Page 4 of Love Me Forever (Highland Duo #2)

R oyce slowly spooned the broth into Brianna’s mouth. With the first delicious taste she realized she was hungry, and she eagerly waited for each spoonful. He was patient with her, taking his time, not forcing her to hurry.

She had not expected that of him; he was, after all, a warrior. She did not think patience was a warrior’s trait. They seemed ever ready to charge into battle thinking little of the consequences. She was discovering that he was a far different warrior than most.

‘Tell me when you have had enough,” he said.

She kept steady eyes on him where he sat beside her on the bed with bowl in hand. His ravaged face was familiar to her now, and she did not think to look away in horror.

“It is good.”

Royce tried to smile, but his mending lips allowed but a brief curve before the pain forced compliance. “It is a simple broth and will help you to gain strength.”

“You need to gain strength as well,” she said, acknowledging that she was not the only one who required healing.

“We can mend together.”

“But I can do nothing to help you mend.”

He heard the disappointment in her voice and was surprised that even in her painful state she gave his wounds concern. “You provide me with companionship.”

“A companion who must have constant care.”

“Enjoy my attention, for I am not known for it.”

She caught the gleam in his dark green eyes and realized he teased her. She smiled before accepting another spoonful of broth.

A sudden gust of wind whipped around outside the small cottage and was followed by a clap of thunder. Raindrops fell hard after that, and soon the steady downpour took on a soothing rhythm as darkness covered the land.

She relaxed and found it easy to ask him, “What are you known for?”

He could not help but grin and suffered the price. His swollen lip throbbed with pain and he winced.

“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

“I am but reminded that pride is a sin.”

She laughed softly. ‘Tell me of this pride.”

The gleam in his eye remained. “I think it wiser that I do not.”

She took no offense to his refusal. She understood that he teased her, though she was also aware that he did not volunteer information on himself. Was he guarding secrets? Was he reluctant to trust her?

She yawned, fatigue creeping up on her.

‘Try to rest.” He stood; the bowl he held near empty.

“You like giving orders.”

It was as if she understood his way and thought nothing of it; perhaps she was familiar to obeying, and then the thought struck him. Was she wed? She had traveled alone with but two men to guard her. Was she going to join a husband or had she been promised and yet to wed?

His immediate response was to ask—and yet he held his tongue. In time he would learn all about her—the inclement weather would see to that, making the roads difficult to travel and covering their tracks so there would be no trail to follow.

She would belong to him if only for a while, and he would see that she was well tended, well protected.

This need to protect her haunted him. She appeared fragile, but he did not assume she was delicate.

There was courage and a tenacity about her that sparked strength in her. She was by no means a weak woman.

He returned to the side of the bed and spoke bluntly though gently. “I need to examine your bruises and see how they fare.”

Her eyes rounded, her fatigue faded, and she tensed, a look of fright crossing her face.

He ran a tender hand over her warm cheek. “You need not fear me.”

Fear of him was not on her mind. Fear of being naked and vulnerable in front of him weighed heavily on her mind.

But those were her fears to contend with and caused by a selfish husband, and presently she should be more concerned about her injuries than being naked in front of a man.

But old habits could not help but haunt her, and she saw no way out of her dilemma.

She had no choice but to allow him to tend her, no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel.

She did attempt, however, to put off the inevitable. “I am tired.”

“It will take but a moment.” He reached for the edge of the blanket.

“I am very tired,” she said with an urgent fright.

Royce sat down beside her on the bed and brushed a stubborn strand of hair off her cheek. When it would not remain where he placed it, he tucked it gently behind her ear. ‘Tell me, Brianna, are you wed?”

“I am a widow.”

Was that relief he felt? “Then you have known a man.”

“Only my husband.”

He heard disappointment in her voice, not sadness but disappointment.

Did she not mourn her husband? He would find out more in time.

“Then you have felt a man’s touch and mine will not be foreign to you.

I may not be your husband, but I am a man concerned for your wellbeing and only wish to see to your care. ”

She believed him. Though he was a stranger and a warrior who probably wielded a sword more deftly than a gentle hand, still she believed him.

He recognized the resignation in her eyes, and he slowly slipped the blanket down to rest at her waist. He kept his look impersonal, though he could not help but admire the swell of her full breasts as his fingers gently probed the bruises on her ribs.

His fingertips unintentionally brushed beneath her breasts, just a faint skim across her soft flesh.

She stiffened and turned her face from his.

He immediately thought he hurt her, for his intentions were not of intimacy. “I am sorry, I do not mean to cause you pain.”

She could not explain her pain to him, for it was an emotional scar she had yet to deal with, so she chose to present a false bravado. “I am all right.”

He moved the blanket farther down, exposing her completely.

She was about to shut her eyes when she thought better of her cowardly actions. It would serve her well to know the full extent of her injuries. She forced her eyes to follow his hands.

His fingers ran over the lower part of her stomach, and she felt a slight discomfort. He then ran his hand over her right hip, and she winced in pain.

“That wound seems to be one of your worst,” he said and moved his hand down her right leg.

From his touch she could tell that her right side had suffered the most damage, though her left ankle was badly swollen. She suddenly recalled being thrown against the inside of the coach, her right side slamming viciously against the door, and how soon after she had lost consciousness.

She thought him done and was surprised when his hand traveled slowly back up her leg.

“Can you move your legs apart, Brianna?” he asked, giving her an encouraging glance.

She looked oddly at him.

“You have a bruise on the inside of your thigh that I did not notice when I first examined you.”

She accepted his explanation and attempted to move her legs but choked on the pain that gripped her.

“Easy,” he cautioned, his long, lean fingers stroking her thigh gently until her pain subsided. “I will move them for you. Relax and do not worry. I will not hurt you.”

Brianna listened to his soft yet strong voice, which soothed her, and she did as he instructed; though when his hand spread her legs and slipped close to the warmth between them, she stiffened and caused herself pain.

He thought he had caused her pain, and he attempted to rectify his mistake by gently stroking the bruised area, which ran completely around to the back of her thigh just beneath her backside.

“I am sorry,” he said softly and continued stroking her.

Surprisingly, she found herself relaxing and all her worries fading until her eyes drifted shut and she thought of nothing but his tender touch.

He did not wish to disturb her, she looked so content, but he did need to turn her on her side so he could take a look at her back. And he needed to stop stroking her for the sake his own sanity.

“I need to turn you,” he said a bit more sharply than he intended.

She seemed not to notice and simply nodded her approval.

He slipped his arm to rest between her full breasts, and with his one hand on her shoulder for support he eased her over on her side with his other hand.

She winced and her delicate hand grabbed hold of his arm, giving it a squeeze.

“I will hurry,” he said and saw that her back held fewer bruises than the front of her. A touch here and there told him what he needed to know. He then carefully eased her over on her back and covered her with the warm wool blanket.

Her sigh was deep and she shivered.

He tucked the blanket around her. “Are you comfortable?”

“Aye, and tired.” She yawned.

“Sleep.”

His word sounded like a whispered command, and she smiled, her eyes drifting shut. He was a warrior but a gentle one. How very strange.

Royce watched a smile light her face and he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon.

Sleep claimed her as soon as her eyes closed, and her body relaxed beneath the blanket

She had been uncomfortable being naked in front of him and why not? He was a stranger, and how did she know if she could trust him? But she had handled herself well and had hid her fear and doubt, demonstrating a false courage, which took bravery.

He wondered over her husband. Had she loved him and favored his touch or had it been an arranged marriage that brought her no happiness?

The sound of disappointment in her voice when she had mentioned her husband left him curious.

He wished to learn all he could about her, though that thought struck him as odd.

He had never bothered to learn much about the women he had known.

He had cared only for the battles he fought and won, and they had been endless, one after another. And he had always been victorious. He had lived for those battles, ached for them. He raised his hand to carefully touch the scar on his face.

Now he would always have a reminder of his victory, though he no longer ached for the battles. He shook his head, chasing away the bitter memory.

Brianna sighed and winced in her sleep, and Royce instantly soothed her with a gentle hand to her face. She calmed with his familiar touch. In her sleep she seemed to respond to him without hesitation or fear.

She sighed and turned her face into his hand, as if she needed the comfort of his touch. He rubbed her cheek and her slender neck with the back of his hand in a soft steady rhythm, and she once again settled into a contented slumber.

He stared at her long and hard, lingering on her delicate features. Her lashes were long, dark, and curled perfectly over her eyes and against her creamy pale skin.

He shook his head. Lord, but she was beautiful. The thought struck like lightning. He had been sent an angel. Was she here to save his soul from the fires of hell? Was she to rescue him from the depths of despair?

He laughed silently inside himself. How could she help save him when she could not help save herself? She was presently vulnerable, forced to completely rely on him for her every need.

Yet she did so with courage and strength. He saw the spark of fear that lighted in her eyes every now and again, and yet she faced that fear and conquered it each and every time. She shed not a single tear for herself but for the pain she bore bravely.

He had admired different women in his life, his grandmother in particular.

She had raised him upon his mother’s death when he was but five years.

She had been loving and strong and had instilled within him the necessities of survival, and he would forever be grateful to her for the many lessons she had taught him.

She could give him a hug as quickly as she could give him a slap for not paying attention.

She taught him that awareness was everything in life and without it he would be as blind as most. And she had been right; that awareness had kept him sharp in battle and when dealing with friends and enemies alike.

She had been his strength until she had forced him to face his own strength. She was a remarkable woman, and he missed her every day since her passing two years ago.

But she had whispered prophetic words to him before she died.

She had told him that a woman of courage and tenderness would enter his life when he needed her the most and that she would give him one daughter and four sons.

She would teach him what it meant to truly love, and his warrior skills would be necessary to keep her from harm.

They would live to an old age and he would die in her arms, she following two days after him, for their love was too strong for even death to separate them. His grandmother had never been wrong in anything she had predicted for him or the clan, and he has always paid heed to her advice.

Now he wondered if Brianna was this woman.

She fascinated him, though he could not say why.

He wanted time with her, time to know her and time to understand her.

He would care for her as long as necessary; he, after all, needed to heal as well, not only his physical scars but the ones that festered within him.

They would help each other, as strange as that may seem, and he looked forward to the healing. He needed it; he yearned for it.

She whimpered in her sleep, and without thought to his actions he stretched out beside her and gently took her in his arms. She went without protest, snuggling against him as though he could protect her from the pain, and he wrapped strong yet tender arms around her and settled her snugly in his embrace.

He felt the emptiness inside him that had seemed to forever linger fade away and be replaced by a gentle acceptance, as if he had finally arrived home, as if he was welcome and could remain as long as he wished here in her loving tenderness.

He slept knowing that he protected her and that an angel protected him.