He stared at her and smiled; her closed eyes, and long black lashes. She was in no more pain.
All right then.
He slipped one hand down her back and cupped her nape in his other hand and moved faster.
She let out a short gasp and then matched movements until her breathing grew shallower. He swallowed up her cries, kissing her and telling her how much he loved her, as they reached their release.
They both panted for breath and shivered in each other’s arms at the force of their love.
“I promise to be a good wife, Tristan,” she said in his arms a few moments later.
He smiled instead of casting any doubtful glance her way. He didn’t doubt her being a good wife. It was being an obedient one that he was skeptical about. He promised to be a good husband and then grew silent, wanting to rest his eyes for a wee bit.
“Oh, are you going to sleep?” she asked, sounding disappointed.
Her question fired up his insides again. If she didn’t want him to sleep, what did she want him awake for?
She turned her back to him and began to move away. He stopped her by blocking her departure with his left arm and dragging her back to him with his right arm coiled around her waist.
She fit perfectly against him with her rump cradled in his thighs.
“Tell me now what you think of my father. Innocent or guilty?”
He wasn’t sure, and his reply, promised softly against her ear, proved that he had relinquished his judgment to God. “It doesna matter. He willna die by my sword.”
He felt her release a long breath in his arms. “Thank you, my dearest love. You do not know how happy this makes me.” When she turned her head to him, he cupped her face and emblazoned the sight of her on his soul. She was his, and he was hers.
He felt the overwhelming desire to tell her how he felt, to open up to her as he had to no one else. He decided that if he’d gone mad over her somewhere along the way, which was very likely, he didn’t care.
“Rose, ye have worked yer way into my heart and calmed the seas that quaked and roared within me. Even though our journey together thus far has been fraught with one thing or another, I feel at rest. Ye are the respite I so desperately needed.” He looked down at her and kissed her again. “Father Timothy would say that God sent ye to help me become human again.”
She turned in his arms to stare into his eyes and lifted her fingers to his jaw as he spoke.
“From my childhood, I was taught to fight, to always expect war, and to know how to protect my life. No matter what the priest tried to teach me, bein’ a Scot meant my father was right. There was always a battle to be fought. So, I dedicated my life to learnin’ everythin’ I could. I went into battle fer King David as my cousins did at the time. When ’twas all over…” he paused. Now that he was explaining things, he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue.
“Tell me, my love,” she gently urged. “’Tis part of what has shaped you. I wish to know.”
He gazed at her face, the alluring contours of her cheeks and jaw, the warmth and love she felt for him open and bare in her eyes. He would be open in return. “I had become a livin’ weapon, skilled in every defense includin’ movin’ in the trees.”
She smiled. He forgot what they were speaking about.
“But killin’ so many in battle had its effects on me. I didna know who I was if I wasna killin’. I had created a shield against my own emotions and, after a while, I stopped feelin’ anythin’ at all. But—nae, dinna weep, love.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“I may weep if I wish,” she whispered and wiped her own eyes.
He smiled, loving her newfound sauciness and continued. “’Twas all inside me, twistin’ me up in knots. And then I saw ye…dyin’ in that pile and I felt somethin’ again. I was surprised to see ye alive. I admired ye fer fightin’ and I cursed the wretched sickness fer takin’ ye. When I saw the men with the torches…I couldna let them burn ye. I…” he shook his head a little, not understanding his own emotions. “That was when it started.”
“When what started?” she asked in breathless anticipation.
“My heart.”
Thomas Callanach lie awake in the middle of the night with his eyes closed. He’d let his Rose marry the man who had been sent to kill him. He’d gone mad thinking she’d been burned back at the castle. He’d been so relieved to see her alive, he’d let the killer have her. He ground his teeth. Of course, he wouldn’t let the murderer take her away from him. He thought about Neill lying a few feet away. Neill was the other reason the earl didn’t sleep. He’d returned. Thomas knew he would. He loved Rose, and he knew Rose was alive. Of course, he’d come back for her. That was why the gates had been fortified and locked. He also loved Thomas. Still. That was why he’d blamed everything on Thomas’ brother, Richard. After all this, Neill still protected him.
But had he forgiven him for exiling him from Callanach Castle six years ago? If he woke up, his bonds wouldn’t hold him. Would Neill kill him?
Unless Thomas could talk to him. Aye, hadn’t Thomas always been able to convince the lad of anything? Thomas would free him from this certain death and, in exchange, Neill would kill the murderous MacPherson.
Thomas would also promise Rose to him after MacPherson was dead. He knew Neill loved the girl. Of course, Neill would not touch her, for he was her
