The Highlander's Warrior Bride (3 page)

He looked toward the heavens, taking in the
sun as it beamed through a puff of white cloud, and willed his body to behave. Curse his body. Now was not the time. He needed to concentrate on getting them back to the castle without further injury.

A heavy trod of hoof beats echoed in the forest behind him. Ronan squeezed his mount, urging him
spring forward. He didn’t know who followed. While he’d fight to the death, it would come quick considering he was having a hard time staying upright on his horse.

Fear tried to find a place in his mind, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Hold tight, Lady Julianna,” he muttered, not knowing whether she was lucid enough to comprehend him.

She must have understood some of it as she snuggled closer and whispered something unintelligible.

“Faster, Saint!” he growled to his horse.

Saint lowered his head and surged forward. With his good arm holding Julianna, Ronan wasn’t able to use his sword to block low hanging branches. Several thin ones whipped into his face. Luckily, the larger ones he was able to see in time and duck.

“Ronan!”

He could have sworn someone just called his name.
It seemed like his ears were stuffed full of sheep’s wool. Everything was muffled and echoed at the same time.

“Slow down, man!”

Graham. Ronan slowed, and his second galloped up beside him.

“Jesus, ye look like hell. And ye’re covered in blood. Yours
—” Graham nodded his head toward the unconscious Julianna. “Or hers?”

“Mine,” Ronan croaked. His mouth was dry and he was suddenly parched. So thirsty, he might cut off a man’s hand in order to get to a drink.

“Let me wrap it.” Graham’s words held no room for argument.

Ronan slowed Saint to a stop. Graham ripped a strip of linen from his shirt and wrapped it tightly around Ronan’s shoulder. Hissing from the pain, Ronan forced himself not to punch Graham in the nose.

“Ye’ve lost a lot of blood, man. I’m surprised ye’re still sitting that horse.”

“I’ve more important things to worry over than losing my seat.”

“What about your life?” Graham frowned. “Give me the lass. Ye need all the strength ye can muster. And ye might want to block some of the branches. Ye look like your overlord took a whip to your face.”

Ronan glowered and tightened his hold on Julianna. He didn’t want to surrender her.

“Give her to me, Ronan.”

“Ye do not issue me orders.” He tried for overbearing, but instead his voice came out weak, and the effort he’d used made him dizzy.

“No, I dinna, ye’re right about that. But I did take an oath to protect ye, and I intend to do it, even if ’tis from your own stubborn arse. Now give me the lass.”

Reluctantly, Ronan attempted to lift Julianna from his lap. She moaned, her head rolling from side to side. He was loathe to admit that he couldn’t lift her. When had he become so weak? What had he done to deserve such a demeaning feeling? He felt no better than a babe out of the womb.

Graham simply reached across his horse and plucked Julianna from Ronan’s lap.

“I’ll keep her safe, I promise.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes at Graham, who avoided his gaze.
Graham promised?
Oh hell, that sounded like more than just a pledge to do his duty. Did Graham know he had an interest in the lass? Was it possible that others had seen Ronan’s interest in her as well? No good at all. Ronan had absolutely no plans, whatsoever,
ever
, to settle down with a woman. No matter how much she captivated him.

He was ensconced in the war for Scottish independence. A warring man. No woman deserved to tie herself to a man who would make her a widow.

Julianna was worthy of more than that. And that was all he would think on the matter.

’Haps when he returned to the castle, had his shoulder stitched up and twenty drams of
whisky in his system, he’d prove he wasn’t interested in taking a wife by bedding down with three or four of the female servants. There were plenty who’d offer him services. The one toothless gal had been particularly good at…

Ronan’
s lip twitched with disgust. He was an arse. No women. Just whisky and sleep.

“Go,” he ordered.

Graham took the lead and Ronan followed. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open, if he hadn’t grabbed a handful of his horse’s mane he might now be laying on the ground. It felt like an eternity before they reached the bridge leading over Loch Duich. Eilean Donan sat on her island surrounded by mist. She was ethereal, but intimidating all the same. Shards of sunlight glinted off the weapons of the guards atop the tower. Arrows pointed at their hearts.

Graham raised his arm and sounded their call so the guards would know who they were. A return call split the mid-morning air, and they took the cue to cross. Praise God. They made it.
The clopping of horses’ hooves on the bridge was a welcome sound. Soon he’d be sewn up, liquored up, and warm beneath a pile of blankets. His skin prickled with chill, his teeth chattered and his eyelids quivered. Damn. Only a few more feet.

“Cold,” he said.

“What’s that?” Graham called behind him.

“I’m…cold.”

Just before the end of the bridge, Ronan felt himself slipping. He grappled ineffectively with the reins, with the saddle, with Saint’s mane—anything that he could grab hold of, but everything slithered through his fingers. He clutched his thighs tighter, but it was like his legs were made of grass, no strength, no stability.

He was falling.
Ballocks
. This was not happening.

But it was. And the impact of his head
hitting the bridge hurt like the devil. He was not a weak man. He did not feel pain like ordinary men. That’s what he kept telling himself. He willed himself to get his lazy arse off the bridge. However, it was easier thought than done. Pain seared across his head, his shoulder. He felt like he’d been dunked in the frozen loch, attacked by wild animals.

“
Mo creach
,” he mumbled before passing out.

Chapter Three

A
savory scent wafted back and forth beneath Julianna’s nose. She found herself following the smell, much like she’d seen her horse do when she offered him a treat.

What was it? She was starving. Thirsty. Dying to get her mouth on whatever that delicious smell was.

“Wake up. Come now, take a sip.”

Heaven
s yes, she would!

Her eyelids were heavy, her limbs heavier. She could barely move, but she forced her eye
lids open. The light was bright, searing a painful blindness. Julianna blinked, then focused on Lady Myra who sat beside her. The woman was beautiful and put together as always. Well, not always. When Julianna first saw her, Myra had been quite a mess. But having escaped death, it wasn’t completely out of the question for Myra to have appeared the way she did. Now her skin looked like strawberries and cream, her raven hair glossy and neat.

Utterly feminine. Not like Julianna.

Julianna was propped up on pillows in her chamber. The scents of her soap and dried flowers a familiar comfort. One of only a few she allowed herself. A fire burned high in the hearth making her chamber warm and inviting.

“Ye’re back.” Myra’s smile was genuine, pleased.
“I feared I might have to force this broth down your gullet.”

Julianna managed a weak smile. “I dinna have a gullet, I’m a lady. I sip.”

Myra laughed. “Apologies.” She held a wooden spoon to Julianna’s mouth and she greedily drank.

The broth tasted better than anything she’d ever consumed before. Or ’haps that was the starvation talking, but
the liquid was warm, tasty and bordering on hot, just the way she liked it.

“Careful, not too fast,” Myra cautioned. “Ronan says he wasn’t sure when ye ate last.”

Julianna took another sip. Beef. It was definitely beef broth with a hint of onion and rosemary.

“I dinna know,” she managed to say. How could she tell Myra that she’d given her everything, and eaten nothing since she left? Julianna didn’t want her friend to feel like it was her fault that she lay here weak and helpless as a newborn calf.

“Did ye eat while being held in the Ross camp?”

Julianna bit her lip, not wanting to confess. “After ye left, they gave me piss to drink and vomit to eat.”

Myra’s eyes widened and she still
ed. Julianna managed to reach up and guided the spoon to her mouth. The broth really was delicious.

“Ye jest,” her friend said.

Julianna gave a feeble laugh, then lied, “Aye. They simply forgot to feed me. I was a prisoner, not a guest.”

Anger flashed in Myra’s eyes.

“Ye weren’t a prisoner, but a victim.”

Wrong words to utter
. “I am never a victim.” Julianna spoke with vehemence. She struggled to sit up, pushing up on her elbows, then managing to scoot her hips back. Every muscle, bone and joint ached. “I shall feed myself. Go and do whatever it is ye do.”

Myra looked taken aback, her lips thinnin
g somewhat. “I meant no offense. I was merely angry over how they treated ye.”

Julianna swallowed back a retort. She would be the first to
admit that her temper was short, that there was no middle ground. She could be sweet one moment and through the roof the next. Myra was a friend. Not her enemy. She’d brought broth to help her regain her strength. Snapping at her was not right. She owed Myra an apology.

Knowing all this
, however, only embarrassed Julianna further. She just wanted to be left alone. Wanted to finish her broth in peace. Then she’d take a nap, and when she woke, it would be time to dress and search for Robert the Bruce. They had much to discuss, first and foremost her apology for allowing herself to be taken. Whether or not she’d confess that she went willingly was a matter she’d not yet figured out. “I would like some time alone. To rest.”

Myra stood, rolled her eyes and thrust the warm bowl of broth at Julianna. “I thought we’d gotten over the impasse that seemed to be our relationship. That after what happened, we’d forged
a bond. I suppose I was wrong.”

Myra whirled and headed for the door.
They had come a long way. Things had changed since Julianna spied on Myra and refused to speak to her. They were friends now.

Julianna bit her lip to keep choice
words from flying out. “Wait.”

Myra turned around, arms crossed over her chest.
“Aye?”

“I’m…sorry. I’m verra
tired.”

“As expected, in fact, I didna even think ye’d wake. Ye look like hell and at least a stone lighter than when ye left.”

Julianna frowned into the broth and took another sip. “I’m not used to having…friends.”

And she wasn’t. Friends had never been a luxury
afforded her. Life had been all about her studies, her training, and when she was deemed fit, she was given her duty to Scotland. Whenever she’d attempted to play with other children, she’d been hauled back in for more preparations. At the time it had seemed cruel, but now she understood why. A person in her position couldn’t have close, meaningful relationships. The loss was too strong. That much she understood and she respected her mentor for taking away her choice to have companions or friendships.

“Are we friends?” Myra looked hopeful.

With the arrival of Myra, Julianna had been given a rare gift. The chance to form a rapport with another female. It probably wasn’t the best course to take, but heaven help her, she desperately wanted someone she could talk to… Not just any someone—another woman. Myra. Julianna longed to tell her about the feelings sweeping through her. Forbidden or not, she couldn’t deny how they made her feel. How
he
made her feel. Maybe Myra could give her some advice. After all, Myra had already pledged her life to the man she loved, and that man, the one she’d married wasn’t who she was promised to. Myra had to know something about forbidden love. Didn’t she?

Oh, what was she thinking? It didn’t matter anyway. In a few years Ronan would be married. And not to her. She shouldn’t be thinking about him, let alone speaking about him. She could be friends with Myra, but she could never allow herself to open up.

Opening up was out of the question.

“Aye. We’re friends.”

“Good. Then as a friend, I want to thank ye for saving my life. Rest now. I’ve told everyone ye’re not to be disturbed.”

Julianna shook her head and set the bowl on the side table. “Nay. I must speak with Robert immediately.”

Myra frowned. Oh hell. Julianna slipped and referred to the Bruce by his name. Being too at ease with Myra could be dangerous. She may have to rethink her need for friendship. Myra stepped back toward the bed.

“Ye might use more caution. I know not the nature of your relationship with the Bruce, but I do believe it may turn heads if anyone else were to hear ye address him so familiarly.” Myra looked around like she expected someone to jump from within the walls. “I tell ye this as a friend.”

“’Tis nothing like that!” Julianna’s exasperation showed in her outstretched hands and widened eyes. “I told ye that I’ve his ear, that I protect him, but never in this lifetime or the next would he be my…lover.” The thought of it brought bile to her throat. She could say no more. “I hope ye’ll trust in what I say.”

Myra chewed her lip. “There was a time that I would have said no, but I do trust ye. I canna say for certain that Daniel does.”

Daniel Murray, Myra’s husband, had been a questioning thorn in Julianna’s arse since he arrived at the castle to help train the retainers. Not only was he Ronan’s cousin, his cousin Andrew Moray, who had been Wallace’s leader, was the reason Wallace welcomed him into the fold.

Ronan
took Daniel aside the last time she’d seen him, and he hadn’t bothered her since. Albeit, that was only a day or two before she went with the Ross traitors to save Myra’s life.

“
He still doesn’t trust m, even after I returned ye to him?” Men were so damn stubborn. Even Ronan for all his handsomeness and bravado was a stubborn mule. She’d nearly forgotten… “How is Ronan? His shoulder?”

Heat
crept into her cheeks and she resisted the urge to cover them with her hands.

A flash of fear crossed Myra’s features, and Julianna watched with anxiety as her friend squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin. “He’s resting.”

“And…?” Julianna prompted.

“In his chamber.” Myra fidgeted with the coverlet, pretending to straighten it. “Well, I’d best be going.”

“Wait!” Julianna called as Myra rushed to the door. But the minx didn’t stop. Didn’t even turn around. She whipped open the door and flung herself into the corridor in her haste to get away.

This was not good. Something was wrong, else she would have told her more about Ronan.

Was he resting…with the Lord? Oh God. Had he died? She’d never be able to live with herself if she killed him. Mustering up her strength, Julianna tossed her covers aside and frowned down at the frilly nightgown she wore. Where had it come from? She didn’t own a thing like this. In fact, Julianna slept in the nude. Normally hot blooded, if she wore clothes to bed, she would sweat. It had to be Myra’s. Perhaps Myra had left her a robe to wear as well.

But she didn’t
see one. Julianna shifted her legs, uncomfortable with how heavy they felt, over the side of the bed. She was still weak. Roaming about the castle was not the best idea, but she had to know how Ronan fared.

She wiggled her toes, watching them curl in and out. Toes
appeared to be functioning well. Nobody understood how important suitable working toes were for walking. Toes kept a body balanced and could easily grip the ground harder to keep one from wobbling.

Julianna stood. Her legs shook, knees knocking together, and her breaths quickened.
Oh, God…She sucked in several breaths to keep from vomiting. Dizziness took her vision for a moment. She gripped the ground with her toes, hands searched for the post of the bed. She willed herself to stay upright, and finally her vision returned.

“Ye can do it,” she chanted to herself.

She managed to make it to her wardrobe without passing out. At least that was progress. Chills raced along her limbs, so she reached inside the wardrobe pulling out her cloak and boots. She tucked the laces inside, not bothering to tie them. There was no time, and quite frankly she wasn’t sure she’d be able to bend over without falling or losing consciousness. Standing was an effort in and of itself.

Julianna shuffled slowly to the door using
whatever she could find to balance herself—the foot posts, the wall, a chair and finally the door. She leaned her head against the wood and took several deep breaths.

The more she moved, the better her balance. Her will to continue improved her equilibrium.

She opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Where was Ronan? He usually slept with his men in the barracks.

But
Myra said he was resting in his chamber. Where in the hell was his chamber? Was it the one a few doors down from hers, or the empty one behind the great hall? She hoped it was the one a few doors down, because attempting the stairs was a bad idea. She wouldn’t be the first person to die from a fall. Even though her strength appeared to be improving, she didn’t want to push her luck.

Using the wall to steady herself, she made her way down the stone corridor. She stopped in front of the chamber door, and prayed Ronan was inside. The door was not barred and so she pushed it open. A dim light came from tallow candles ensconced in two different iron candelabras as well as a modest fire. The shutters were tightly closed, making the room cozy, and warm. Lying in the center of the bed with his eyes closed was Ronan, his massive size taking up a good portion of the mattress. Stubble covered his chin and his light-colored hair lay on the pillow, though a few strands had fallen onto his forehead. Full lips were parted, as though awaiting her kiss. He was shirtless, and except for the bandage at his shoulder, his torso was completely exposed. His chest rose and fell in even, steady breaths. She wanted to touch him. To run her hands up and down his broad, muscular, sun-kissed, chest. She imagined how it would feel to caress him, to let her hands travel downward, following the trail of hair that led too… Oh hell. Forbidden thoughts. She needed to clear her mind. This could only lead to trouble.