Warrior's Lady (32 page)

"I agree," Violet said. "She wouldn't allow me to help her until a short while ago."

He scooped Rhiannon up in his arms, then stood. He grabbed the handle of a pail of healing ale that Violet had just prepared before carrying Rhiannon up the stairs to her chamber.

He settled her gently upon the crimson damask that covered the bed and drew a cup of ale from the bucket. "Rhiannon, you must drink." When she didn't respond, he shook her gently. No response. Determined that she should live, he lifted her head to the cup, and pressed the liquid through her unresponsive lips.

She swallowed convulsively as he encouraged her to take the entire contents of the cup. He would leave nothing to chance. Not where this woman was concerned. He returned her head to the pillow and with tenderness stroked her hair.

He slowly unlaced her dress until he could slide it up over her head. Her chemise followed, until she lay bare before his eyes. Camden felt his throat grow heavy and thick at the sight of the egg-size boils that marked the skin beneath her arms, and the red rash that dotted her neck.

The woman before him was as brave as any warrior he had taken with him into battle. Her body was marred by disease, her mind battered by the fatigue and suffering. He saw not her battered and ravaged body, but under her rash the delicate peach skin of her cheeks, her halo of golden hair, and the gentleness in her soul. And he knew that he loved her no matter what her lineage.

He'd always known love would be a passionate and powerful emotion, but he'd had no idea that it would also leave his nerves raw, his stomach churning, and his spirits so high he felt as though he could fly.

He immediately sobered. Would he get the chance to tell her he loved her? Wretchedness moved through him, and he did something he hadn't done for the last ten years. He prayed.

Please, don't take her from me when I've only just realized what a gift you have given to me.

Humbled by his own sense of desperation, he left her briefly to retrieve a clean length of linen. He dipped the linen in the bucket of ale, then with a gentle caress, bathed each deep purple boil.

As though by magic, each boil slowly vanished, leaving her flesh unmarked.

He dipped the cloth over and over again as he had seen her doing when he'd arrived at the castle, treating her entire body. "Thank you," he said, his throat aching under the intensity of his gratitude. He had never expected his prayers to be answered so swiftly. Perhaps it was not God who had deserted him all those years ago, but he who had abandoned his faith.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

"I forgive you," Rhiannon whispered in return.

Darkness surrounded him, lurking, waiting to close in. Camden tensed in the grip of a dream. His chamber faded, the walls of the keep vanished, and he was back in the Holy Land, standing on the rocky shoreline of a foreign land on the day of his release.

He and Orrin had survived the horrors of bondage and war. And yet now that they were free to return home with the wealth they had acquired, home seemed more like the foreign land.

Silence surrounded him, the kind of silence that comes upon the sea just before a storm. For seven years he had lived in a world of torment and pain. Only Orrin could understand what each life he had claimed had done to his soul.

The darkness crept closer as he thought back to all the things he had done to survive. Yet now at this moment of judgment, could he live with those choices, could he move past them? Or should he allow the darkness to overtake him, to swallow what remained of his life?

Or could he allow himself to live? To fight for those things that were worth risking his very soul— the protection of family, of country, of those he loved?

Memories of battles swirled in his head. They tumbled over each other, melded together, and separated yet again. So many battles. So much death.

Camden pressed against the barriers of his mind until he stood not on foreign soil, but on the fertile shores of Scotland.

Home.

What kind of honor justified war and destruction? Was protecting those one loved enough?

The dream shifted to Lee Castle, to the family who awaited him there. The emptiness inside him vanished, filled now with hope and love. He knew that the battle he struggled with now was his most important — and the most difficult. The prize was the future, and the possession of his soul.

He breathed in a deep, heather-scented breath of Scottish air, held it, allowing it to flow down to his center, to the place of his despair. Slowly, breath by breath, he found himself healing. His thoughts focused, crystallized. There were things worth fighting for, worth killing or dying for. All a man could do was choose his battles carefully and follow the path his heart told him was right.

Camden startled awake. He stared into the afternoon light and pulled the woman beside him more firmly against his body. For the first time since his return to Scotland he felt his burdens lighten.

Because now he knew what path was right for him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The stench of rotting flesh had faded, replace by a minty, musky odor. Rhiannon opened her eyes. Where was she?

A sea of red surrounded her head. Golden light chased the darkness from the room, reminding her of spring — of life, of renewal, and of the glorious breezes that rippled across the fields of heather, carrying the scent of the sea. A tangy saltiness touched her tongue and she shifted her gaze to see Camden bending over her.

"Welcome back." He applied a damp cloth to her temples. She drew a deep breath, savoring the deliciousness of his scent, holding it in her memory for what remained of her days.

Or hours…

"Plague!" She bolted upright.

With a gentle hand he caught her shoulder, stroked her arm. "It's gone."

She stared at him, startled. "How long have I been in here with you?"

"Only a few short hours." His hands drifted down her arms to settle at her waist. "And you were quite talkative."

Rhiannon stared down at her chest, her arms. The red rash and the large purple and black spots were gone. "What did I tell you?" she asked, grateful she had been healed, but unsettled by her loose tongue. She could remember nothing.

"You told me about your mother. And you mentioned a few things about your father. But most important, you told me that you loved me."

Silence descended between them and she heard the crackle of flames in the grate and smelled the musky sweetness of burning peat. She was safe, and well. "Did I really say that?"

He nodded, and for the first time she saw a fragile vulnerability in the warmth of his eyes. "Was it a feverish imagining, or the truth?"

Rhiannon did not want to hide her thoughts or her emotions any longer. The plague outbreak had taught her one thing: life was short. And she was no longer afraid to reach for what she wanted.

"I have always told you the truth. I fell in love with you in the cottage that day."

His fingers stroked the curve of her cheek. "I love you. With my body if you will have it, my heart if you will trust it, my soul if you will take it into your safekeeping."

Rhiannon choked back tears at the touching words of the Celtic prayer. The scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him combined to send her senses spinning, reeling out of control. His words echoed in her mind. He loved her.

Camden shifted to sit beside her. "I had feared I'd lost you." He put a hand behind her head and lowered her to the pillow, his mouth following her down, kissing her with tenderness and passion.

He pulled back to study her face a long moment later. "Why did you not leave when you saw the plague?"

"I loved you, Violet, and even your people too much to leave you without help."

His expression clouded. "My people were not always kind to you."

The love swelled in her heart and she could not resist stealing a tender kiss from his lips. "Nay, they were not. But you were, once you chose to accept me." She traced the cleft in his chin with her finger. Her hands rippled down his neck, to his chest, to his waist to release the yards of pleated tartan from around his waist before she grasped the ends of his shirt and tugged it over his head.

She sighed appreciatively as her hands slipped over the hardened planes of his chest. She scooted up and leaned forward, allowing her hair to brush across his skin, teasing his nipples to erectness.

Her mouth gently closed around the hard bud of his nipple and she sampled it with slow, swirling probes of her tongue. At his groan of pleasure she slid further down his body, allowing her lips to explore the flat surface of his belly, and to nip playfully at the rigid steel of his muscles.

"What a seductress you are." He pulled her back up along the ridges of his chest and twined his hands in the long strands of her hair, forcing her head to arch gently back. "Shall I seduce you as you have me?" His mouth came down to plunder the creamy flesh of her throat, the top of her breasts. She relished the feel of his hands upon her flesh, exploring her mysteries, revealing her need. She wanted his heat. She wanted his strength. She wanted to feel healthy and whole again.

Her lips boldly caressed his, her tongue greedily wanting to know the taste and feel of him.

He dragged her into his arms, pulling her tight against the hollow of his hips and she felt the hardness of his arousal against her. With urgent hands, he pushed her chemise off her shoulders and lowered his head to her exposed breasts. He taunted first one, then the other.

A hot shiver went through her. She arched her back again, thrusting her breasts forward. On a moan of pure pleasure, she coiled her hands in his hair, freeing it from the leather queue at his nape, curling her fingers around his neck, urging him on.

With a deep-throated groan, he pulled back and pushed her linen chemise down past the rounded softness of her hips. He followed the garment down, his hands on her thighs, his thumbs stroking the golden thatch of downy curls, parting her flesh, probing her intimately with his tongue.

She cried out as pleasure gripped her and pushed shamelessly, eagerly, as sensation after sensation burned through her. Her body felt weak, drugged as she looked down at his dark head.

"Please." It was all she could say as an all-consuming heat moved through her.

He settled between her thighs. "Are you well enough for this?" he asked, his voice raw, his eyes as dark as midnight.

"Oh, yes." Her voice broke with emotion.

He plunged deep, reaching the quick of her.

Instead of stroking her need, he remained still, as he lavished her neck, her ears, her collarbone with a volley of tender erotic kisses.

She clutched his shoulders, feeling the sweet frustration and tension mounting within her as he manipulated her body to a fever pitch. She felt as though she had to move or she would shatter into pieces. She began to shake as tremor after tremor pulsed through her with unfulfilled need. "Camden." His name was a cry of desperation that set him into motion.

His rhythm was hard, wild, swift and tumultuous as he filled her again and again with a desperate hunger that was as out of control as her own.

Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow as she tried to keep from crying out at the intensity of the passion shuddering through every muscle, every nerve of her body. He was shaking too, she realized dimly, as she brought her hands down to his hips and met each thrust with an eagerness she did not know she possessed.

His breathing was harsh, he shivered and quaked uncontrollably as an urgency born of blood and fire overtook them both. He moved hard, faster, deeper until he cried out and threw his head back, his neck arching, his body going rigid.

In that moment their pleasure peaked, exploded in a fiery release that robbed her of both reason and sanity. He plunged once more, as deep as life and breath itself as they soared together into a place of sheer ecstasy.

They lay there limp, unable to move even the tiniest muscle, entwined in each other's arms for several silent moments, until their breathing steadied and the cool moisture of the room caressed their heated flesh.

"I love you," he whispered as he placed a kiss upon her temple.

"Why?" she asked with a touch of wonderment. "After everything my family put you through, how could you—"

He put a finger to her lips. "The past is just that. Let's leave it behind and start anew."

She nodded. A warm glow rippled through her at the thought of a new beginning.

He met her gaze, his eyes warm and sincere. "Marry me? Stay with Violet and me forever."

"Violet?" She startled. "Is she well? She didn't—"

"Violet is fine. She is eager to see you when you feel up to it."