Seduced by Her Highland Warrior. Michelle WillinghamЧитать онлайн книгу.
shoulders before she could retreat, drawing her to face him. She didn’t want to bear the brunt of his anger, not when she was hurting so badly. But when she finally risked a look in his eyes, she saw the raw fear.
‘You could have died today,’ he said. ‘And you think I’m worried about a pile of burned wood and ashes?’ He raked a hand through his hair, struggling to push away his temper.
She didn’t move, couldn’t speak. Beneath his choked anger was a man who cared about her. The realisation seemed to cut off the air in her lungs, for she hadn’t known it. Over the past few years, their marriage had deteriorated until now she rarely saw him during the day or even at night. Being together had become a habit instead of a necessity.
‘I’m all right,’ she whispered.
‘Are you?’ His stare was harsh, disbelieving.
Her cheeks were wet and she didn’t know what to say or do. It was then that she noticed a reddish stain seeping from her husband’s sleeve. From the hardened look on his face, it had to be hurting him, yet he’d said nothing at all. Neither of them was willing to admit to injury, she thought, with irony.
‘What about you?’ she ventured. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’
‘No. See to the girls and their needs.’
Not mine. She heard his unspoken words and they cut her heart a little deeper. Once, he’d have let her touch him, and though she wasn’t the most experienced healer, he’d have submitted to her ministrations. No longer, it seemed.
Laren moved closer. She wanted to tell him that she would stand by him through this catastrophe. She wanted to reach out, to let him know that she still cared.
He looked back at her and in his eyes she saw the magnitude of his loss. She knew that he wouldn’t come home until late at night, after she was already asleep. Though she wanted to hold him, to rest her head against his chest, he had other, more important duties as the chief.
A hard lump gathered in her throat, but he lowered his head and turned away from her.
The selfish part of her heart wished he’d chosen to stay.
Alex walked across the fortress, his mind caught in a fog of helplessness. The scent of smoke permeated the air, choking his lungs. But even as he approached his brothers, he couldn’t stop thinking of Laren.
Confusion and anger collided inside him, along with a heavy fear. The arrow could have pierced a vital organ, spilling her life blood. The thought shook him deeply, for although he’d grown distant from his wife, he didn’t want to lose her.
It felt as though he’d been clubbed in the stomach. She hadn’t wanted him to stay or to help her. But why?
‘Are you all right?’ came his brother Dougal’s voice. ‘I thought you might want help.’ Only ten and four, Dougal had never witnessed a battle like this before—only cattle raids and clan skirmishes. There was a new maturity in his brother’s eyes, along with a sadness that mirrored his own.
Alex nodded, grateful for the distraction. ‘We should bury the dead.’
Within minutes, they were joined by their other brother Callum, who had recently been freed as a prisoner of war. Callum hadn’t spoken a single word, not since his release.
Alex bent down and picked up one of the bodies. His brothers helped and they began the gruesome task of gathering up the fallen. The faces of friends and kinsmen haunted him; he wished he could have done something more to protect his clan. But he revealed none of his grief to his brothers, keeping his expression guarded.
He seized a torch and a shovel, taking them outside the fortress. He chose a spot where the ground was soft and balanced the torch within a pile of heavy stones. He adjusted the makeshift bandage on his arm, so it wouldn’t bleed while he worked. Though it had grown dark, the three of them began digging a burial pit. The back-breaking work was what he needed right now to distract him from the sense of overwhelming loss.
He was the chief of the MacKinlochs. They would look to him to make the decisions, to know what should be done next.
You were never meant to be leader, an inner voice taunted him. His father Tavin had chosen Bram to be his successor. As the second-born, Alex had listened on the outskirts, drinking in all the knowledge, never dreaming that he would have to use it.
He’d made a thousand mistakes in the early years. But he’d learned from them, and never once had he revealed his frustrations … not to his kinsmen, and not to Laren. It was easier to pretend that all was well, for they needed a leader of strength. The men had come to trust him, knowing that they could bring their troubles and he would find the answers they needed.
He swore he’d find a way to rebuild what had been lost. Somehow.
Over the next hour, he worked with Callum and Dougal at his side. Having his brothers with him brought him a slight reassurance. Even if their lives had fallen apart, their keep lying in ashes, at least they were together.
Once the pit was finished, they buried the men and spoke a prayer for their souls. ‘Do you have a place to sleep tonight?’ Alex asked his brothers.
Callum nodded and pointed to one of the other houses that had been untouched by fire. Dougal joined with his brother and added, ‘Bram offered, but he and Nairna—’ His words broke off, his ears turning crimson. Alex could guess that the two young men had no desire to dwell with a husband and wife who were trying to start a family.
‘Walter has no wife and he offered to let us stay in his home,’ Dougal finished.
Since everyone had a place for shelter, Alex picked up the torch. ‘Get some sleep while you can. We’ll start again in the morning.’
They walked back to the fortress and Alex glanced up at the clear skies. Stars gleamed against the midnight blackness and there were a few hours before dawn. The faint scent of peat mingled with the night air, a familiar aroma that welcomed him towards Ross’s home. When he opened the door, he saw his friend and Vanora sleeping on the opposite end. Laren rested upon a pallet, the two girls in her arms. A bandage was wrapped across her side and he couldn’t see her face.
Alex stretched out on his side behind her, studying his wife as she slept. Her red hair hung over her shoulder and she slept in the gown she’d worn all day. She’d removed her cloak and spread it over the girls as a blanket. Even in sleep, she guarded and protected their daughters. She’d always been a good mother to them.
He reached for a strand of her hair, curling the silken lock over his hand. Laren stirred in her sleep, moving restlessly.
‘It’s just me,’ he murmured. He released her hair, his hand clenching into a fist.
She finally did roll on to her back. In the dim moonlight he spied the gleam of tears on her cheeks. From the tension in her posture, he saw that she was trying to brave her way through the pain.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m all right.’ She kept her voice low, so as not to wake the children. But when she turned back to her left side, it occurred to him that their polite, quiet marriage had shifted on to unstable ground.
The arrow might well have pierced his own flesh, awakening him to the reality that his wife didn’t confide in him any more. If she felt unable to reveal a wound, what other secrets had she kept?
Laren disappeared each day for hours on end, never telling him where she was going or what she was doing. A tightness clenched his throat, for he’d never asked her. He’d been so busy worrying about the keep and its occupants, he’d forgotten about his wife. At the time, he’d believed he was merely giving her the freedom to come and go as she pleased, not wanting to make demands of her.
Perhaps at a deeper level, he hadn’t wanted to know why she was leaving, for fear that she wanted to avoid being with him.
He stared up at the ceiling of Ross’s home, knowing he wouldn’t find