A Highlander’s Love: Highlands Ever After Page 11

  “Do ye care for me?” he asked.

  “What do you think?” she replied before pressing another firm kiss against his upturned mouth. Yes, she did, terribly so.

  Which was why she eased him up, away from her. “Do you believe yourself able to walk?” she asked, peering out from their shelter.

  “I will do all in my power,” he grunted, sitting up. He’d only just been certain of his impending death, she noted with a wry smile, but now he was determined to live. Had she anything to do with this sudden change?

  She resolved to ask him about this as she helped him to his feet, and the two of them started off for the house. For safety.

  17

  “Ye do not need to know all,” Dougal grunted upon being asked once again just what had transpired during the storm. “Is it not enough to know I lived through it?”

  The set of Tyra’s jaw told him she would not be satisfied by this, nor by any attempt to placate her. “You would say that to me? She who pulled you from the stream, where you might have drowned? Who built a shelter for you, who kept you warm throughout the night? You would tell me I need not know why men fired their pistols at you?”

  He growled, turning his face toward the window. It was odd, this reversal. Tyra had spent the morning seeing to his comfort, bringing hot water that he might bathe, seeing to the cleaning and bandaging of his head. How she found the means to do all of this when it appeared she might collapse from the strain at any moment was a mystery.

  Though when he’d suggested she tend to her own needs rather than to his, he’d soon thought better of it. Exhaustion had sharpened her tongue worse than ever.

  He gazed out the window, recalling how certain he’d been while lying in the stream that he would never see another morning. Yet he had, and that was thanks to the lass seated at his bedside.

  Which was why she must not be made aware of the increasing danger to him—and to her, as a result. It was better she know as little as possible.

  She did not share this opinion, which came as no surprise. “I cannot see why you refuse to explain what took place. Do you not understand that I might have been killed just as easily as yourself?”

  “Because ye were foolish enough to go out into the storm,” he retorted.

  “It had not begun when I went out, and I only did so because you’d hurt me with your generous offer.” The heavy sarcasm in her voice told him all he need know as to how she felt about his offer.

  “Since when is offering to provide everything ye need to make a new life for yourself worthy of mockery?” he countered, sitting up straighter in bed. Truly, he felt a great deal better now that he’d washed and eaten. Enid had been firm, insisting he eat his fill and then some.

  “You wish to send me away.”

  “For your safety, lass, and dinna forget it.” He caught her hand before she could withdraw, serious now. “And now ye see why I find it so important for ye to take your leave of me. I can bring ye nothing but this. The sort of madness ye witnessed during the storm. Ye are better than that. I cannot have ye in danger because of me.”

  She turned her hand that their palms touched, threading her fingers through his. In spite of this tender gesture, there was still anger in her voice. “Why will you not tell me who those men were? I might at least know that. You are in danger, there is no denying it. What possible harm could it do to tell me what I wish to know?”

  “It is for a man to manage these affairs. Not for a woman.”

  She threw his hand aside, jumping to her feet. “I would expect better from one who claims to care for me.”

  He swung his legs over the bed, furious, ignoring her insistence that he remain reclined. “Can ye not see that my feelings for ye are what compel me to hold my tongue? All I can do is warn ye to remain indoors now, to refrain from wandering the property. Now that I know there are men willing to ride out in search of me, I cannot have ye taking risks.”

  “I am to be prisoner once again, then.” She folded her arms, going to the window. “Why did I endeavor so, when all you wish to do is imprison me? Is that what it means to you?”

  “Is what?” he demanded, going to her.

  “Caring for someone? Does that give you ownership of me?” She whirled on him, her face a mask of rage. “I will not be ordered about without explanation of why the orders have been handed down, Dougal. Why is this so difficult to understand? Can you not see I only wish to know what you fight against because I care so much for you? You would turn my caring to hatred with this attitude of yours.”

  “And ye would make me wish ye had never pulled me from the stream,” he spat. “My orders are my orders, and I dinna give them without great thought and concern for ye. Yet that is not enough. What will be enough for ye?”

  Impulse compelled him to take her by the waist, pulling her to him as he ought to have done long before now. The desire to claim that which was his. For she was his, entirely, he’d known it all along in spite of his attempts to ignore it.

  Unlike his kiss beneath the sheltering branches, borne of the certainty that he spent his final moments in Tyra’s arms, this was borne of passion. He wished to conquer her now, to bend her to his will, and once he’d crushed her body to his it was clear how deeply she wished to succumb. Her arms wound about his neck, pulling him down, and her eagerness stirred him.

  How wondrous it would be, having her with him always. Taking her in his arms this way, knowing she was his, knowing they faced their challenges together. A lass such as Tyra could make him a king among men.

  Ye do not deserve her, a voice in his head chose that moment to remind him. Ye never will.

  This was what lessened the passion with which he kissed her until there was nothing to be done but release his hold on her. He did so with an aching heart, though he knew it was the only decent thing to do. His only means of repaying just a bit of all she’d done for him.

  Her eyes flashed fire, searching his. “Why?” she whispered, the sound pitiful coming from her swollen lips. “Why do you behave this way? Why can you not share yourself with me? Why can you not see I only wish to—”

  It was not to be borne, her words and the emotion behind them twisting him inside until he wished to scream. This was the worst sort of torture, worse than any physical pain he could imagine.

  He was wrong to have ever kissed her at all, to have ever admitting the depth of his feelings, for now they were bound tighter than ever before.

  When his life was in greater danger than it had ever been.

  He turned his face away, unable to look upon the pain he’d caused her, and she fled the room with a muffled cry. “Damn it all,” he grunted, pounding the side of his fist against the wall. Would he ever cease making such dreadful mistakes? Would there ever come a time when he ceased causing pain to others?

  Or to himself?

  He could not live without her, that much was clear as he looked out upon the land on which he’d nearly died. Where she’d saved him. He could not imagine a life without Tyra in it—challenging him, fighting him, loving him.

  Yet he could not imagine leaving her vulnerable to the forces at work against him. He loved her too much for that.

  If she hated him for it, that was simply the way it would have to be.

  And he would carry the weight of her broken heart with him, along with the weight of his own, for the rest of his cursed life.

  18

  Tyra wiped away a tear with the back of her sleeve before turning a smiling face toward Enid. “How can I be of help?” she asked, tying an apron about her waist.

  Certainly, there was no solace to be found in her lonely chamber, her mind a wasps’ nest of questions and accusations. Why did it seem they always came to this point, she and Dougal? Just when she was most certain there could be a future for them, he turned about and changed his mind.

  Perhaps his heart was not as true as she’d imagined.

  No, that was not the truth of it. The truth was something far more sinister, and sh
e knew it. Now, if he would only admit to that truth, if he would only explain it so she might understand what she’d unwittingly become involved in.

  Was the man so utterly daft that he could not comprehend why she cared as much as she did? She loved him. His problems were hers, his struggles hers. She could just as soon turn her back upon him as she could cut off an arm—he was that much a part of her now, whether he wished to be or not.

  Her lips still tingled from the force of his kiss, the passion behind it. She thought after reflecting upon that kiss that somewhere deep within, he very much wished to be part of her. He wished for them to be a great deal more than two opposing forces, ever set upon snapping at each other.

  Enid patted her shoulder with an expression of sympathy which Tyra wished she could not see. It seemed the old woman understood a great deal more than one would imagine considering her condition. “So it is clear we have fought?” she asked with a wry smile, her eyes cast upward.

  Enid chuckled, nodding. He does not understand, she gestured, tapping the side of her head.

  “You need not explain to me,” Tyra sighed. “I see it all too well.”

  Enid patted her cheek with a sigh, then lifted a knee and pretended to spank someone thrown across it. Tyra could not help but laugh, understanding her meaning. “Would it were so simple,” she laughed, and Enid joined her in silent laughter of her own as they imagined spanking the mighty Dougal Craig.

  Tyra’s heart was still troubled, however, as she went about cutting vegetables for soup. In spite of her fatigue—truly, even standing at the table took a great deal of determination—there was no rest for her wandering, troubled mind. She forced her body beyond what she believed its limits to be, all in hopes of exhausting herself to the point of falling into a deep, dreamless, thoughtless sleep. It was the best she could hope for at the moment.

  As she worked, her thoughts raced. What was there to do now? How was she to continue on, living beneath the roof of this man? Though the notion of being without him caused her no small amount of despair, the notion of living alongside one who did not wish to allow her into his mind or his life somehow hurt worse.

  It would be death by torture. Slow, tedious torture, not enough to kill her all at once. A bit at a time, day by day. Reminded each time she saw the man that he would never truly be hers, would never allow her to know him, would never see her for the capable, intelligent, resourceful woman she was.

  If she’d not convinced him by now, what was there left to do?

  She must go, then, for the sake of her heart and her self-respect. No matter what he said, no matter how passionately he kissed and held her, she could not bear the notion of becoming some simpering, mindless fool who obeyed a man for no other reason than his being a man.

  She would not be his fool. Anything but that.

  Where to go? That was a question with many answers—and none, all at once. She might go anywhere in the world, but had the means to go nowhere. She’d not accept his gold. Her feelings on that had not changed after the storm and all that had taken place since. If she were to go, she would do it on her own.

  How? She chopped an onion with far greater force than was necessary, as if she could so easily cut through her problems.

  Iona? There was no place for her in Iona’s life now, that much had already been proven. Iona might lend her the money needed to sail for foreign shores, however.

  But she would be alone, starting out with nothing. No friends or family to shelter her, no one to speak on her behalf. No one to protect her from the wolves who preyed upon lonely, innocent women without the benefit of husbands, fathers, brothers.

  While she had no doubt she could find employment, she understood better than ever in her life just how many dangers lurked around every corner. Ever since losing her guide along the road the day she’d reached Beauly, it seemed life itself had decided to demonstrate how quickly danger could descend.

  The chances of her making it on her own were slim, indeed.

  Was that it? Was she to spend the rest of her days in this house for lack of better options? Working alongside Enid in the kitchen? Perhaps taking over the old woman’s duties once she’d passed on?

  Once she’d finished her chopping, she said, “I might rest a bit.” Enid nodded, encouraging her to be on her way. It was a lie—Tyra knew there would be no rest, not now—but she had to be alone. She could not struggle against tears and cries of frustration. There was a limit to her strength.

  What to do, what to do? She wrung her hands, walking the corridor on heavy feet. Prince sat before the door to Dougal’s study, his ears lifting at the sight of her. At least he brought a smile, and she approached with one hand extended.

  The sound of male voices coming from inside the room brought her up short. She’d not expected Dougal to leave his bedchamber, and much less had she expected to hear a second man conversing with him.

  “Ye must listen to me now,” the other man said, just out of sight from where she stood. “Ye must see reason.”

  Her breath caught. What was it they were discussing? What reason did this man wish for Dougal to see? She simply had to know who’d paid a call.

  Which was why she continued until she stood before the open door. Why not? Let Dougal see her. Let him know she was there, listening.

  He sat behind his desk, his expression darkening upon catching sight of her.

  It was not Dougal who interested her at the moment, however. It was the presence of Colin Ramsey. Why would the sheriff pay a call? And what did he wish Dougal understood?

  She opened her mouth to ask these questions, but not before Dougal nodded toward the door. By the time she’d begun to speak, Colin had already begun swinging the door closed.

  Not before their eyes met. A deliberate act on his part, at Dougal’s silent request.

  Shutting her out.

  19

  “She will not think highly of me for doing that,” Colin murmured, turning away from the closed door.

  Dougal felt too keenly the truth in Colin’s statement, but he waved an impatient hand just the same. “It is better she not know, no matter what she believes. I wish only to keep her as far from this as possible.”

  “If what ye tell me is true and she is aware of ye being fired upon, ye canna keep her from learning of this.” Colin tapped the paper he’d come to deliver.

  A warrant for the arrest of one Dougal Craig for the crime of treason.

  So that was what the men had been speaking of, why they’d come so far and continued searching for him even in the midst of a violent storm. They’d wished to collect the reward now upon his head for having assisted the rebels.

  It had only been a matter of time before such an event came to pass. Dougal had known this all along. Though it still felt unreal, gazing down upon what amounted to nothing less than a death sentence.

  Colin confirmed this. “There is no hope of escaping it, I am sorry to say. Unless ye are arrested, killed or declared dead elsewhere, the warrant will stand. I hope ye ken, mind ye, that I would fight it if I could. Truly, I would.”

  “I have no doubt.” Though the sheriff’s good intentions meant nothing, Dougal was not so far gone that he could not appreciate the spirit in which they’d been offered. The man wished to be of assistance to any and all who shared his desire to be free of the English.

  There was only so much a man in his position could do.

  Though Dougal knew more of Colin’s past efforts than Colin believed. “What about Alasdair Macintyre? Ye looked the other way when he went into hiding from the English magistrate and his men.”

  Colin sputtered, his face going red. “Who told ye that?”

  “A man hears rumors,” was all Dougal would offer. “What of it? Could ye be prevailed upon to do the same for myself?”

  Colin grumbled, twisting his tam between both hands. “Gossips. All of them. Would that I might tear their tongues from their—”

  “Could ye?” Dougal pressed, ignoring the ot
her man’s anger in favor of more valuable matters. Such as keeping his head attached to his neck.

  Colin sighed. It was the sort of sigh a man delivered when there was no hope to be had. Dougal’s heart sank at the sound of it. “The situation with Alasdair was entirely different,” Colin explained, moving a stack of books aside to take a seat opposite Dougal. “There was no warrant out for his arrest. The magistrate merely wished to take him for questioning. I know that was not all he wished to do,” he added when Dougal snorted in disbelief.

  “He wished to hang him,” he grunted.

  “Aye, that he did, which was why I saw to it Alasdair was able to hide further north. There was nothing so formal as this warrant, however, which is why I canna go so far for ye. Would that I could.”

  The situation appeared hopeless, no matter how Dougal considered it. He was a marked man and would be one until the day he died. “I might still leave,” he reasoned, speaking more to himself than to Colin, plotting in desperation now. The presence of an arrest warrant on his desk had brought everything into clear, sharp reality before him.

  More men would come, and more after that.

  And Tyra, living in his house, just as much a target as himself. For he did not dare believe she would allow him to be taken without fighting. She would say or do the wrong thing and attract attention, or worse. What would it matter for a lass with no means and no family name to be shot dead on sight?

  Tyra. What was he thinking? He could not leave her, and he dared not ask for her to accompany him. Not when life would be so fraught with danger. Yet abandoning her felt somehow worse. She would never forgive him, and confessing everything to her would only place her in greater danger than ever.

  For should she be questioned, and should it come to light that she was aware of his doings and of the warrant on his head, she would be punished. Severely. It turned his stomach, even the vaguest thought of it. Of Tyra in pain because of him, while he’d fled to save his own neck.