Page 7 of Love Me Forever (Highland Duo #2)

I t was time to find out about this stranger, especially since she had been sleeping beside him these last five days.

That he was a man of his word was true. He meant her no harm.

His intentions were to help her gain back her health and strength.

That he was accustomed to having his way was also true.

He would not allow her to do anything for herself.

He fed her, moved her, and did much too much for her.

She felt she could keep no secrets from this man, and yet she had many secrets. They talked, but of common things and she slept much. She needed the rest so that she could heal properly; her body demanded it. He was always nearby when she woke, and she was always grateful to see him.

His scars were healing as slowly as her bruises.

She wished she were well enough to move about on her own, for she recalled the pouches of dried herbs in her satchel.

If she combined certain herbs to make a poultice and applied it to his scars, they would heal more rapidly and leave less scarring.

She vowed that when she grew strong enough to, she would do just that.

Now, however, she must be wise and allow herself time to heal. It would do no good to impede her healing by being stubborn. Besides, with the substantial snowfall, no one would be coming to her rescue anytime soon.

Actually, if Royce had not found her, in all probability she would have died.

The elements, wild animals, or thieves would have seen to her demise.

She was in no condition to defend or help herself.

How ironic that would have been—to have gained her freedom only to have perished without having lived at all?

She did worry over her brother. He was probably upset and at this moment raving at the weather... or was he?

He would not know that she did not reach her destination. He would only know her missing when she did not return at her designated time, and that would be a week or more.

The thought concerned her, for it meant she would spend more time with this stranger than she had anticipated. That was all the more reason she attempted to learn more about him.

Who really was he?

A warrior? A man running from his pain? A man hiding from someone? He was a mystery that needed solving.

She looked to the hearth where he knelt, feeding the fire more logs. The dancing flames cast a reflection on his face, giving his wounds a ghastly glow. Not many would be able to look upon him without disgust. The swelling around his eye and lip was just barely beginning to subside.

She could detect the difference since her glance had settled on him often these last few days.

The blows he suffered must have been fierce, and she wondered how he had survived the ordeal.

He was a man of considerable size, strength, and determination, which told her he was a force to be taken seriously and at times feared, but at all times respected.

She noticed he had turned around and stared at her with as much interest as she at him. They both had questions, but who first would have the answers?

“Hungry?” he asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Nay,” she answered softly.

He stood and walked over to her, his frown one of concern.

His hand went to her head. “You feel well?”

“Aye, I feel fine, just not hungry.”

He sat beside her on the bed, his usual perch throughout the day. “You did not feel hungry this morning as well.”

She yawned, though she had slept well last night and had slept again only two hours after waking. It had been but an hour’s sleep, and now after only a couple of hours she felt tired once again.

She grew annoyed thinking of all the time she spent sleeping. “I sleep too much.”

“You heal.”

“I grow sore and useless from the constant use of this bed.” She grew brave. “I need to move around more on my own.”

“Nay!” He was firm and stern in his response.

She raised a brow without realizing it. “You cannot dictate to me.”

He grinned, holding back a laugh. “You think not?”

Silence and thought would have been a wise choice, but she was not feeling wise at the moment. Her forced confinement, her lack of mobility without pain, and his dictatorial manner caused her temper to flair. “You have no right.”

He could not contain his laughter. “Aye, but I have the strength.”

She had the need to prove her own strength, perhaps more to herself than him.

She braced her meager weight on her elbows and attempted to pull herself up off the pillows.

The pain surrounded her, captured her senses, and set her head to spinning.

This time, however, she intended to fight it.

She had to gain her strength back. She could not remain in bed day after day. She had to grow strong.

He watched the struggle on her face, the way her eyes squinted against the pain, the way her slender arms trembled from their effort to support her, and he wasted not a moment. He reached out to her.

“Nay!” she shouted at him, but had not the strength to avoid his reach.

His arm went quickly around her, and her body sagged in relief against the thick muscle of support. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder.

“You are a stubborn one,” he said, annoyed at himself for allowing her to behave so foolishly.

“Determined,” she corrected with a labored breath.

He needed to make certain she would not be foolish again, for he suffered along with her and he would not see her suffer needlessly. “You will do as I tell you.”

She laughed this time, softly but enough for him to hear.

“You think me humorous?”

“We make a strange pair, both of us needing healing and both ignoring what is necessary.”

“I do what is necessary for me to heal.”

“Hiding away is necessary to your healing?”

He took affront to her remark. “I do not hide. I chose solitude as a poultice for my pain.”

“You chose solitude so that you would not have to face your pain.”

“You speak foolishly.” He arranged several pillows so that he could brace her in a comfortable sitting position.

He eased her up against the pillows, making certain the soft wool blanket remained covering her breasts.

He then grabbed for the white wool shawl that hung on the square bedpost where he had placed it if needed. He draped it around her bare shoulders.

She placed a gentle hand on his bare arm, his shirtsleeve having been pushed up for him to work more safely with the fire. ‘Tell me of your scars.”

“You have no need to hear of them.”

He tucked the shawl around her, concentrating on his task, but she could tell that her question had disturbed him.

“You have need to speak of them.”

“And what of your scars?” he challenged in defense.

“You hide them within you. Why do you fear a man’s touch?”

She was too tired to react defensively, so she answered as honestly as she could. “I had a husband who treated me poorly, and I simply do not know how to react to a man’s touch be it gentle” —she paused, weighing her words, then spoke without hesitation— “or intimate.”

He was impressed with her courage to admit such an intimate truth, and he was angry with the fool husband of hers for having made her so fearful of a touch that was meant to give comfort and pleasure.

“An intimate touch is gentle.”

“I knew no such gentleness” —she paused again, giving thought to her words— “I knew obedience.”

“Intimacy has nothing to do with obedience. It is about caring and sharing, smiles and laughter, pleasure and satisfaction.”

“You sound as if you possess much experience. Are you married?” She laughed at her own remark. “I forget that a man has no need for marriage to gain experience.”

‘True enough.”

“A man has a freedom that a woman does not, and now that I have tasted that freedom I intend to keep it.”

“You do not wish to marry again?” he asked.

“Nay, I wish no marriage. I wish to keep my freedom.”

“You have a man’s protection?”

“My brother,” she answered but gave him no more.

“He does not mind you remaining with him?”

She smiled. “Nay, my brother wishes only my happiness, as does his wife. He will let me live my life as I choose.”

“And you choose loneliness?”

“You think me lonely because I have no man?”

“Nay,” he said seriously. “I think you lonely for you have never truly known a man.”

“I was married,” she said, not understanding him.

‘To an idiot.”

She could not help but grin.

He smiled along with her and encouraged her to continue.

‘Tell me about your husband.”

“Will you tell me about your wife?”

He admired the way she diverted his remark. “I am not married.”

She raised her hand slowly, her fingers gliding ever so gently over his swollen lip. “You have no one to care for you.”

Her words affected him more than he cared to admit.

He had no one special who cared for him, who worried over his safety, who prayed for him when he faced battle.

He had only the occasional woman who satisfied his needs, but no one who was always there for him.

No one who would reach out and touch him in his time of need like Brianna had just done.

“And yet you have a caring soul and give without thought to its return.” Her hand fell slowly to her side.

Her tender touch left a tingle on his lips, a tingle that spread slowly through him. And his thoughts were anything but caring. “My soul is not what you think.”

“I do not think you know your own soul.”

‘Teach me,” he challenged and was not surprised by the sparkle that shone in her eyes.

“Aye,” she said on a yawn. “I will do that.”

He wanted to ask her more questions, especially about her husband, but she was tired and needed to rest. They had time to talk, time to learn about each other, and he looked forward to the many talks they would share, but for now she needed rest.

“Rest, and then you will eat.”

“I have rested enough and I am not hungry.”

“You persist in having your way.”

“As do you.” Another yawn attacked her and she grew annoyed.

“Why fight your need to rest?”

“How can I grow strong if I do nothing but lie in bed?”

“The first few days you did nothing but sleep and moved not a finger. Now you sit up, move your arms, your legs, and remain awake longer. You heal, slowly aye, but you heal. That is what is important. And you must eat, for the food fuels your body.”

“You are wise in ways I would not expect a warrior to be.”

“A warrior sees much, much too much.” His voice grew soft as though he did not wish to hear his own words.

She thought to ask him what he saw, but now was not the time.

He did not need to relive such harsh memories.

She found the strength once again to raise her fingers to his lips.

“If you look in my satchel, you will find a pouch of herbs. I can make a poultice from them that will help heal your wounds.”

He realized it took great effort for her to hold her hand up, and he realized he wanted to continue to feel her tender touch. His hand went to her wrist to gently give it support. She was pleased that he did not mind her touch.

She had reached out to him without thought, wanting only to offer comfort, a strange reaction for her, for she was taught never to touch her husband without permission. Yet she gave no mind to touching him, and he gave no mind to her action.

“When you are stronger,” he said his warm breath a gentle whisper on her fingers.

“The sooner the poultice is applied to the fresh wounds, the better the healing.”

“Then you will instruct me how to prepare it and I will make it.”

She pouted like a child who was disappointed in not having her way. “I wish to make the poultice.”

He took her hand and held it lightly in his. “Squeeze my hand.”

She understood he intended to prove his point, and she intended to prove him wrong. She eagerly did as he directed, mustering all the strength she possibly could. She focused on her hand, took a deep breath, and with all her might she squeezed.

She paid dearly for her effort. Her hand throbbed and her arm trembled and a vicious pain stabbed at her side. Her eyes fluttered and she whispered in urgency, “Royce.”

“Damn,” he mumbled. He soothed her with comforting words, kissed her forehead, her hand, her cheek, and she turned her face to rest her cheek to his.

“I feel so safe with you, so very safe.”

“Always. You will always be safe with me. I will allow no harm to come to you, ever.”

“You do have a good soul,” she whispered and kissed his cheek before her eyes fluttered closed.

It was a silent nay that echoed in his head.

How could he have a good soul when he had no soul at all?