The Kindling Heart (23 page)

“I’m sorry!” she gasped.

Red stained the covers and she wanted to retch again, but she was distracted as Ruan’s strong fingers closed about her wrist to pull her close.

“Ach, there’s nae harm done,” he said, with a wicked glint in his eye. “I can think of nothing better than to lie in bed, drinking whiskey, with a lass bare to the waist draped over me.”

Bree froze. His words were shocking, but she was even more astonished at her own reaction. Her heart fluttered and her pulse began to beat erratically.

“Aye, well, and here I’ve been told ye were dead, then sore wounded. Now, I find ye half-drunk trifling with a bonny lass,” Isobel chuckled in obvious relief as she swept into the room, followed by Ewan. “I told ye he was a strong one, Bree!”

Blushing, Bree attempted to jerk free, but Ruan gripped her arm with a firm, yet gentle pressure. His touch felt like fire. She bit her lip.

“Cover up, Bree,” he murmured, eyes deliberately dropping as his lips twitched. “Ewan shouldn’t see ye like that.”

She drew her brows in confusion and then glanced down. She gasped. She was indeed bare to the waist. Tormod had ripped the entire bodice and a healthy part of the shift as well. Flushing an even deeper crimson, she scrambled to pull the tattered cloth together. How dare the man laugh at her! She’d been concerned for his life, cleaning that odious wound, and he’d been drinking and ogling her the entire time. Lifting her chin, she allowed her anger to show, but his expression made her suddenly uncomfortable. There was something there besides humor, something that made her wish to run and stay at the same time.

“Robert,” Ruan said. He gripped Ewan’s arm tightly. “I must speak with him, lad.”

Ewan tensed, but then nodded, and said, “Aye, but ‘twill have to wait.”

Ruan frowned. He struggled, as if to rise, but collapsed back in pain and then promptly fainted.

“Aye,” Isobel said. She pursed her lips grimly. “He’s half out of his head, but ‘tis well enough for now.”

Then, Merry was there, launching herself hysterically at Ruan, causing him to wake again as Isobel bustled about, issuing crisp commands. In short order, she had them all scurrying until Ruan’s wound was dressed and the bed covers replaced.

“There,” Isobel said, nodding with satisfaction after Ruan dutifully drank the last of some broth. “Ye are feverish, but as strong as an ox. This is a scratch compared to that last set ye came home with.”

Ruan smiled tiredly and turned his head.

Ewan and Merry were hustled out the door and Bree found herself faced with a hot tub of steaming water sprinkled liberally with herbs and a new shift draped over the foot of the bed.

“He’ll be fine, lassie,” Isobel said. She reached over to pinch Bree’s cheek as she passed. “Clean up, the water is growing cold, and I’ve need of the tub.”

With that, she left Bree alone.

Suspiciously, Bree eyed Ruan.

He appeared asleep, but he’d fooled her before.

She watched his slow, rhythmic breathing for some time before the events of the day began to resurface. Remembering Tormod’s hands, she peeled the torn gown away with growing urgency. Yes, she needed to wash away his stench and the smell of Ruan’s blood. She managed to bite back sobs that emerged from nowhere. Stepping into the tub, she set about scrubbing her hands fiercely. She was washing her hair for the fifth time when Isobel entered.

“By the saints, lass, why are ye shivering in that icy water?” Isabel gasped. Snagging the linen toweling, she plucked Bree out of the tub and rubbed her briskly, clucking, “There, lass, no more tears now.”

Bree gulped, unaware she’d been crying.

“Into bed now!” Isobel herded her toward the soft, warm blankets. It would have been quite inviting, if only Ruan was not lying in them.

She balked.

“He will nae be moving for at least a week,” Isobel said, and pushed her forward. “And ye’ve naught to fear, even if he did.” There was a twinkle in her eye as she bundled her in.

There was no point in resisting. Bree had seen Afraig in that same mood often enough. It mattered little. Isobel would be gone in a few, short minutes, and she could do as she pleased. She drew the covers under her chin and waited as the bath was emptied and removed, all the while fighting the temptation to look at the man less than an arm’s length away. When Isobel sat at his side and placed a hand on his forehead, she finally did. His lashes were unusually long and black. She glanced down at his lips, overwhelmed with the odd desire to touch them with her finger before noticing Isobel’s knowing smile.

“He’ll be right well soon enough, lass,” Isobel promised again, and then hurried out the door.

She’d scarcely gone when Ruan murmured. “Forgive me for nae getting here sooner, lass. I’ll nae let Tormod touch ye again.”

The sooty lashes lifted and his dark eyes burned hers.

“You’re awake,” she breathed, rattled. He was uncomfortably close.

Amusement crossed his face. “Aye. I’ve never been asleep.”

Horrified, she drew back, falling out of the bed in her haste to get away. With heated cheeks, she scrambled up from the rushes.

“The… entire time? You were watching the entire time?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

“Aye,” his lips curved. “Ye’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

She stood with fingers clenched and tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Don’t weep.”

The gentleness in his tone only served to unleash the tears.

“Be done!” his voice altered to a familiar harshness. “Get in bed!”

Bree collapsed in hysteria, not even sure why she was crying, only that she was unable to stop. It had been a day filled with many emotions, so many that she could no longer ignore them. She began to babble how Silas had told them he was dead and then there was Tormod. The mere mention of his name made her ill. What kind of man was he? He’d thrust his tongue down her throat. She could still taste the rank mixture of onions and rotting teeth. Gagging, she wiped her mouth on the back of her arm. She sniveled on the floor until firm fingers closed over her arm, drawing her up from the rushes. Something pressed against her lips. A familiar liquid seared her throat. Whiskey. She gasped, choking.

“There. That should rid ye of the onions.”

It took several moments to realize Ruan had moved across the bed to pull her up.

“You should be….resting,” she gulped, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“I will, as soon as ye get in bed,” Ruan replied with clenched teeth, he tried to rest on his elbow, but collapsed in pain.

“You shouldn’t move. You will cause yourself harm!” Bree hiccupped, with open concern.

He raised a brow, then wincing in pain, gingerly eased himself back. “Trying to keep me now?”

She stared at him, confused, and then a moan escaped his lips.

His body began to shiver.

In less than an hour, he came down with a violent fever.

Bree spent the next three days at his side, filled with remorse. If he died now, she’d forever feel she’d cursed him. He’d saved her several times, and she’d done nothing, but cause trouble in return. Isobel assured her the fever was to be expected, and that it would heal him. She insisted that Ruan was young and strong, and that he’d seen worse, but Bree found it hard to believe. She stayed at his side through the long days and nights, wiping his sweating brow and forcing liquid between his parched lips.

Except for the occasional moan, Ruan suffered in silence.

Late in the evening on the fourth day, Ruan opened his eyes.

“I kent ye were the strong one!” Isobel’s kind smile swam into view. “Ye’ve too much to live for.”

He squinted, reliving the arrow, its brutal removal, and the ride back to Dunvegan in a haze of pain. Then, Tormod’s leering face hovering over a terrified Bree flashed into his mind.

“Bree,” his lips were cracked and dry.

“Aye, she’s asleep on the pillow there, love,” Isobel said, nodding with her chin.

Unusually weak, Ruan turned his head with a great effort to find Merry at his side. She lay with her head nestled on Bree’s shoulder. Both were asleep.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with emotion.

“Aye, those two never left yer side,” Isobel explained with an indulgent smile.

Merry sat up, her lips split into a wide grin before she launched herself to smother him with kisses.

Ruan smiled tiredly and tousled her hair. He caught a glimpse of Bree over Merry’s shoulder. Her presence made his heart pound, and he closed his eyes, oddly shy. He lacked the strength to open them again.

It was some time later that he woke again, feeling much stronger.

At his side, Bree stirred in her sleep. With a sigh, she rolled, lifting an unconscious arm as if to encircle Merry. To his surprise, she shifted his direction, dropping her arm across his chest, and threading her leg through his.

He took a deep breath, his mind flooding with a host of distracting thoughts as his throat constricted at her soft touch. She nestled closer. Her hair was everywhere, exuding the faint scent of lavender. He took a deep breath of the heady fragrance.

Aye, he was a fool.

There was no denying it: he was smitten.

His behavior degenerated from that moment on.

Careful not to wake her, he shifted back and studied her in fascination, keenly aware of her hand resting lightly on his thigh. As time lengthened, the location caused a pleasurable panic, and with a slight reluctance, he repositioned her fingers to rest instead on his stomach. It hardly helped. A heat began to burn. His attention riveted on the softness pressed against him, his palm involuntarily skimming lightly over her hip as her leg entwined deeper with his.

She was so achingly soft.

Flushed with desire, he fought to control the primal urge to crush her close and cover her lips with his.

“Hold still,” Bree mumbled, her lashes still closed. “You’ll wake your brother.”

“He’s awake,” Ruan whispered in her ear.

After a moment, her eyes flew open.

They both moved at once and Ruan winced at the sudden pain.

“I… forgive me!” Bree said and bolted up in the bed, pressing her hands against her cheeks.

Ruan didn’t reply, dismayed with himself. Sweet Mary, why was he so weak? Why could he not remember he was done with women? Aye, he knew he was smitten with the lass, but all the more reason to avoid her. He didn’t want to harm her, to turn into his father and see her cower in fear. Nor, did he have even a hovel to offer her as shelter. No, it was better to avoid the entire thing.

She left, hurriedly, and Isobel returned to cajole more broth and gruel down him, refusing to let him speak to Robert. He managed to finish the entire bowl before succumbing to sleep once more.

He woke with a start, in the dead of night, jolted by the memory of Robert’s death.

With a gasp, he sat up.

Vaguely, he was aware of Bree and Merry asking him what was wrong, but he was too overwhelmed to reply. A weight descended, threatening to crush him. Robert had died. Aye, and it was his own fault. He was responsible for his uncle’s death. Aye, he had to rescue his sister, but he must have gone about it the wrong way. Now, innocent crofters and Robert were dead because of his choice to ride without thinking of the consequences. Why had he acted so rashly? Surely, there must have been another way.

“What is it?” Merry’s tremulous voice echoed in the shadows.

How could he tell her?

Bree lit a candle. Her hands were shaking.

He was frightening them.

“Robert,” he finally said, his voice sounding strangled. “I…remember.”

No one said anything. What was there to say?

He staggered out of bed, brushing Bree’s offer of assistance aside, and welcoming the pain shooting through his shoulder. It allowed him to focus on what he had to do. He had to leave this place. Soon, before he caused more harm. Staying in Dunvegan was no longer a choice.

“Ye shouldn’t be about,” Merry warned. “Isobel will nae be pleased.”

He didn’t reply. He stepped to the window, throwing open the shutter to stare into the night sky. He could hear the sea beating against the castle, a sound that he always found comforting. At periodic intervals, Merry insisted he return to bed, but he ignored her, finding the cold air cleansing to his thoughts. At length, he settled on a plan. The first action would be to take Bree and Merry to Cameron.

They were both asleep when he finally returned to the bed, knowing he must rest. He’d need his strength in the days ahead. Unusually tired and weak, he settled next to Merry and willed sleep to come, but sleep proved fitful.

As the sun rose, Merry rose with it. She frowned, pointing to a small red stain on his shoulder. “I told ye to rest,” she glared. “I’ll fetch Isobel.”

He smiled, a little, as his sister disappeared into the corridor. She’d changed in the past few weeks, even stronger now than before her fateful wedding night. Bree was still asleep, obviously exhausted, her curls cascading over the pillow. He studied her from under half-closed lids, ignoring his quickening pulse, and wondered if he’d ever see those green eyes light with mirth, or those lips smile. Suppressing a sigh, he staggered to his feet, experiencing pangs of sadness over Robert’s loss. He’d almost made it to the window once more when the door opened and Isobel entered, followed by Ewan.