured. She chewed the piece of meat slowly, trying to think of what to say. She didn’t want him to think she pitied him, but she wanted him to know how wrong she thought it was that he was kept there and denied the life he should have led. “I am sorry my da sent ye there.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, and she could see him struggling with what to say. “I believe ye, Maisie,” he finally replied, his voice jagged at the edges.

“Ye hate my da?” she guessed.

“Aye. He and the Lord of the Isles killed my parents and destroyed my family.”

“He did nae kill ye,” she said, knowing it was foolish but wanting him to find some semblance of good in her da.

He shook his head. “Nay, he did nae kill me, but he had me locked away, and I ken he did nae ever plan to release me. I kinnae say why yer da chose that instead of murdering me, too. Mayhap he felt it an act of kindness. But I kinnae say it was. Life at the abbey was demoralizing and hellish, but it did make me into a survivor.” His words had taken on a hard, ruthless edge.

“It filled ye with a dark thirst for revenge, too,” she pointed out.

“Can ye blame me? I was worked near to death, beaten like a criminal, and nae allowed to learn the basic skills a man needs to ken, such as hunting and wielding a sword.”

She frowned. “But ye ken how to hunt.”

“Aye. My brother taught me when I returned. He also taught me how to wield a sword.”

She thought of her own brother on the training fields since he was a lad, learning to wield a sword, shoot a bow and arrow, throw a dagger, and use his fists. “Nae kenning those things must have made ye feel helpless.”

“That was the point: to keep me demoralized so I’d nae ever be braw enough to try to escape.”

“But it did nae work,” she said.

“Nay, it did nae. Eppie wouldn’t allow it, and neither would Gaufrid. He taught me how to use my fists at great risk to himself, and he trusted me nae ever to turn that power on him.”

“He must have believed ye verra honorable to teach ye a skill ye could use to kill him.”

“Aye,” Graeme said, a fond smile coming to him. “That he did.”

“What happened to him?”

“He got a cough and gurgle in his lungs that killed him. I... well, I came to think upon him almost like a da.”

She didn’t miss the way his voice caught on the last word. Sadness for him flooded her. He’d been torn from his family as a child, kept imprisoned and ignorant of life skills, and then the man who’d shown him kindness had died.

“I kinnae hate ye,” she whispered, understanding it fully in that moment.

“Nay?” He moved closer toward her, almost closing the distance.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Nay. I ken I should, but I understand yer dark anger after all ye have been through, though the man responsible for the plight ye endured is dead.”

“One surely is, but the other lives.”

She sighed. “We will have to agree to disagree for now.”

“I kinnae hate ye, either, though I surely am foolish nae to.”

She felt her lips pull to a smile. “Nay?”

“Nay. Ye risked yer life to save me and Eppie, and then Eppie again. Ye’re braw, but ye’re stubborn, and ye’re loyal, though ’tis woefully misplaced. If ye could only see the truth...” He shrugged. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what the “if” was, but she could not help but wonder if he, too, had mused on what they might look like together if they didn’t hold two opposing beliefs about her brother.

She couldn’t bring herself to ask him what he had meant, but she could speak a bit of her own heart. “If ye give up yer need for revenge once my brother is proven—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Let’s nae have that argument again.”

She nodded.

“I’m bone weary,” he said softly, “and I imagine ye are, too.”

She brushed his finger away from her lips. “Aye, I am that,” she agreed. As they stood, she was filled with disappointment. She’d half hoped he’d kiss her again. They made their way to the shelter she was going to sleep in, but just as they got to it, a howl rose in the night.

She grabbed his arm with a yelp. “What was that?”

“A wolf,” he responded, and held back the plaid hanging as a door on the makeshift shelter, and waved her in. “Yer bedchamber awaits.”

“If ye think I’m sleeping in this tent alone now that I ken there are wolves nearby, ye’re mistaken.”

“There is nae much room in the shelter,” he said.

Ah, he did not want to sleep in the shelter with her. She knew she shouldn’t let his reaction hurt her feelings, but it did. “I want ye to protect me. I dunnae intend to seduce ye, so ye dunnae need to fash yerself. Ye can stay on yer side of the shelter, and I’ll stay on mine.”