The Bewitching Twin (7 page)

A
liss knew work was the only cure for her troubled mind. She could not understand how she had gotten into the woods. Why had she lain unconscious on the ground and why had Rogan’s touch thrilled and frightened her at the same time?

It certainly was not sensible to entertain the idea that Rogan could have feelings for her or she for him. Her time here was limited anyway so why make it more difficult for herself than it had to be.

He did, though, have qualities she would favor in a husband.

Husband?

Tarr had decreed that she must marry, leaving the choice of a husband to her. So like it or not she would wed. Did she not want to choose a suitable husband, one she could at least tolerate?

Rogan treated her kindly and respected her work. He made few demands on her and offered his help when necessary.

Aliss slowed her hurried pace and her racing thoughts. She had left the cottage in haste to go where? To run? But from whom, Rogan or herself?

She smiled and waved her appreciation to those who acknowledged their relief over her safe return before delving back into her musings.

Rogan was also a fine clan leader. He treated his people well and he was respected in return. He had many fine traits that would suit a woman contemplating marriage.

Kiss him.

The voice was so clear and loud in her head that she came to an abrupt halt and almost tripped. She could have sworn she had heard her sister’s impatient tone. It was, after all, advice Fiona would give her.

Aliss had to admit she had been tempted more than once to see how it would feel to kiss Rogan, but she had always panicked and run. What did she fear?

“A kiss would prove what?” she mumbled, but heard no answer. Where was her sister when she needed her?

Guilt made Aliss shiver. She should be thinking about her sister and returning home, not how it would feel to kiss Rogan. Fiona would be rounding with child by now and worried that Aliss would not return in time to deliver the babe. What was the matter with her? She had no time for such nonsense as a kiss, and besides, Tarr would never approve of a union between Rogan and her.

She hastened her steps.

She would find the reason behind this illness and finally return home.

To what?

Wedding a stranger? Someone she had no feelings for? Someone who would interfere in her healing work? Or someone who would care not at all one way or the other?

Rogan had plucked her out of a hopeless situation, one with no solution, at least not a suitable solution. The time spent here had reminded her how much she enjoyed her freedom and independence. But even though Rogan had abducted her, he had not treated her like a prisoner. She was allowed freedom in the village and she had cherished that.

Still, Fiona and Tarr were her family, and she had yet to get to know her mother and father or her brother Raynor. What would they think if they knew she thought of kissing the Wolf?

She giggled softly. Fiona would encourage her.

Aliss sighed. She really did miss her sister. They talked often, took walks together, shared secrets, and helped each other through difficult times.

She was alone now with no one but herself to help her.

Not so.
She corrected herself and knew it to be true.

Rogan had been helpful and protective since first they met. He could have set her to tending his people and ignored her all this time. Instead, he had taken her into his home and made certain she had what she needed and that she got sufficient food and rest.

The Wolf was a good man.

“Aliss.”

She spun around at the sound of Rogan’s voice. He had slipped on a shirt and his green eyes had softened in color.

“I thought you might need your basket.”

He held it up though he made no attempt to give it to her and Aliss made no attempt to take it from him. Her heart raced a little faster than it normally did and a sudden breathlessness attacked her.

Her smile came slowly. “Thank you.”

“I will carry it for you,” he said eagerly.

She nodded and he walked alongside her.

No mention was made of her rushed exit. They strolled together in companionable silence.

Aliss was soon busy talking with those who were ill or had been ill. They went from cottage to cottage. Rogan asked a question or two of his own that proved helpful until finally they both agreed they were famished and returned to their cottage.

“You search for a common cause,” Rogan said once they had eaten.

She nodded. “Something that links them all together. It makes sense. Like Anna’s rash. I knew something caused it but what—” She shook her head. “I only realized it when she spoke of gathering motherwort. It is one plant that can be risky for some to handle.”

“I understand now what makes you such a fine healer.”

She grinned. “My stubborn nature?”

“Your propensity for digging until you get to the truth of the situation.”

“Truth can cure many ills,” she said, “as long as it is acknowledged.”

Their eyes settled gently on each other and for a silent moment lingered there as if caught in a trance or an embrace that neither wished to relinquish and neither acknowledged.

Aliss tore her glance away and suddenly feeling the need to know asked, “Once this is settled, you will take me home as promised?”

“Once all is settled—” He paused and shifted his glance to the tankard in his hand. “You will go home.”

Aliss had not realized she had held her breath nor had she expected his answer to disturb her. “I am eager to return and not so eager to return.”

Rogan raised a curious brow. “Tell me.”

“I must find a husband when I go back,” she admitted, though why she shared her problem with him she could not say. Perhaps it was her need to talk of it and that he was a generous listener.

“Why is that?”

“It has to do with a long-ago prophecy—” She knitted her brow. “Odd, that I cannot recall the exact prediction. I had heard it repeatedly and the only thing I can remember is, on a full moon twin babes are born, with their birth sounds the horn.” She shook her head. “I cannot remember the rest.”

“What has it to do with you having to wed?”

Aliss heard genuine curiosity in his voice. “It is something about the clans being in danger if my sister and I do not wed—I think.” She shrugged. “All I know is that according to the prophecy I must wed, the clans demand it.”

“Clans?”

“Hellewyk and my parents’ clan, Blackshaw.”

“Who will you wed?”

“I have no idea, though Tarr has left the decision to me.”

“I am sure you have not lacked for prospective bridegrooms.”

“Not at all,” she admitted.

“Any you favored?”

She shook her head. “Not a one.”

“What will you do?”

“Hope to find a man I can tolerate,” she said with a laugh.

“This really troubles you.”

A knot tightened in Aliss’s chest along with the urge to cry. Rogan’s heartfelt remark had caused it. He actually understood how much the situation disturbed her and it sounded as if he was as troubled about it as she was.

She nodded and swallowed to keep the knot from rising to her throat.

“If we can find the solution to this illness that ravishes my people then it should be simple to discover a way to keep you free of an unwanted husband.”

“You are kind to offer me help and hope. I am pleased that you are my friend.” Her voice quivered.

The knot tightened and almost reached her throat. She had friends, but they were really more acquaintances; her work left her little time to cultivate friendships. Her one true friend had been her sister. Now she had Rogan, but for how long?

“I am honored that you accept me as a friend. I know how difficult it must be for you reconciling the man who abducted you with the man who wished your help.”

“You are two, Wolf and Rogan.”

“It is necessary sometimes.”

“Not confusing?” she asked.

“Not at all. The wolf calculates and waits and when needed attacks.”

“And Rogan?”

“Rogan is simply a man.”

Aliss stared at him and shook her head slowly. “You are not simply a man.”

“Who am I, then?”

A good question and one she could not answer. It was more what she felt when around him, while watching him with his people, acting as a leader, as a warrior, as a friend. How did she explain his empathy for the suffering of his people? How did she detail his honor in protecting his clan at all cost? How did she make clear how a mother’s unselfish love produced an unselfish son? How did she admit her admiration for a man who had loved and lost and yet was not afraid to love again?

No, he was not simply a man; he was much more.

“Have to think about the answer, do you?” he teased.

Laughter spilled easily from her lips though she blinked back the single tear caught in her eye. “It is difficult to define a man like yourself.”

“A compliment?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Perhaps one day I will find the words to explain.”

He smiled. “I look forward to that time.”

Aliss did too, for perhaps then they would meet again after parting. She did not like to think that once she left the Wolf clan she would never see Rogan again.

“Kiss him.”

She jumped, startled by Fiona’s voice in her head.

Rogan stood and rushed around the table to her side. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said with a forced smile.

“You are not a good liar.”

“I am—” Her mouth dropped open. Was she just about to admit to being a good liar?

“Yes?”

His one word challenged her to finish.

“Not!”

He roared with laughter, and when it subsided, he scooted in beside her on the bench.

He smelled of fresh earth like the fields after planting, pungent and delicious. The need to savor his taste overwhelmed her and she was close to reaching out and grabbing hold of him to kiss him.

Stop!

She warned herself, though it did little good, so she had no choice but to put distance between them.

Rogan, she realized, had a different idea, and as she slipped off the bench, he stood and blocked her escape.

He motioned her to come to him, a simple jerk of his hand as if he summoned her. She remained . . .

Defiant? Fearful?

Why did she not approach him?

He stretched his hand out to her. “Come to me, Aliss.”

He tempted her, his voice so soft and soothing. And she was so doubtful. What did she fear? Did she refuse to love? Fear to love? Fear interference from love? What always stopped her from accepting the attention of any man?

And why? Why did she want so desperately to kiss Rogan?

“I would never hurt you,” he said, keeping his hand stretched out to her.

“What do you want of me?”

“To taste you.”

She shivered and he hurried over to her, wrapping her in his warm, strong embrace.

“You are cold.”

She stared up into his eyes filled with a fiery brilliance that stirred her soul and enflamed her flesh.

“A taste,” he whispered. “Just a taste.”

He bent his head and claimed her lips before she could protest.

A
liss melted at the first taste of him. Warm, delicious, and succulent like a favorite food you could not get enough of and wanted to savor forever and ever.

His lips melded with hers, encouraging a response, sparking her passion, urging a reaction, and she responded with all the fervor of an innocent who longed to experience more.

He obliged her, his tongue teasing her lips apart then darting into her mouth then out then slowly reintroducing himself, until she eagerly accepted him and dueled with his tongue like a young maiden new to the dance.

She relished the comfort of him and how he allowed her to play and experiment, yet taking charge and teaching her how a kiss was shared and enjoyed. He taught and pleasured her at the same time.

She moaned softly, wanting the kiss to last longer and he did not disappoint her. He kissed her long and hard and slow and soft. And just when she thought him finished he would begin again until she shivered in his arms.

His hand slipped under her blouse to her breast, his fingers gently kneading her flesh, his thumb repeatedly rubbing her nipple until it hardened to his touch.

He pressed against her and she felt him hard and strong, aching for her.

The thought jolted her like a shot of lightning from the sky. What was she doing? Was she crazy?

She tore herself away from him and he was left standing with empty arms.

“I cannot do this,” she cried and hurried out of the cottage.

Rogan did not follow. He plopped down on the bench, dropping his head into his hands and attempting to calm the passion that raged through him.

He throbbed with wanting her. He had not expected a desire that intense. A kiss had been his first thought, but then . . .

He stood and paced the room, passion flooding him like a rising river.

He wanted Aliss. He could taste his need for her. It was as strong as the salty taste of battle that had to be faced regardless of the outcome. He felt that now. No matter what the outcome of their joining, he had to have her, share with her, pleasure her.

His own body ached with need, crying for fulfillment. He had not expected this; never gave it thought. He wanted Aliss as he had not wanted a woman in a very long time—or perhaps he had never wanted one as vehemently as he did now.

The taste of Aliss was pungently sweet and hot, a stark contrast that intoxicated the senses and made him hunger for more.

Reality pierced him like a mighty sword and he stopped pacing. Her abduction was a means to an end, no more. He had never intended to hurt her. She was there to serve a purpose and when that purpose was done, she would return home.

He had no right to alter that plan. He had no right to allow his emotions to interfere. What must be done must be done. He had no choice, just as she had no choice but to wed.

He glanced down at his fisted hand, not realizing he had made a fist. He stared at it, felt the strength that ran through it and the force with which he could deliver a man unconscious.

The man who would kiss Aliss.

His knuckles whitened and his mind went wild with thought of any man other than himself kissing her. He would tear the man’s heart out with his bare hands and . . .

“Damn.” He pounded the table, but it did little good. He would have much preferred it to be a face, the face of the faceless man who would wed Aliss.

He ran his fingers through his hair and returned to pacing the floor. This was crazy. How had a simple kiss stirred such fierce jealousy in him? And why?

A rumbled growl surfaced slowly along with the urge to pummel something. He turned and left the cottage and headed straight for the woods.

The woods were quiet, the setting sun dappling the forest with its last precious rays of light. This was his sanctuary, his fortress of solitude, where he could bask in its healing peace.

Peace.

Peace of mind and heart. He would have that if he followed through with his plan.

But at what expense?

“You seek nature to heal your troubled mind and soul.”

Rogan turned, folding his arms across his chest. “You summoned Aliss to the woods.”

“An accusation?”

“You tell me, Giann.” Rogan challenged the prophetess, not caring whether it was a wise choice or not. His concern was to protect Aliss.

“Your plan to claim the Isle of Non is not as simple as you thought, my friend.”

He had to agree, though he refused to admit it. He held his ground, like a warrior prepared for battle. Giann had proven her powers time and again. She knew things of the past and foretold the future and she had never been wrong.

“So you warned me, and the answer to my query?” he demanded.

“I summoned her.”

He remained calm though inside he raged. It was pointless to argue with Giann, and besides, he knew that soon enough her presence would calm him completely. She had that effect on people. He wondered if it was her flawless beauty or her regal form drenched in the colors of the forest.

It mattered little. She held the power and thankfully she did not abuse it.

“Why?” His one word echoed through the forest like a thunderbolt.

She smiled and Rogan was reminded of a radiant star in the heavens.

“She needed reminding.”

“Of a prophecy you failed to mention to me?”

“To fulfill it is her duty. Her purpose. Her destiny.”

“So you tell me nothing of this monumental prophecy, merely that she will heal my people. You summon her and then render her unconscious?”

“You need not know of it, and she but napped.”

“Napped?” Rogan nearly shouted. “We could not revive her.”

“It was a deep sleep, which did her much good.”

“How?”

Giann smiled once again, and Rogan thought the sun had burst in front of him.

“You will see.”

He rubbed his eyes. He could barely see anything, and when he finally could, Giann was gone. She was like that, appearing unexpectedly and vanishing just as unexpectedly.

She had, however, left him feeling at peace. How? He could not explain it. His circumstances had not changed and yet he felt less concerned, as if the situation would resolve itself and he need not worry.

He took a deep breath, breathing in the strength of the forest. Fresh earth, pungent pine, sweet berries, familiar and comforting scents that fortified him.

He would do as he must and let nothing stand in his way. He had waited many years to set things right and he could let nothing deter him from his intentions. He turned and saw Aliss sitting on a stump weeping softly.

Her gentle cries were like a knife to his heart and he felt guilty, as if he were the cause of them.

He walked over to her and squatted down on his haunches in front of her. He tenderly took her hands in his, moving them away from her face and to his lips. He kissed her fingers, once, twice, three times.

“Tell me why you weep?”

Aliss sniffled. “I do not know.”

“Does the crying help?”

“I think so.” She shook her head. “Though I am not certain.” She cried some more.

Her tears once again stabbed at his heart and he felt as helpless as a warrior without his weapon or shield.

“I rarely cry.” She sniffled back her tears.

“Everyone cries.”

“Have you?”

He almost felt as if he could drown in the tears that pooled in her wide eyes, their green color reminding him of the surface of a loch sprinkled with nature’s summer dust.

He kissed her fingers again, taking time to think over her question. He remembered shedding tears now and again as a young lad, the episodes fading as he matured. He, like Aliss, rarely shed tears except . . .

“I wept when my wife, Kendra, died in my arms and again when I held my stillborn son.”

“I am so sorry,” she said, freeing her hands to grasp his in hers. “My tears are frivolous compared to yours.”

“All tears are relevant to those who shed them.”

She stared at him a moment. “I had not expected wisdom from the Wolf.”

He moved in closer. “Never underestimate a wolf. They are cunning and wise in ways man does not realize.”

“Do you warn me?”

“Yes.”

He was not surprised when she released his hands. It was better this way, better to keep a distance between them. His plan had been set in motion. There was no changing it. He
could not
change it. He had waited too long to settle this debt of honor. He could let nothing stop him.

Nothing.

Damn, but he wanted to kiss her again, yank her into his arms and ravish her mouth until they finally lay copulating on the ground.

He jumped up and stepped away from her, but the vision had already been burned into his mind. He could not stop seeing them both naked, her creamy skin so stark in contrast to the bed of earth beneath her. And her red hair flamed as if it had been ignited with the passion that raged through them both.

He could feel his hands spreading her thighs, hear her welcoming moans, feel her flesh wet with desire, and he was rock hard with wanting for her.

Rogan turned narrowed eyes on her, his breathing heavy and his salacious thoughts soaring. With a growl and a snarl, he escaped the woods, leaving his prey intact.

Aliss remained on the stump, stunned. In one breath, he soothed her, and in another, he warned her before fleeing like a scowling beast. She did not understand him or her tears.

This was the very reason she had not entertained the thought of marriage. She did not want love interfering with her work. And love did that; it interfered to the point where all thought revolved around that special someone.

In the last few hours her mind had been sidetracked from her healing work to thoughts of kissing Rogan. The kiss itself had nearly devastated her. It was more than she had imagined and the emotions it had stirred in her had brought her to tears.

For what reason?

She had no answer.

What she did have was clear proof that kissing and anything that went with it would greatly interfere with her healing work, and that she could not tolerate. She could not have her mind occupied with nonsense while she dealt with the sick.

She stood and wiped the last vestiges of tears off her face with her fingers. She threw back her shoulders and stuck out her chin.

Nothing would stop her from treating the ill, finding ways to prevent illness and cures for recurring maladies. She was a healer first and foremost, nothing else mattered, especially a kiss.

Even if it did feel too good to be true.

Even if she did enjoy it immensely.

Even if she had thought about kissing Rogan again.

Even if she desperately wanted to.

Even if . . .

She shook her head and refused to think any more on the matter. It wasted precious time that she could be spending on her healing work.

She was a healer; she would heal.

“A woman loves.”

Damn her sister’s voice. She would be the one to remind her that she was a woman as well as a healer and that a woman had needs, just like a healer had needs. Fiona would warn her to reconcile the two, just as the Wolf had to do with Rogan, who was simply a man.

She always thought of herself as a healer, nothing more.

She was, however, a healer and a woman. How did she meld them together when the healer was the stronger of the two?