Loved By a Warrior (13 page)

He hurried her out the door. “You will wait in the keep with the women.”

Tara grabbed hold tightly of his arm, forcing him to stop. “Promise me you will not die.”

“I have all the reason in the world to make sure I live.” He grinned. “I have yet to make love to you.”

Chapter 14

T
he snowfall had turned into a raging snowstorm, the keep barely visible the short distance away. Tara yanked her hood up and latched on tightly to Reeve's hand. He in turn tucked her against his side as he attempted to keep the bitter cold and swirling snow from pelting her.

Tara kept her head tucked into Reeve's shoulder as he struggled with the keep door, and when he finally got it open, the icy wind blew them inside.

“Are you all right?” he asked, tossing her hood back.

“Yes, I'm fine,” she said, though her teeth chattered.

He walked her over to the hearth. “You're cold. You need to warm yourself.”

“Don't worry about me,” she said, and nodded toward his family, headed their way from various directions in the great hall.

Duncan had his arm around his wife and set her next to Tara.

“Are you feeling better?” Tara asked, though from Mercy's pale face, she could see that she wasn't, and Mercy confirmed it with a shake of her head.

“I don't want her alone,” Duncan said. “Could you please stay with her?”

“Certainly,” Tara said, and Mercy sent her a grateful glance.

“What's going on?” Reeve asked.

“All we know is that a sizeable troop heads this way,” Bryce said. “The snowstorm has made it difficult to ascertain who exactly it is.”

“So it could be the king's men?” Reeve asked.

“We've seen no sign of them close to the village,” Carmag said.

“Then let's go greet them,” Reeve suggested.

“Poor visibility prohibits that,” Bryce said.

“The same rings true for them,” Reeve reminded. “I say we at least go scout and see if we should prepare to greet or battle.”

“You and Bryce are good at that,” Carmag said to Reeve. “Go and see what you can find out.”

Both men nodded and left the great hall.

Duncan and Carmag wandered away from the trestle table to talk in private, and Mara left after informing them that she better have cook have hot food ready when they returned.

Tara turned to Mercy. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Mercy said, shaking her head. “It's strange. I just suddenly feel very tired, as if something is weighing me down. I don't understand it at all.”

Tara grew concerned immediately. Could her curse have returned, or had it never left?

“I do recall my mother complaining to me that when she carried me, I had so exhausted her that she spent most of her time in bed. I'm assuming it could be the same for me.”

Hearing that made Tara feel somewhat better, for it did make sense.

Mara suddenly appeared with a pitcher of hot cider and a wooden bowl piled with chunks of bread and cheese.

Tara removed her cloak, the fire having warmed her, and laid it beside her. Mercy filled two tankards for them, and they sat side by side, their hands cupped around the tankards, neither saying a word.

Conversation wasn't necessary. Their thoughts were similar; they prayed that no battle would take place this day.

Mara appeared again, this time with her healing basket. “Just in case anyone should need tending.”

Both women acknowledged her preparedness with a nod though, silently, they continued to worry.

It seemed like forever until a message arrived, the courier out of breath and appearing half-frozen. Mara shoved a tankard in his hands, and he cupped it gratefully and took several sips before he was finally able to talk.

“It's the Picts.”

“Why are they here?” Duncan voiced everyone's thoughts. “We have no quarrel with them.”

The courier shook his head, the tankard still at his lips.

“What is it, Robert?” Carmag asked the young man.

He continued shaking his head after lowering the tankard. “The Picts have Trey with them. He's badly injured.”

“No!” Mara screamed, and Carmag had to stop her from running out of the keep in search of her son.

“He'll need you.” Carmag needn't say any more.

Mara took a deep breath and started shouting orders. “I need fresh linens spread on a table and water kept hot.”

The servants nodded and carried out her every command without question and with tears in their eyes.

Carmag and Duncan immediately left the keep to be ready to help with Trey.

Mara turned to Tara. “I saw the clothes you stitched for the babe. You are good with a needle. With Mercy not feeling well, you will help me.”

Mercy tried to protest. “I can help. I want to help.”

“I will not have you grow worse and need healing while I need my attention on my son,” Mara said. “Tara will help.”

Tara realized that Mercy felt useless, so she offered, “We will need someone to prepare bandages and keep the needles threaded if Trey should require stitching.”

“She's right,” Mara said. “You can start on that now.”

The three women worked side by side, each glancing at the door time and time again until finally. . .

The door crashed opened.

Reeve carried Trey in his arms, and from his limp posture, Tara feared he was dead.

“Here, lay him here,” Mara instructed, standing by the table dressed in clean linens.

Tara was right at Mara's side when she looked upon her son, and she almost gasped at the sight of so much blood. The woman didn't hesitate; her hands were at her son, peeling away the blood-soaked blanket, trying to get to his wounds.

Tara didn't wait for instructions. She relied on her instincts and recalled what the women in her clan would do when tending the wounded warriors. With a thick towel, she reached for the smaller of the cauldrons in the fireplace. Reeve was quickly at her side to help, and when she looked into his dark eyes, she could see that he pleaded with her to help save his brother.

For a moment, she froze. Could this be her fault?

She felt Reeve's strong grip on her arm. “Please,” he whispered.

She could not fail him. She would not, and so she nodded.

Tara had never seen so many wounds on one person. She thought some were arrows, another could have been a sword, and another was too jagged to tell. She did not know how he would survive, for surely fever would set in and claim him. But like Mara, she wouldn't give up. This was Reeve's brother, and she would do all she could to save his life.

Mara had the men turn Trey on his side to examine him further, and Tara said what they both thought. “We need to stitch this wound right away.”

Tara worked alongside Mara, stitching and stitching. She allowed herself no thought, only concentration. She worked on Trey as if he were a delicate silk garment that required tender and precise stitches. She hadn't realized that Mara had stopped and moved out of her way as she had made her way along Trey's body. Tara only knew that she had to apply her finest stitches to his wounds, and so she continued working diligently over him, hour after hour.

She didn't know when her back had begun to ache; she only knew when she had suddenly become aware of the dull, steady pain. She gave a stretch and then continued until she finally came to the jagged wound on his chest. She examined it carefully, the flesh torn so badly she wondered if it could be repaired. After considering what stitches would be best to apply, she decided on tight cross-stitch embroidery stitches.

She called to Mercy, “I need the embroidery needle.”

It was in her hand before she finished stretching her back, and she never looked to see who had handed it to her, never saw the anxious faces that watched her intently; she was too busy finishing her piece of embroidery.

Thirty minutes later, she was finally done. She cleansed her bloody hands in the cauldron, the water having been refreshed time and time again. She then began dressing the wounds with the bandages stacked on the table next to where Trey lay. When she finished, she cleaned his face thoroughly of all blood, having left it for last since it had been the only place he hadn't suffered a wound.

He was handsome, but in a different way from Reeve. Reeve's features were sculpted whereas Trey's were more natural, as if the heavens had decided to grace him with fine features. He looked to be perhaps a couple of inches shorter than Reeve, and lean, his muscles naturally defined while Reeve's were chiseled.

She poured some warm water over his hair until the blood rinsed out, and his color, dark auburn, shone through. Once done, she straightened with a stretch and a hand to her lower back, her backache beyond bearable.

It was then she realized that complete silence surrounded her, and she turned.

Mara and Carmag stood side by side, his arm around her. Bryce was next to them, and Duncan stood beside Mercy, where she sat at the table, and Reeve was not far from her side. Had he been the one handing her what she needed? Standing beside her through it all?

Mara stepped forward. “Your stitches proved far superior to mine, and when I saw that, I knew my son would be grateful if I allowed a skillfully elegant hand like yours to tend his wounds. I am forever grateful to you.”

Tara was not accustomed to being thanked or her stitching skills being acknowledged, let alone praised. She didn't know how to respond, and so she stepped closer to Reeve.

His arm instantly went around her waist, and he fit her snug against him. “Thank you.”

Tara looked from Reeve to all the others. She feared that they believed she saved him, an ironic twist. Usually, it was death she brought to people. “Trey's wounds have a long way to go before they or he heals.”

Mara stepped forward. “True, but what you have done has given him a fighting chance.”

She could only hope that she had. “He should be moved to his bedchamber before he wakes.”

Her sons stepped forward before Mara even summoned them.

“Leave him to me. I'm the strongest,” Reeve said.

No one argued, and Reeve carefully slipped his arms beneath his brother's prone body and lifted him. He cradled him like a precious babe, and his mother draped clean linen over Trey.

“Tara,” Mara said, “come help me settle him.”

Mara led the way, Reeve followed, and Tara trailed behind.

Tara noticed that there was a woman's touch to Trey's bedchamber when she entered. A trinket box lay on a slim table next to a cushioned red velvet chair. And over it was draped a pale blue shawl with braided fringe. White silk ribbons were tied in bows around the pewter candlesticks on top of the mantel, and the hint of roses permeated the air. Remnants, she supposed, of the woman he had loved and lost.

She watched Mara fight back tears as she helped settle Trey comfortably in bed, but she retained her composure. No doubt she knew that it was more important to doggedly help her son rather than succumb to defeat.

“We'll need to take shifts and watch for fever,” Mara said, tucking the ends of the soft wool blanket under the mattress.

“I'll sit with him now.”

They looked up to see Mercy, followed by Duncan, Bryce, and Carmag entering the room.

“And don't bother arguing with me,” Mercy said. “Since I'm feeling tired, it is the best chore for me. I can rest and be useful at the same time.”

“I agree,” Duncan said, taking the armless, red velvet chair in front of the fire and placing it next to the bed.

“We can all take turns,” Bryce offered, and everyone nodded in agreement.

“It is time to talk to the Picts and see if they know what happened to Trey,” Carmag said, “and to offer them nourishment and shelter.”

That spurred Mara into action. “Tara, we best get the hall cleaned and food set out.”

Reeve stepped behind Tara and massaged the tops of her shoulders. She nearly sunk against him, it felt so good.

“Tara is exhausted, mum,” he said.

“When all is done, I can rest,” Tara said.

Mara nodded. “Tara's right.” And as she walked past the couple, she gave a slap to Reeve's arm. “She's a keeper. See that you don't lose her.”

Everyone smiled for the first time since Trey had been brought home.

Reeve turned Tara around and moved his hands to massage around the back of her neck. “I will ease the soreness from your muscles later.”

“Promise?” Tara asked with a sigh, his touch exquisite.

“Aye, it is,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

Realizing his family was around, her eyes flew open, and her cheeks flushed.

“Only Mercy remains,” Reeve said, “and her eyes are intent on Trey.”

Tara's shoulders slumped in relief. “I must go help your mum.”

He took her face in his hands. “Thank you for what you did tonight. Your hands and concentration never wavered. You remained focused and gave thought to nothing except my brother. Mum saw it too, and she was wise to step aside and leave Trey in your capable and skillful hands.”

He stopped her protest with his lips. Though it was a brief kiss, it contented her, and she simply smiled when it was done.

“We must go,” Tara reminded, and they did, though not before she checked on Trey one more time. She didn't like what she found. He already felt feverish to her.

Chapter 15

R
eeve listened along with Tara and his family as the Pict Roan explained how on their return home they had found Trey lying in a pool of blood.

“We thought he was dead,” Roan said.

The four other Picts at the table ate as Roan spoke, though their eyes often darted around, alert and ready.

“Then I realized there was life left in the fallen warrior and that I knew him. He was the Highlander warrior who had come to our village to see about the injured woman Mercy, and so we brought him home.”

“For which we are eternally grateful,” Carmag acknowledged. “There were no signs of his attackers?”

“None that we could discern,” Roan said.

“Had you seen any signs of another's presence in the area?” Bryce asked.

“The king's men have been seen more often than usual. Thieves have been more prevalent of late, and more clans seem to be uniting. The wind of change is decisively in the air.”

“That it is,” Carmag agreed. “And again we are grateful that you brought Trey home to us. And you are welcome to seek shelter and food here for as long as you need.”

Roan nodded. “Thank you, but as soon as the storm lessens, we will depart. How is Trey doing?”

“Only time will tell,” Carmag said.

Reeve knew as did his family that they would not know what happened to Trey until he woke and explained it all. And his father was right, only time would tell if Trey survived.

Mara saw that blankets were provided for the Picts to bed down in the great hall for the night. Afterwards, she had plans to sit through the night beside her son.

“You get some sleep,” Mara ordered Tara. “In case you are needed.”

“I'll look in on Trey first,” Tara said.

“Then I'll see that she's settled in my bedchamber,” Reeve said.

Mara sent him a scowl. “Make sure you're quick about it.”

Reeve nodded, though his brothers both grinned at him.

Reeve wasn't surprised when Duncan followed him and Tara to Trey's bedchamber and went straight to his wife's side once there.

“I'm fine,” Mercy assured him. “The rest has done me good, I'm hungry.”

“Mum is coming to sit with Trey for the night,” Duncan said. “I'll have food brought to our bedchamber.”

Reeve watched relief spread across his brother's face when Mercy had acknowledged her hunger. He hadn't, when first learning of Duncan's love for Mercy, understood how he could have allowed a woman to possibly interfere with their mission. He had even reprimanded Duncan for it, reminding him that they had agreed that nothing, absolutely nothing, would stand in the way of them seeing the true king seated on the throne.

Now, however, he could relate to Duncan's conundrum. When love struck, it could not be ignored.

Love.

That word haunted him like a ghost who refused to accept death. Was he refusing to believe that he was falling in love? He glanced over at Tara, her attention fully focused on his brother. Her black ringlets drooped around her face, and her lovely eyes held a mixture of concern and exhaustion. He wanted to scoop her up and rush her to his room, tuck her in bed, and make certain she slept.

He almost laughed aloud. He had to be falling in love. He was more concerned with her well-being than he was with his own needs, with bedding her. But then he didn't simply want to bed her; that he could do with any willing woman. He wanted more with and from Tara, and he wanted to find out just what that
more
was.

Reeve saw that Tara's hand lingered on Trey's face, going from his forehead, to his cheeks, and she even rested her hand on his neck.

“Has he a fever?” Reeve asked worried.

“Does he?” Duncan asked with even more anxiety, Mercy clutching her husband's hand and her eyes filling with concern.

“He's as warm as he was before,” Tara said.

“Is that good or bad?” Reeve asked.

“He's warm to the touch,” Tara explained, “but he's grown no hotter, which is good. He'll need to be watched closely.”

“Do not worry, I'll have my eyes on him all night,” Mara said, entering the room, Carmag following her in.

Carmag walked over to Reeve, and whispered, “Bryce is talking with the Picts.”

Reeve wasn't surprised that Bryce had remained with the Picts. He had a way of talking with people and finding out things that they hadn't realized they knew, or perhaps had not thought of to share.

“Duncan, feed your wife,” Mara ordered. “Reeve, see to it that Tara rests.”

Both men assured her they would, both knowing that it was her way of saying I love you both, but your brother needs me now.

Reeve and Duncan exchanged anxious glances when they watched their father go to his wife's side and place his hand on her shoulder. In turn, their mother rested her hand on top of his. They were drawing strength from each other, as they always did in time of crisis; only this time it was obvious that they were frightened. They feared losing their son.

Reeve and Duncan stopped outside the door once it was closed, their hands clutched firmly to their women.

“I wish there was more we could do,” Reeve said.

“There is,” Mercy said. “Pray.”

Though worried about his brother, Reeve also worried about Tara. Once in his bedchamber, she let go of his hand and walked over to the fireplace, stretching, as if easing out the pain as her hand rubbed at her lower back.

He came up behind her, his hand gently moving hers aside, his fingers rubbing where hers had been. He felt the tautness in her muscles, no doubt from the hours she had spent bent over Trey stitching his wounds. He kneaded the stiff muscles, and she sighed.

“That feels so good.”

“Lie on the bed, and I'll make you feel even better.”

She turned in haste, her tired eyes forced wide.

Normally he would have grinned and teased, but she didn't need that now from him. She needed reassurance that he simply wanted to tend her.

“My only thought is to rid you of this pain,” he said.

Her shoulders slumped, along with her sigh of relief, and she eagerly went to the bed.

He knew it would be easier without the interference of her clothes. Besides she would sleep better as well, but he wasn't sure if she would agree. And he wasn't sure if it was wise.

He asked anyway. “You should get out of those clothes. You'll rest better.”

She turned. “That is true. And since you are honorable, and I trust you and your word, I shall disrobe.”

Reeve groaned silently. He would have no choice but to be respectful and true to his word, no matter how hard. And he was already hard as it was.

“Turn around,” she said.

Reeve did with great reluctance, but he had given his word, and he would keep it. He heard her slip her garments off, and his mind couldn't help but take flight. Her full breasts, her slim waist, her wide curvy hips painted irresistible images, and he ached to see her beauty.

He heard the creak of the bed, and he took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to do wouldn't be easy. He warned himself against being selfish and kept that warning strong when she told him that she was ready.

He was ready as well, though not in the same sense, and he turned around with all the courage and strength of a mighty Highlander warrior.

He almost lost it when he saw her lying on her stomach, her arms wrapped around the pillow her head rested on. She was naked down to her lower back, the blanket serving as a boundary he was not to go beyond. Her body was exquisite, just the right curves and mounds that he favored.

Stop!

His silent reprimand rang loudly in his head, and he was glad for the warning. He pushed the dangerous thoughts aside and walked over to her. She had left room for him to sit beside her, and he did. He focused on what he needed to do, and his hands went directly to her lower back.

He began kneading from the center out, his hands following the natural, seductive curve of her back. He would have lingered to admire her beauty, but her stubborn muscles captured his attention, and he worked diligently on them. Pressing and kneading, working the obstinate flesh until . . .

She groaned, and he stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

“Don't stop,” she whispered. “It feels good.”

Damn but he wished she was saying that for a far different reason.

Stop!

The warning rang again, and he reminded himself to obey it. He returned his attention to the stubborn muscles and worked even more diligently, attacking them as if they were the enemy. He used his thumb on the most troublesome spots, which always forced a groan from her.

He continued to keep his wits about him, particularly when he hit a sensitive spot that caused her backside to rise and a moan to escape. Finally, to save his own sanity, he shifted his attention to her upper back, which produced a deeper groan but at least no body movement.

“You are truly my hero,” she murmured, when he eased the aches from along the tops of her shoulders.

He heard the fatigue in her voice, and he knew that she would soon be asleep. And that was good; she needed rest though he didn't want to stop touching her just yet. He loved the feel of her silky-soft skin. It was like running his fingers over velvet.

He felt when sleep finally claimed her, her body going limp, and with a gentle brush of his hand down along her back, he took hold of the blanket and pulled it up, covering her. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, not trusting himself to linger, and hurried out of the room.

His hand went to the wall just outside the door for support, and he lowered his head, taking a deep breath.

“I suffered the same once,” Duncan said walking toward him.

“And you're not grinning?”

Duncan rested his hand on his brother's back. “Torture is nothing to grin over.”

They both laughed, and Reeve shook his head. “I don't know how you remained honorable being shackled to Mercy as long as you were.”

“It wasn't easy, but then love never is.”

“There you go mentioning love again,” Reeve said.

“It's the only thing that makes sense when nothing makes sense.”

“Why does that suddenly sound sensible to me?”

“Because you're falling in love?” This time Duncan grinned.

Reeve shook his head again. “How is Mercy?

“Changing the subject won't help.”

“Maybe, but I need to.”

Duncan kept grinning as he nodded. “My wife wants more food.”

“Sounds like she's doing better.”

“I believe she is.”

“I thought I'd go sit with mum for a while,” Reeve said.

“I was going to stop by once Mercy fell asleep.”

“Has Bryce found out anything more?” Reeve asked.

“He's still talking with the Picts.”

“It's going to be a long night,” Reeve said.

R
eeve sat beside his mother on a small foot bench. He had thought it might not hold his weight, and so he sat down on it with apprehension, but it held. He reached out to take his mother's hand, draped over the arm of her chair.

She took strong hold of it, as if she needed an anchor to hold her firm.

“You have a good woman. Don't lose her,” Mara said.

“It's not long that I've known her,” Reeve said.

“That doesn't matter. It's how you feel about her that counts.”

“I'm learning how I feel.”

“That is the exciting part about love,” Mara said. “You learn as you go, and yet love has already grabbed hold. It's keeping that hold that matters.”

“You and Da have kept hold of love.”

“I sometimes wonder how,” Mara said, shaking her head. “I can be difficult at times.”

“Truly?” Reeve asked with a grin.

Mara slapped his arm with her free hand while clinging tightly with her other. “Go on with you now, teasing your poor mum like that.”

“Da always looks at you with love, even when you're angry,” Reeve said earnestly.

“His love is what often stills my anger,” Mara admitted.

“You make a good pair.”

“We always have. I knew when I was young that he would be mine, and I laid claim to him,” Mara said proudly.

“Never let anyone stand in your way, did you?”

“Not a one,” Mara said proudly. “You do whatever it takes.”

“I'll remember that.”

“See that you do, my son,” Mara said with a smile.

Reeve suddenly felt guilty about keeping the truth about Tara from his mother. He wondered if it would have been better to tell her. He believed that she would fight to help Tara rather than condemn her. His mum was a good ally and a formidable enemy. She fought for not only what she believed, but for whom she loved. She would fight the devil himself for those she loved, and he had no doubt she would win.

“You should go get some rest,” Mara said. “You may be needed later.”

“I'll sit with you a while yet,” he said, not wanting to leave her alone.

“You must be tired. You returned home early this morning.”

“How did you know when I arrived?”

She smiled, and he was glad to see it. “There isn't much that goes on around here that I don't know about.”

“I should have remembered that,” Reeve said. “There wasn't much that my brothers and I could do that you weren't aware of.”

“There still isn't,” Mara said with a grin.

Trey groaned, grabbing their attention, and Mara let go of Reeve's hand and sprang out of the chair.

“No! No!” Trey groaned and began thrashing around in the bed.

“We need to hold him down or he may break open his stitching,” Mara said, her hands trying to avoid her son's flaying hands as she sought to help him.

Reeve went to his brother's side and as soon as he put his hands on him, he said, “He burns with fever.”