Claimed by the Highland Warrior

‘You’re wrong.’ Seeing him standing before her was a gift, one she’d never expected. It was as if she could blot out the years of her failures, starting over again. And the few memories she and Bram had had together had been good ones.

To change the subject, she said, ‘I’ve sent for food and a bath.’

Bram moved to stand in front of her. It was as if he were memorising her face, burning it into his mind. A blush warmed Nairna’s cheeks when he drew his thumb over her lips, his palm cupping her cheek.

Upon his wrists, she saw striated lines and a matching band around his throat. Nairna was caught between the desire to know everything and the stoic don’t-ask expression on Bram’s face. She didn’t know what she could say to put him at ease about the past, but it seemed best to say nothing.

He moved past her and rested his hands upon the edge of a table, his head leaning down. He looked as if he were in pain and she suspected he might need her help in the bath. Although it didn’t bother her to see a man unclothed, she didn’t know how Bram would feel about having her assist him.

Before she could ask, Jenny arrived with the food and clean clothing, which she set down while servants carried in the wooden tub, filling it with buckets of hot water.

‘Leave us,’ Bram ordered. The older woman hesitated before Nairna inclined her head and Jenny scuttled away.

When the door had closed, Bram regarded Nairna before touching the food. ‘Have you eaten?’

She nodded, startled that he would ask about her first. Then he turned to look at the meal Jenny had left. Though it wasn’t much—only some mutton stew and a few oat cakes—he studied it with hungry eyes, breathing in the scent as though he feared it might vanish.

‘How long has it been since you’ve eaten?’ she murmured, the truth suddenly dawning.

‘Two days,’ he admitted. He picked up the oat cake and dipped it in the stew, eating slowly as if to savour every mouthful. She half-expected him to attack the food, but instead he ate carefully and not nearly enough. He left most of the food unfinished, and when she started to clear it away, he stopped her. ‘Leave it. I’ll try to eat more later.’

He unlaced his tunic, eyeing the bath. Nairna wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to go or stay, but when he lifted the garment over his head, her breath caught in her throat.

Massive scars covered his chest, hundreds of red-and-white markings, as though they’d tried to cut the flesh from his body.

Oh, sweet God above. What had they done to him? Her stomach clenched at the injustice and she feared that the simple touch of warm water would cause him pain.

Seeing him like this made her want to take care of him again, to heal the physical darkness he’d suffered. How much torment had he endured in captivity? It frightened her to think of it.

Bram offered no explanation, but when he began to remove the rest of his clothing, Nairna turned away. She waited until she heard the slight splash of water before asking, ‘Do you want me to stay or go?’

He didn’t answer, so she ventured a glance. His knees were drawn up in the water, his back hunched over. She took a tentative step forwards, then another.

‘If you’d rather go, I wouldn’t blame you,’ he said at last. ‘I know what I must look like.’

She bit her lip hard, her ribs tight within her. There were no words to describe the scars carved upon his skin. ‘Tell me what happened.’

But again Bram gave no reply. Instead, he laid his head back against the tub and she moved towards him, offering a cake of soap.

He took it from her, seeming to understand her reluctance to touch him. The fear of hurting him made her nervous about assisting him in the bath. She reached for a drying cloth, placing it within his reach. An awkward silence descended between them, leaving Nairna with little to say or do.

She shouldn’t be this nervous. Heaven knew, she’d helped Iver in his bath dozens of times.

But this was Bram, a man she hadn’t seen in seven years. She didn’t know what would put him at ease, and the longer she waited, the more her apprehension attacked her self-confidence.

She reached out to touch his long dark hair, offering, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’

He caught her fingers. ‘It hasn’t been cut in seven years.’ His hand lingered upon hers and the wetness of his palm made her shiver.

‘I’ll take care of it for you, then.’ At least now she had something to do. Something that wouldn’t cause him pain.

His thumb rubbed slight circles against her palm. ‘I’m sorry, Nairna.’

There were years’ worth of apologies in those three words. She met his brown eyes with her own, and when she found herself leaning in, her heartbeat quickened. He was going to kiss her again, if she allowed it.

Her cheeks grew warm and it was hard to breathe. It had been so long since any man had given her affection. Iver had never bothered with it. She might as well have been a spare tunic instead of a wife.

Her fingers laced with his and she waited. Beneath the veiled desire in Bram’s eyes, she saw an unnamed emotion. Whether it was anger that she’d remarried or frustration of another kind, she couldn’t tell.

He let go of her hand and closed his eyes.

Nairna hid her disappointment and went to retrieve a sharp dagger to cut his hair. When she returned with the knife, Bram’s palms gripped the sides of the wooden tub. He steeled himself when she knelt beside him, as if he couldn’t bear to see the weapon.

Gently, she reached out to take a length of his hair, the locks limp against her palm. His mouth was a thin slash, his eyes staring straight ahead.

She hesitated, one hand holding his hair. ‘Would you rather I left it alone?’

‘No. But do it quickly.’ The abrupt words spurred her into action.

Nairna cut the length to his shoulders, slicing his hair with the dagger. She tried to keep the length even, wishing she had shears to do a better job of it. Her hands moved over his scalp, and only when she’d set the dagger aside did his tension seem to dissipate.

She helped him lower his head into the water, washing his hair. With the soap, she massaged his scalp, the warmth of the water rising up against her skin.

When he sat up, his hair rinsed, Bram’s eyes bored into hers. In the dark depths, she saw the same sort of hunger he’d had earlier. His bristled cheeks were wet, his mouth firm. Water slid down his face to his scarred back and the air grew heavier to breathe.

Nairna’s attention was drawn to his chest and she found it difficult to think clearly when he was looking at her that way. ‘Tell me what happened to you, after our wedding,’ she asked, hoping to distract him. ‘I know Glen Arrin was attacked.’

It had been both bewildering and humiliating. One moment, she’d been celebrating her wedding, and the next, her bridegroom had fled with his father and kinsmen.

‘When we arrived home, it was under siege. The English set fire to Glen Arrin and slaughtered our clansmen. All because my father wouldn’t pledge his allegiance to Longshanks,’ Bram said. His mouth tightened with distaste at the English king’s nickname.

He leaned closer, and she saw the wildness in his eyes. Rage was there, brimming beneath the surface. ‘And they still have my brother Callum.’

He stood up from the water before she could stop him and droplets spilled over his skin, down his ribs, to his thighs. He showed no embarrassment at revealing himself to her and Nairna’s cheeks burned at the sight of his manhood. It had risen slightly, as though he wanted her.

Don’t stare, she warned herself. She averted her eyes, though she was curious. When she handed Bram the drying cloth, she asked, ‘How are you going to free your brother?’

‘I don’t know yet. Perhaps we’ll raise an army. Or a ransom.’ He dried his face and chest before wrapping the cloth around his hips.

Ransom? Did he honestly believe that the English would accept his bribe and hand over his brother?

‘A ransom won’t work,’ she answered honestly. ‘They’ll seize your coins and keep Callum a prisoner.’

‘I’ll get him out, Nairna.’ The resolution in his voice spoke of a man who would keep his word, even if it meant his own death. He reached for his fallen clothing, retrieving something from his belongings that she couldn’t see.

‘I hope you do.’ She turned back to busy herself with his uneaten food, while he dressed in the new clothing. She didn’t know how to respond to him and it felt as if her life had been opened up and dumped upon the floor, like the spilled contents of a trunk.

She rested her hands upon the table, taking one breath, then another. Behind her, she heard Bram’s footsteps before he caught her around the waist, turning her to face him. His touch penetrated the rough wool of her gown, warming her skin. He held her imprisoned, his fingers spread apart beneath her ribcage. She met his eyes with her own and in his direct gaze, she felt her thoughts scatter.