Page 13 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I ’ve got ye,” Caelan reassured, his voice firm.

His hands were tight on the reins in front of her, but his arms were wrapped securely around her waist. As Miller turned right and left, dodging trees at what seemed like the last possible moment, her body was hurtled in the same direction. But Caelan always had her. His thighs, too, rode up on either side of her, to make sure that her buttocks did not slide off the saddle with all the motion. He was entirely in control of her, the horse, and the situation. She hoped.

Her heart was racing. Now that she had heard about the years of attempted assassinations, she knew immediately that this was another. These people wanted him dead—they would acquire an entire clan if they succeeded, castle and all—and they did not care if a woman riding with the target died in the process. She was undeniably in grave danger.

“Are they close?” Rosaline asked as quietly as she could, her entire body tense. She could not see behind them because of Caelan’s towering body.

“Nae close enough.”

His reply did not exactly quell her worries, but she hunkered down and squeezed her legs around Miller. Caelan had survived every attempt on his life thus far; surely he was able to do it again.

As they rode on—Rosaline noticed they were not headed in the direction of the castle, as she might have expected—she gradually heard the flow of water. The noise that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and her heart sink into her stomach. It grew louder as they galloped on. They were headed in exactly that direction.

In just a moment, she could see the moonlight glance off the flowing river, reflecting the ripples and waves as they sped forward in their violent current. The noise drowned out everything else, and she felt as if her head was spinning, tipping her sideways. Her body recoiled, her back pressing into Caelan, and her head dropping. She held onto Miller’s neck as Caealan drove the horse into the river and across.

As the water splashed her legs and soaked her dress, her body almost went into shutdown. She felt the blood drain from her face to her limbs, giving them every ounce of power to hold on. She could almost feel the soup in her stomach roil and threaten to resurface, but in a few agonizing, drawn-out moments, Miller jumped up onto the riverbank opposite and cantered on into the woods again.

Rosaline was stunned. She hadn’t even had a moment to protest or the freedom to leap from the horse as they galloped towards her worst fear. Her body had simply borne down, fought to keep her out of the current, and was now depleted on the other side. They rode on at a slower pace for a while, using the noise of the river to cover their tracks, until they reached a cliffside deep in the woods with a cave below, sheltered from the night.

“Slow down, Miller. Here will do.”

Caelan pulled the horse to a stop and jumped off his back, tying a rope to his reins and the other side to a nearby tree, giving him plenty of room to move.

“I’m sorry if ye’re soaked, but the river was our best option. I’ve got furs aplenty in Miller’s sack,” he explained.

He helped her down from the horse, for she had no energy left in her body to jump down by herself.

“We’ll stay here for the night. It’s too obvious to go back to the castle, and if they do, they’ll face an army of men on watch.”

He lifted Miller’s sack from the saddle, pulling out furs and laying them on the ground in the cave. He rolled a large log over to their base and directed her to sit on it.

“Ye can rest here while I set up.”

Rosaline managed to take the few steps needed to get to the log, and although her legs were shaky, she lowered herself onto it. She rested her palms on either side of her and tried to slow her breathing. She felt sick.

Caelan was laying mats and furs on the ground, creating a safe and warm space for them to rest. Only when he turned to retrieve his bag from the ground did he notice her state.

“Me goodness, Rosaline, are ye all right? Tell me what’s happened, now.”

He rushed over to her and knelt beside her. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check her temperature, immediately starting to check her over to uncover information before her words could give it to him.

“Were ye hurt? Tell me what’s happened!” His voice grew more demanding in the rush for an explanation.

Rosaline became aware then of her labored breathing and the chill in her body. “I’m nae hurt.”

“Are ye sure? Ye’re as white as chalk.” He continued to check her over, searching for a bleeding wound or a broken bone.

“It’s just…” she trailed off, having to take deep breaths between words. “It’s the water. I hate it.”

“What do ye mean? Are ye cold?”

“Nay. It’s… the nuns. They used to give me ice baths as a punishment. I was so weak already that the pain me body endured would draw everything left out of me. They left me sick. Sometimes they would hold me head under until I almost passed out. Just the sight of water brings it all back, but goin’ through it—” Rosaline broke off, feeling entirely overwhelmed for mentioning it.

Caelan quickly came to sit beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, the other rubbing the arm closest to him to warm her up.

“I’m so sorry, Rosaline. I had nay idea.”

“I used to get sick afterward. Shiverin’ for days and throwin’ up. I’m terrified it’s goin’ to happen again.”

“Nay, lass. Nay. Ye werenae submerged. And even if ye were, the water here isnae so cold. The flow of the river warms it.”

She nodded, understanding the logic of his words. She knew the water had not been as cold or as cruel. She had been fed and taken care of for days now, entirely safe at the castle. Her body was not as depleted as it used to be. She had the energy to endure much more already. But still, she was terrified.

“Would ye let me help ye?” Caelan asked suddenly, looking at her carefully to gauge her reaction.

“What do ye mean?”

“Yer fear, it’s nae of water. It’s of the memory. If ye can make a new one, experience it without the pain, yer fear might go away, or at least get smaller.”

Rosaline considered his words. Again, she could see the logic in them. When she heard the flow of water, she saw the nuns. When she felt it on her skin, she saw the nuns. It was the connection that troubled her so much, and it felt almost like the water would carry her back to them.

But that wasn’t true.

“I would like to try.”

Caelan stood up and held out his hand. “I will keep ye safe.”

Rosaline placed her hand in his and rose, allowing him to lead her slowly back towards the river. As the noise of the river grew, she closed her eyes and breathed deeper, trying to quell the panic rapidly rising within her.

I have to overcome this. I willnae let them rule me any longer.

When they reached the water’s edge, Caelan lifted the fur from around her shoulders and placed it on the ground. He laid out another that he had carried with them, in preparation for their return from the river. He held both of her hands and walked backward, slowly pulling her closer to the water’s edge.

“Ready?” he asked.

Rosaline saw his confidence in his eyes and posture. She could not manage words, but she nodded in affirmation.

Caelan stepped closer to her and then moved behind her. He slid one arm beneath the back of her knees and one beneath her back, and scooped her up. She felt the strength of his arms supporting her, and she allowed her head to rest against his chest.

Then, he walked them into the water.

“Just breathe,” he whispered.

Step after step, Rosaline felt the water rise to her body, and soon it wrapped around her legs and back. She tensed immediately, ready for a blow to land, for her muscles to cripple under the weight of some immense pressure. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath.

But the hit never came. The water was cold, but it did not sting her skin like the ice baths. Her body was not shoved up against cold, jagged metal like at the convent, but cradled by a strong, careful man. Her head was not forced under but held consistently above the lapping water. If she focused on what she was feeling in the moment, rather than the memories of what she had felt in the past, it was all perfectly bearable.

Rosaline slowly opened her eyes. Caelan was gazing down at her with a warm smile.

“There ye go,” he said softly. “Ye’re doin’ it.”

Rosaline smiled, and her body relaxed a little. She let her head fall back and felt the water move through her hair. The consistency of it, the trickling sound, was actually quite peaceful when she surrendered to it. She felt the fear drain out of her muscles, bit by bit, washing away with the current. It had worked.

“All right, let’s get ye dry,” Caelan announced, seeing her fears diminish and the haunting memories float away.

He slowly turned them, and Rosaline felt the water sweep her skirt behind her and then gradually catch up. As the waterline slid down her body, she felt the warmth of the summer night’s air envelop her. The water dripped from her skin, hair, and clothes as they made their way back to the grassy bank.

Caelan put her down gently. He walked behind her, gathered her hair, and squeezed the excess water out of it. His touch on her bare neck, lightened already by the water, was sensational. He picked up a large fur and wrapped it around her body, squeezing her arms, waist, and legs to wring the water out of her dress, before coming round to face her once more.

“Warm enough?”

“Aye, quite.”

He wrapped himself in the other fur and guided her back to their cave.

“How was that?” Caelan asked softly as they sat down again beside one another on the log.

“I think it worked.”

“Aye?”

“Aye. I felt it—the fear floated out of me. I relaxed.”

Caelan smiled and placed a hand on her arm. “I saw that.” He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Before we put it all behind us, I need to ask ye one more thing.”

Rosaline looked into his eyes, confused. She had no idea what he would want to ask her, but she was going to answer honestly anyway. This man had just helped her overcome her biggest fear. She realized now that he really was going to protect her.

She was safe.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“I need their names.”

Rosaline furrowed her brow. “What?”

“The names of the nuns. The ones who hurt ye.”

“Why?” Rosaline’s voice came out slow and broken.

“Such cruelty cannae go unpunished. I dinnae ken why they were so harsh with ye, and they may come back for ye at some point. I intend to stop them before they can even think about it.”

Rosaline had hardly considered the possibility. She had always been of the mind that the nuns were cruel to her just because she was a burden to them. Her brother paid them to care for her, but they wanted the money for themselves. They did not want to support her, an unclean woman. They had to be so pious all day; they just needed someone to be vicious towards. She had never contemplated that they might want her for some other reason.

“I dinnae think they will come after me. They hated me,” she muttered quietly, feeling the doubt creep in as she considered it further.

“Then why were they chasin’ ye?”

She had known the question was coming.

Because they hate me so much that they couldnae handle the idea of me bein’ free.

But that didn’t add up either. They would be glad to be rid of her. They could continue to collect the payments from her brother if she never made it back home.

Rosaline had to admit that she did not really know if they would come after her, and that thought scared her even more.

“I dinnae want to live in fear,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I willnae let ye. If ye give me their names.”

Rosaline took a deep breath. “Mother Denise Cowan is the Abbess. She is in charge, and has led the charge against me. Sister Maude Whyte is her second-in-command. She was terribly cruel, simply because it brought her some kind of twisted joy.”

“Were they all the same?”

“Nay,” Rosaline answered quickly. “Sister Victoria Whyte, the younger sister of Maude… she was wonderful. She cared for me after the beatings—cleaned and dressed me wounds. Nay harm should ever come to her.” Her heart clenched at the memory.

“All right, I understand.” Caelan nodded, absorbing the information. “And yer braither? What is his name?”

Rosaline’s eyes darted up to his. “Why? He means me nay harm. He just wasnae able to come for me. He must have had his reasons.”

Caelan nodded and placed a hand on her leg, patting it reassuringly. “I ken, I ken, but I will be able to find him and get some answers. Tell me his name. Tell me yer name.”

It was the final admission. The final part of her that she was concealing from him. Revealing her name could change everything. He could know her clan, their history, or even her brother personally.

What if Conall was one of the assassins? Or what if he was dead, and she was about to find out?

Every possibility raced through her mind. She had not spoken about her family in years.

“Conall Shaw. Laird of Clan MacKinnon.”

She watched Caelan’s face closely, trying to gauge his reaction, but he gave away very little. He kept his expression serious, grave, before finally opening his mouth.

“Rosaline Shaw. Of Clan MacKinnon.”

The sound of her full name took her breath away. She had been called denigrating names for so long, only to be called Rosaline in such a deep, warm voice.

She had barely been brave enough to think her name, never mind saying it or hearing it out loud. Her last identity with such a name flooded back to her.

Little Rosaline Shaw. The Laird’s daughter. Motherless but loved. A cared-for, happy, energetic child. Rosaline Shaw had been loved.

“I will find them—all of them—and bring upon them whatever penance they deserve, good or bad.”

Rosaline closed her eyes and breathed deeply, calming her emotions. She had told him everything. She was entirely herself now.