The Highlander's Runaway Bride

Brita left, and Eva remained sitting up, leaning against the wall with several blankets behind her. Rob would return shortly, according to the girl, and it would do her good to move a bit. But, she feared the first time she would put her weight on her injured ankle. Even now, wrapped tightly, it throbbed from just moving it around as she washed and dressed.

A few minutes later, the door opened and he walked in.

The first thing she noticed was that his auburn hair was windblown and wild. She must be feeling better if she was taking in such details now. He seemed more alive than when he’d left. He pushed the door, and she heard the latch catch.

‘I found this in the cave,’ he said, tossing the small bag to her. He was angry. Again.

She opened it and found the few things she’d managed to take with her when she’d run off in the middle of the night. A small purse filled with coins. A small sgian dubh made to fit a woman’s hand. A comb. An extra shift. Her prayer beads. And the skin of water she carried.

‘You left the safety of your father’s keep with only this?’ he asked. ‘What was so terrible that you would risk your life to get away?’ His hands fisted and released, and she could feel waves of ire pouring off him. ‘Why did you run?’

Something was terribly wrong here. If she’d suspected it before, Eva knew it now. This man had no right to speak to her like this. Or to be in the same chamber as she. Or to demand help and supplies on behalf of her father. Who was he?

A sick feeling roiled through her stomach then. It had nothing to do with her illness and everything to do with the man standing before her.

If he’d been paid to do this by her father, he would have sent word for someone to come for her in her condition. A mercenary would not even worry over her illness, he would be paid for finding her.

A mercenary would not give a moment’s thought to why she’d run or what she’d taken. He would not have done most of the things this man had in caring for her.

A sinking feeling filled her, and she could feel the blood draining from her face and head. It took all of her courage to ask the question that now spun out in the space between them, but she must. The answer, which she suspected she already knew, would explain so much.

‘You are not my father’s man.’ She asked, her voice trembling with each word, ‘You are the Mackintosh’s counsellor and cousin, are you not?’

He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. If his face grew any darker with anger, it would explode.

‘Robert Mackintosh,’ he said as though introducing himself to her for the first time. ‘Your betrothed husband.’

She gasped at his declaration. ‘Betrothed?’ she asked, shaking her head wildly. ‘We were not betrothed.’

‘Aye, lady, we were. Your father and I signed the documents before he gave me his blessing and sent me off to look for his runaway daughter.’

‘Nay!’ she cried out, trying to get to her feet in spite of her injuries and continued weakness. ‘I cannot marry you. You cannot force this on me!’

He took her by her arms and pulled her up to him, their faces but inches apart. He stared at her, searching there for something.

‘In the eyes of the Church and by the laws of this land, we are married, lady. The vows can be spoken when we return to Castle Varrich. The rest can wait until we arrive in Glenlui.’

The rest? The rest! Eva would never share with any man what she’d given to Eirik.

She balled up her hands and pushed against his chest with them, trying to force herself free. He simply held her tighter, giving her no chance to get away. Because he was so much taller and stronger than she was, her feet did not even touch the ground.

‘You do not understand,’ she began to plead. ‘I cannot marry you. I...’

‘Are you pledged to someone else already?’ he demanded. ‘Tell me why you cannot marry me.’

She could not reveal the truth to him. Her father would be furious if she continued to fight this marriage. He was the only one who knew where her baby was and, if she did not do as told, the wee bairn would pay the price. Ramsey MacKay was a cold-hearted and ruthless man when it came to getting his own way. No one opposed him—not his wife, his daughter, his kith or kin—and not suffer for such defiance.

‘And tell me who Mairead is,’ he said, in a quiet but no less dangerous voice. ‘Who is she?’

He could have hit her and it would not have hurt as much as hearing her daughter’s name on his lips. The shock rippled through her and in the next moment, as he called out her own name, Eva fainted.

Chapter Five (#ulink_e2a34505-8383-5070-992e-705e919e5909)

‘Eva!’

Rob swore aloud, but she did not even react to the coarse words he’d said. The mention of that name had caused this. Her eyes had been glaring at him one moment and then they rolled up into her head the next. Cursing her, her father, her mother, his friend and anyone else he could bring to mind in that second, Rob carried her to the pallet and laid her there, being careful of her injured leg and foot.

She did not rouse. He tapped on her cheek, saying her name in as calm a tone as he could, but there was no sign of her coming around. Stalking as far away from her as he could get within the cottage, he watched her.

Bloody hell! Damn this woman to perdition!

She’d run from him. Refused to marry him. Worse, she placed herself in immeasurable danger because of her wilfulness. It was a miracle he’d found her in that cave before the storm blew in and flooded it. It was a miracle that she had not been attacked by ruffians or outlaws in the forests and on the roads between her father’s keep and this place. A miracle.

He let out a loud breath then, releasing some of the pent-up anger within him. Walking back to her side, he knelt down and touched her cheek. Thank the Almighty—no fever. When she did not move or wake, he sought out the cloth and water and touched the rag to her head and cheeks and then along her neck. Rob repeated it several times before her eyes began to flutter open.

Rob brought over the cup of ale and held it out when she looked at him. Without a word, she pushed up to lean on her elbows and took the cup. She averted her gaze and sipped several times before handing it back to him. As he watched, those blue eyes filled with tears that began to spill down her cheeks. The lady turned away, tucking her face into the pillow and sobbing silently.

He felt sick to his stomach. He’d wanted to force a reaction from her and he got one, just not the one he was hoping for. He wanted truth, but realised he’d lied to her from the first, too. Oh, his words about their betrothal were true, for he’d made certain she was his before setting out. Now he wondered over the wisdom of his course of action.

And still she cried. The sound of it was filled with despair and grief, and it shook him in a way he did not wish to acknowledge. At least not the part he played in it. Standing, he sought out the basket of food and took out the broth and bread from Brita’s mother. He poured some in a cup and placed it to warm near the flames. A glance over his shoulder told him that her weeping eased a bit.

He carried on preparing the food, not ignoring her, God, there was no way to do that, but just trying to allow her some time. Finding the meat pie wrapped in cloth, he placed it in a bowl and broke it apart with a spoon. It took its place next to her broth, warming slowly there. Soon, the enticing aroma of the food wafted through the cottage. His own stomach growled in anticipation of the taste, for Brita’s mother, Helga, was a superb cook.

Testing the heat of both the cup and bowl, Rob removed them and placed them on the small stool he’d been using as a table next to her. He tore two chunks of bread from the loaf and put them there, too. After watering some ale for her, he filled his cup with the stronger spirits from his flask. And then he sat down, cross-legged, waiting for her own hunger and thirst to bring her there.

It did not take long.

He tried to focus on his food, but he could not help but watch her. First she leaned up and found the damp rag and used it on her eyes and face. Using the edge of the plaid to dry herself, she pushed up to sit, her breathing yet ragged and loud. Rob sensed that helping her now would cause her to crumble again, so he waited for her to move or to ask for help.

She would not meet his gaze. Even when she managed to sit up and lean against the wall, she would not look at him. He did not force her to, he only slid the table closer so she could reach the cup, if she wanted it. And, after a few minutes of laboured breathing, she did. Rob tore the chunks of bread into smaller pieces and moved them closer.

They ate in an awkward and yet somehow companionable silence. It took her some time to finish just the cup of broth, but she did, dipping some of the bread in it to sop up the liquid. He did the same with the meat pasty—a hearty mix of chunks of beef and root vegetables and broth. Helga was unsurpassed in her dishes, no matter that he’d eaten at palaces and castles of the noble and the royal kind over the last few months.

The lady placed her empty cup on the stool and leaned back, tugging the plaid higher and holding it against her. As he watched, her eyes closed and he knew she was almost asleep. A shiver brought her to wakefulness.

‘Your tunic is dry now, if you are chilled,’ he offered.

‘The furs keep me warm enough,’ she whispered back.

He jutted his chin. ‘Then go to sleep. My sister says it’s the best thing for most illnesses.’

‘You have a sister?’ she asked, leaning away from the wall and sliding herself down under the blankets.

‘You do not have to say it with such disbelief in your voice. Aye, I have a sister. Margaret. She serves the clan as a healer at Glenlui.’

‘I meant no disrespect, sir,’ she offered. ‘I know nothing about you or the Mackintoshes.’ She spoke with closed eyes and each word came out slower than the one before it. She was falling asleep in the middle of a conversation.

‘Then none is taken. Sleep, lady. We will have time to talk.’