Loved By a Warrior (14 page)

Chapter 16

T
ara woke, springing up in bed, a sense of dread causing gooseflesh to rise along her arms and a tightness to settle in her stomach. She glanced around the room and saw that she was alone. She dropped back on the pillow, and memories of Reeve's hands easing away her aches rushed over her.

Lord, his touch had felt so very good, and she hadn't been the least worried that he would take advantage of the situation. He was a man she could trust. It was she, herself, she couldn't trust. The truth of it was that she hadn't wanted him to stop; she wished that it had turned more intimate between them. Even though fatigued, her body had tingled with desire for him and relieved she had been to have exhaustion claim her before she had done something unwise.

She would have liked to have lingered in the luscious memories, but gooseflesh slowly continued to claim every bit of flesh. She grew uneasy and she realized something was wrong, very wrong. And as much as she wished to simply linger in bed with thoughts of Reeve, she jumped up and quickly got dressed. She twisted her hair up and pinned it in haste, several black ringlets falling willfully loose.

She slipped her boots on, never noticing that the swelling had all but disappeared. The anxiousness had now turned to extreme worry, and she hurried to the door and ran, knowing exactly where she was needed.

Tara burst through the door of Trey's bedchamber and was horrified at the scene. Reeve and Mara were fighting to keep his brother in the bed.

“He's wild with fever,” Mara said.

To the bewilderment of them both, she ran from the room. She all but flew down the stairs, slipping on a step and twisting her injured ankle. Pain shot through it, but she ignored it, grimacing while she kept moving.

Once in the great hall, she called out to Bryce, sitting with Roan by the hearth, “Trey needs you.”

He sprang off the bench. “Where do you go?”

Tara grabbed two buckets near the hearth. “To get snow to bring your brother's fever down.”

The wind blew furiously, snow continuing to pelt the ground. Tara shivered but paid no heed to the cold. She hadn't wasted time to grab her cloak. She didn't have time, and with two bucketfuls of snow, she entered the keep and ran up the stairs.

She refused to acknowledge the throbbing pain in her ankle. She was intent on her mission and wouldn't let anything stand in her way.

When she entered Trey's bedchamber, she went directly to the bed, dropped one bucket to the floor, and emptied the other on top of Trey. She picked up the full one after discarding the other and emptied that on him as well.

She hadn't realized that Trey had calmed until she began spreading the snow evenly over him. Mara's hands soon joined hers, and they had him covered in snow in no time. Tara then took a handful and rubbed it over his face.

Trey moaned though it was more a sigh of relief, as if his suffering had been relieved.

Mara grabbed at her arm when she was done. “How did you know?”

Tara shook her head. “I woke feeling something was wrong and came here.”

“And the snow?”

“I watched the women in our clan do it. Some they saved; some they didn't.”

“Then he has a chance,” Mara said firmly.

“We'll need to get him dry when the snow melts and be ready to use more if necessary,” Tara explained.

“Whatever it takes,” Mara said.

It wasn't until hours later, with them all working together to bring his fever down and settle him comfortably in a dry bed, that Trey finally lay resting, and for Mara to notice Tara limping.

“Your ankle,” Mara said, and everyone turned to stare at Tara.

“I gave it a twist on the stairs,” Tara admitted.

“You've given enough,” Mara said. “It is time for you to rest.”

Reeve went to her side, but she limped away from him. “You may need me.”

“Trey's fever is down, and he rests comfortably thanks to you,” Mara said. “It is now time for you to take care in case you are needed again.”

Reeve scooped her up then, and she didn't protest. She was bone-tired, and her ankle was sore though not unbearably so. She rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her out of the room and down to their bedchamber.

Their bedchamber?

Is that how she thought of it? As
theirs
?

More and more, she was thinking of them as one; but then, they fit as one. So why not be one?

She would have shaken her head if she wasn't so tired, which made everything all the more confusing. Life had changed so suddenly and drastically that she barely had time to comprehend it all or believe it. She still wondered if she was dreaming, and she would awaken to the horrible life she had lived before.

“I intend to see that you rest,” Reeve whispered, and kissed the top of her head.

She wondered how he planned on doing that, and she soon found out.

Reeve sat her on the bed, removed her boots, and ordered her to disrobe, turning his back to give her privacy.

She didn't argue. She was tired, and her garments were damp from the snow. Once done, she crawled under the covers. Every bit of her ached from top to bottom and in between.

“I'm done,” she said, and meant it.

Reeve slipped off his boots, loosened the section of his plaid that crossed over his chest, and slipped his black shirt off. He then grabbed another blanket from the chest at the end of the bed and threw it over the blanket that covered Tara and crawled beneath it.

He wrapped her in his arms, kissing her cheek. “Now I know that you will stay put.”

“Do not worry,” she said with a smile. “I am too comfortable in your arms to go anywhere.”

And in no time they were both asleep.

I
t seemed that they had just fallen asleep when the door crashed open.

“We need you, Reeve,” Bryce shouted, and left.

Reeve was out of bed running in nothing more than his plaid.

Tara rushed to dress and hurried after him, not bothering with her boots.

Trey was once again thrashing about.

Tara felt his head. He was burning up again. “We need more ice.” She didn't wait for anyone to respond. She grabbed the buckets and raced down the stairs and outside.

Mara followed. “He was doing well.”

“Fever is unpredictable. Up one moment, down the next,” Tara said.

Once again, the two women worked over Trey, and this time when they were done, Tara refused to leave his side.

“No!” she said adamantly, and plopped down in the chair beside the bed. “I will remain right here.”

No one argued with her.

Mara looked stricken, as if she had failed her son.

“I could use a brew,” Tara said, knowing that giving Mara something to do would help. It was the way she had survived many times when upset. She got busy, so no thoughts could intrude, and then be so tired that sleep claimed her before any musings could.

“I'll get you a soothing one,” Mara said.

“Bring one for yourself,” Tara said, knowing Mara needed to remember that she was not only needed but wanted here. Tara had been starved for both for so long she had almost forgotten how it felt to be needed and wanted. And she almost cried with the joy of knowing it again.

Mara nodded.

“You know how to handle my wife,” Carmag said. “I am grateful not only for that, but for all you do for my son.”

Gratitude was another thing that had become so very unfamiliar to her, and so she was uncomfortable with it. She reached out to Reeve, standing beside her, for support.

His hand closed around hers. “Tara has a good heart.”

“A generous one,” Bryce added.

“A loving one,” Duncan said.

A smile peeked through Tara's blush. “Sunrise is not far off; you should all get some sleep. If you are needed, Reeve will come for you.”

She squeezed his hand tight.

“I'll be right here,” Reeve said, easing his brothers' worries.

They left, albeit reluctantly, their father leaving as well, with intentions of helping his wife.

“Are you all right?” Reeve asked, hunching down in front of her.

“I'll get more rest being here than in your bedchamber.”

“I have to agree, though I'd rather not.” He grinned.

“Neither would I,” she whispered, and kissed him lightly.

“Now you're tormenting me.”

“You tormented—no, you tortured me,” she said with a soft laugh.

“How so?”

Tara decided to be honest. After all, this had to be nothing but a dream, a fantasy for sure. Good things simply did not happen to her. “Your hands—” She paused, not sure how to say it and then simply plunged ahead. “They felt so very good and had me wanting so much more.”

“Now you tell me.”

“But I can,” Tara said softly, “for none of this is real.”

Reeve looked at her strangely, and his hand rested on her cheek. “It is all real, my love.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I will wake, and you will be gone.”

Reeve shook his head. “No, I will not. I am here with you, and here I will stay.”

“How I wish,” Tara said softly.

“Then your wish will come true.”

Tara yawned and rested her head back against the chair, and repeated, “How I wish.”

R
eeve covered Tara with a blanket just as Mara and Carmag entered the room.

“She sleeps,” Reeve said.

“She needs it,” Mara said, and handed the hot brew to her son.

Reeve took it and sipped it gratefully.

“It's been a long night,” Carmag said. “And it has yet to end.”

Those words proved true since Trey's fever climbed again, and Mara and Tara were quick to react. Though this time Reeve went and fetched the buckets of snow.

By sunrise, Trey was resting, but Tara didn't like the look of one wound, and she feared that poison had already set in. As the day went on and the fever continued to rise and fall and Trey remained in slumber, she feared the worst.

“We've done all we can,” Tara said to Mara, as they watched over Trey.

Mara brushed her son's auburn hair back away from his face. “I won't let him die. There must be something else we can do.”

“There might be,” Mercy said from the open door.

“Tell me,” Mara was quick to demand.

Tara was pleased to see that Mercy looked much better, her cheeks full with color as she approached them.

“Bliss could possibly help,” Mercy said. “She is a Pict woman who helped heal me when I was shackled to Duncan after I had been struck with an arrow.”

“She is a healer?” Mara asked anxiously.

“As Bliss once explained to me, she is not a healer and yet she heals.”

“She is a witch?” Mara asked nervously.

“No,” Mercy said, shaking her head. “She is a remarkable woman. You would like her.”

“It matters not,” Mara said obstinately. “If she can help my son, then she is welcome here.”

“I'll go ask Roan if he can bring Bliss here,” Mercy suggested.

“I'll go with you,” Mara said, and looked to Tara.

“Go,” Tara urged.

“I won't be long,” Mara assured, and hurried out with Mercy.

Reeve entered shortly after the two women left. He was shaking his head. “I could barely understand mum, something about getting a witch to help Trey?”

“No, a healer of sorts,” Tara clarified.

“If she thinks it will help,” Reeve said. “Duncan and Mercy will be replacing you soon, so that you can join me in a meal.”

Tara smiled and was ready to tell him she was starving when she looked to Trey first and saw his eyes open wide.

“Reeve,” she said, standing and waving him to the bed.

Once he saw his brother's eyes open, he rushed to his side. “I'm here, Trey. You're safe.”

Trey's eyes darted past Reeve to settle on Tara. They spread wide, and he raised his hand and pointed his finger at her and in a bare whisper before once again closing his eyes, he said, “Death.”

Tara collapsed to the chair, her skin rising in gooseflesh.

“He doesn't know what he says,” Reeve said.

But Tara wondered if perhaps he had learned something about her, perhaps he had known she was a death bride and in his pain tried to warn his family.

“He doesn't know what he says,” Reeve insisted again.

They had no time to argue. Mercy appeared at the door.

“Hurry,” she said breathless. “Willow has brought Jacob. He is seriously ill.”

Tara froze, being plunged back into her nightmare. Death once again stalked those around her.

Reeve grabbed her arm. “Mercy will stay with Trey. Come with me. Willow may need you.”

Tara didn't yank her arm free until they left the room and were near the stairs. “I cannot touch anyone anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is my fault.”

“That's nonsense,” Reeve said.

“No, the curse is real, and it will only get worse. You must believe me,” she begged.

Reeve grabbed her arm tightly. “Enough. We don't even know what happened to Jacob and Willow. And Trey is crazy from fever. Keep your wits about you. You are needed.”

Tara wanted to believe him, but she felt she would do more harm than good. “You heard your brother, I am death.”

Reeve yanked her up against him. “Am I ill? Has anything happened to me?”

Tara shook her head. “Don't—”

“Don't point out the truth?” Reeve argued. “Trey does not know you—” He held up his hand when she tried to interrupt. “He speaks senselessly from fever. And Jacob is an old man. You had nothing to do with either of their misfortunes.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do,” Reeve insisted. “You are a good woman with a good heart. No curse can befall goodness.”