Page 71 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Twenty-One

Camden pulled the furs snug around their bodies as he lay still, his breathing slow and steady. Satisfaction like he'd never known before drugged his limbs. He closed his eyes. Only for a moment would he sleep. Then he'd carry Rhiannon inside and plant her firmly and forever in his bed. The fur of his cloak cushioned his skin. Rhiannon's body, nestled against his side, warmed his spirit. Sleep beckoned with an irresistible allure.

The night sky surrounded him in a veil of black — trapping him, condemning him as surely as the holy man had by tossing him in the dungeon.

He dug his fingers into the thick clay walls. He looked for purchase to climb his way out. Perhaps when he got to the top he could find a way to unfasten the wooden door. He had to escape the nightmare and make his way back home. He missed his family. He missed everything about Scotland, a place so different from where he found himself now.

And Orrin, his one last connection to his homeland … Camden had to protect him. The holy man had already tried to poison Orrin's mind and make him do things that could cost him his mortal soul.

Camden gazed into the preternatural nothingness, praying for a glimpse of a ledge, a rock, anything that might help get him out of this pit of hell. His eyes strained to pierce the darkness.

The darkness pressed in on his lungs. Made it difficult to breathe. It was like being in a coffin. He'd blocked thoughts of death since he'd been stolen from his homeland's shores. He'd been forced to fight the bloodiest of battles in the holy man's crusade. He'd killed countless men, both Christian and Islamic, but he'd never been afraid until this one isolating moment.

He clawed at the earth on all sides of the pit, finding only a smooth, slick surface. He would find a way. He would get free if he had to dig through the wall; eventually he'd escape.

Like David going forth to fight Goliath, he would face great odds. He scratched at the dirt, coming away with handful after handful. He would get out. He would protect Orrin. He would return home to keep those he loved safe.

He growled into the darkness. Digging. Digging. The footholds he created didn’t seem to take him higher until finally he could see the trapdoor and the slightest glimmer of light.

He pressed into the light, digging faster. His body ached, his lungs burned. It didn't matter. Only freedom mattered now.

He thrust the trapdoor aside and broke through into the light of day, crawling out, gasping for clean air to fill his lungs. Blinded by the sudden brightness, he squinted as he collapsed back against the cool, soft earth. Something soft cradled his head, something warm that smelled of lavender. He craned his neck to look behind him, only to gaze at Rhiannon's face, her features etched with pain, with terror.

She was dead.

He'd failed to protect her from the talons of death.

The talons of death…

"No!" Camden sat bolt upright. Darkness surrounded him. He froze. Was he back inside the dungeon? He'd escaped, long ago. His heart thrummed in his chest.

Where was he? The scene he'd arranged for Rhiannon gradually took shape. The tallow candles had burned low, their flames sputtering in the remnants of the suet, and snow flurries had left a light dusting across the furs that cocooned them in warmth.

Rhiannon stirred at his side. "What's wrong, Camden? What is it? A nightmare?"

He scooped her into his arms. "I am well."

"Are you truly?"

"I am merely wondering," he said, smiling down at her, "if I should try to further my attempts at seduction."

She arched a brow. "You've been very thorough already."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, relieved that he'd only had a nightmare. He nestled against her hair, drawing in the scent that was so uniquely her own. Death would not claim her, not yet. He would do everything in his power to see that she lived to a ripe old age.

As the beat of his heart normalized, he gently lifted her in his arms, then walked to a bench nestled in amongst the hay and candles. "Sit here for a moment."

Wisps of their warm breath curled in the air. Silence surrounded them. He dressed quickly, then returned to her side with her clothing and slowly dressed her. And despite his efforts to take comfort in the flesh-and-blood woman who breathed beneath his fingertips, he continued to see her pain-filled visage in his mind.

How could he protect her from death? How could he protect anyone?

The Charm Stone.

It could keep Rhiannon and all of his people safe from illness. He grasped onto the thought like a lifeline. He would have to trust that the Stone could help him banish the image of Rhiannon's death from his nightmares.

But would it keep her safe from the truth about what he had done to her brothers? And what he might have done to her had his assassin succeeded? Camden stumbled in placing her gown over her head, enveloping Rhiannon in a sea of fabric. She laughed and tried to find her way out while he simply watched. Could she discover the truth about the assassin he'd hired? Should he just tell her? Would she hate him less if he did?

Her head poked out from under all the fabric. "Some help you are," she teased, and the moment to tell her the truth passed.