Page 25 of Forge of the Highlander’s Destiny

I n the morning, Cohen groaned at the feel of his aching arm.

He looked down at it, and it didn’t look swollen or anything around his bandage, but it was bloody painful.

And it was a rude awakening after he’d just emerged from beautiful warm, wet dreams with Arya riding his length, and then whispering into his ear that she loved him.

He remembered the sex, but he knew it had to be a dream, her telling him of her love. Even if it was a dream, it made him feel warm and happy. Then he had to wake up to remember that he had been shot in the arm yesterday, and they would need to find out who had done it.

“Good mornin’, Husband,” she purred beside him, and he reached for her, pulling her close.

“Good mornin’, Wife.” He placed a kiss on her nose, loving this domestic scene they portrayed. This was his life now, and he couldn’t be more grateful. Except that there was a dark pall over it all…the mystery traitor and the man who shot the bow.

She leaned up to give him a deeper kiss, and he chuckled after he’d kissed her properly. “I think I am rather happy to have a wife who is insatiable.”

“Good. Because I am enjoyin’ findin’ that out about meself too.” She reached her hand down to grasp his length underneath the blanket. He was already hard and at attention, especially with her warm, curvy body folded around him.

“Well?” she asked, stroking him, lifting a questioning brow.

He leaned back and put his one hand behind his head. “Ye may do with me what ye like, Lady Sinclair. I am yers.”

She laughed and straddled him again riding him until they were both breathless, and he felt her muscles tremble on top of him. “I daenae think I will ever get enough of that,” she said before kissing his earlobe.

“Good,” he said, drained in a warm, satisfied way. “Nor I. Now,” he said, sitting up with a little grimace, “I feel hungrier than a wolf.” He frowned. “Och, perhaps that was nae the wisest animal to choose. A boar?”

“Excellent,” she said, standing up and lifting him to his feet. “Let us go to breakfast.” She dressed and helped him dress, and then they were walking down the steps, Cohen with his arm cocked into his side.

“Will it always be like this?” Arya asked, leaning her head against his shoulder. “So simple and easy. Walkin’ down to the mornin’ meal as if we had always done it?”

Cohen smiled, remembering the wonderful dream he’d had about hearing Arya tell him she loved him. He kissed her on the head. “I hope so, Lass. I hope so.”

Once they were seated in the great hall, waiting for breakfast to be brought, Cohen sat and watched Arya for a little while.

“What?” she asked, her cheeks blushing pink. “What are ye lookin’ at?”

“Ye, Lass.” He grinned, loving that he could make her blush so easily. “I always like to look at ye, and now that I am yer husband, I can look me fill. Before I had to try and steal glances at ye.”

“Truly?” she said, chuckling.

“Aye. And I never wanted to look away.”

Arya blushed even more and looked away as the servants began to bring food to the table.

Cohen noticed how without being asked, Arya helped him cut a few things, since his arm was hurting, and his heart swelled with love.

He wanted to tell her so badly, and he’d been about to do it yesterday on the hunt when that damned arrow had caught him.

Can I tell her now? Or should I wait for a better place?

He took a breath to speak when Arya interrupted him. “So what do ye think we should dae to figure out who shot the arrows?”

She was frowning and tapping her fingers nervously on the table.

Cohen reached out to take them in his hand, and he smoothed a thumb over her knuckles.

“I think we should have Malcolm and the men search the woods. See if they can find anythin’ that might lead us to who might have done this.

But I have a feelin’, like I said, that it is yer faither or one of his men.

It would be far too strange for me to have been kidnapped and then also almost killed by two different people with two different goals. ”

“I ken.” She nodded sadly. “I am sorry, Cohen. If ye had nae taken me back with ye, then ye might nae be in so much danger.”

“I daenae think so. I was leavin’ yer faither’s dungeon either way! He wants me for somethin’, and I shudder to think what.” Cohen dropped her hand, and they ate in silence for a few minutes, both of them thinking of the grim shadow her father made over their lives.

After a little while, he said, “Ye have nothin’ to apologize for, Arya. Remember that.”

“I—” she stopped, and they both turned their heads when the great hall doors swung open, and a small group of men entered with a very familiar man leading the way: Laird Muir.

“Good day to ye both!” he called in an uncharacteristically cheery voice.

Arya felt like her heart stopped, and that ice moved through her veins.

She dropped the fork in her hands, and it clattered loudly against the plate, filling the hall with a sharp sound.

She winced, but then she locked eyes with her father, standing before her looking both smug and oddly happy.

He looked a little weathered from travel, and his clothes were slightly rumpled.

But that didn’t diminish the presence he brought with him: power taken by force.

“Arya,” he said, coming close to her, reaching out his hand, when Cohen got to his feet and stood in front of her, blocking her father’s movement.

“Laird Muir, what is it ye are doin’ here?

” he asked, and Arya swallowed back the tears at Cohen’s kind gesture of protection.

While she loathed weakness and fear, she was so grateful that now she didn’t have to face her father alone again.

Never again would she have to feel his wrath against her without having someone there to protect her.

This gesture of Cohen’s made her feel more love than if he’d actually said the words.

“I came to congratulate ye both. On yer weddin’.

” Her father grinned, showing all his teeth, and Arya felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She had hardly ever seen him smile, and all the times he did, there was something terrible behind it.

His dark eyes even seemed to sparkle with some sort of terrible enjoyment.

“Och, I see,” Cohen replied, sounding confused.

“Aye, I decided to head yer way on me way elsewhere on a bit of business, ye see, and so I wanted to say congratulations to me eldest daughter on findin’ herself a laird to marry. What a fine thing, Arya. Better that than to have ye return home. I can wash me hands of ye.”

He grinned again, and she shuddered, afraid that if Cohen would somehow be overpowered in that moment, her father would punish her in horrible ways. At least Malcolm and his men were also in the room, looking on at the interaction warily.

“What has happened to ye, Lad?” he asked, looking down at Cohen’s arm.

“Arrow,” Cohen said stiffly. “What I cannae conceive, Laird Muir, is how ye have come here without an explanation of why ye put me in yer dungeon? Or yer daughter for that matter.”

“All in the past, Lad,” her father said, chuckling in a sort of wheezing voice, as if he wasn’t used to merriment. He reached out and patted Cohen hard on the shoulder, the shoulder of the arm that had been hit. Arya finally stood when she saw Cohen pale with pain, and she reached out for him.

“Och,” her father laughed. “I see there is some feelin’ between ye.

That is somethin’ at least, even if it is foolish.

I wouldnae trust her, Cohen, if I were ye.

She is a brutal lass, and never was good at followin’ orders.

I never thought that she would make a good wife, unless a man was willin’ to break her.

She may be kind to ye now, but believe me, when she argues, ye will need to subdue her a little. ”

Cohen stepped forward, his expression furious, but Arya held him back. As much as she wanted to see her father pummeled into the ground, she couldn’t risk Cohen’s arm and him getting injured more for doing something so useless.

“Well, I doubt there will be much more of a warm reception here for me, so I will take me leave,” her father said, flashing his eyes at her as he backed away. “Congratulations again, daughter.” He turned to leave, and Arya finally found her voice.

“Faither,” she called. “What of Olivia? How does she fare?”

Another wave of sickly dread seized her stomach as he turned around slowly, with a wicked grin on his face.

“Olivia fares well, even though ye left her on her own and disappeared with this man to save yer own skin. Foolish, selfish girl,” he said, shaking his head.

Arya bit the tears back. She refused to cry in front of him.

She’d been successful all these years, but now that Olivia’s future and safety hung in the balance, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to make it through.

“She will fare even better soon,” he said with a wider grin. “For I will be marryin’ her off to a nearby laird. Laird Brennan. Ye ken him, nearly seventy-years old, the man is. But he needs an heir, and he has paid me handsomely for her.”

“Paid ye?” Cohen asked, incredulous. “For yer own daughter?”

“Aye,” her father replied sharply. “And I will ask ye to stay out of me affairs, Laird Sinclair. She is me daughter, after all. Me last daughter, and she is far more amenable than this one here.” He pointed at Arya.

“Get out,” Cohen said loudly, stepping closer to her father, and Arya touched his arm again, but more words wouldn’t come out. She felt sick, like she was going to fall to the floor in a heap.

Och, Olivia, I am so sorry.

“Of course, of course,” her father said, raising his hands and smiling as he left the hall.

Arya nearly fell into Cohen’s arms, and he wrapped one around her. She let her tears loose, crying against his chest. He touched her hair and whispered against her head.

“I am so sorry, Lass,” he said. “That should never have happened. But he is gone now. Gone.”

“But Olivia!” Arya cried, pulling away from him, her tears making her vision blurry. “We need to save her, Cohen. It is time now. We cannae wait until she is married and out of our reach! We need to leave now. Ye must let me go and get her.”

Cohen’s jaw clenched, and he tried to pull her close to him again, but she resisted. “Nay, Lass. I cannae do that.”