Page 5 of Treasures of Skye

Chapter Four

He was a fool—a rude fool. Kaden was the captain of his own guarded silence. When asked about his past, he had no idea how to tell her that the last woman he held dear was responsible for his brother’s hanging. Nae, that was wrong. She wasn’t responsible. He was, for trusting her.

Kaden released a breath that curled from his mouth in a thick steam. Helena seemed relieved to be off Donald land, which, if he was honest, relieved him. However, if it wasn’t the Donalds she journeyed to, that meant she was likely traveling to the MacLeods. That troubled him. And he didn’t like being troubled over a woman.

Why had she been wandering in the woods alone? It was none of his business. Even the bruises on her arms weren’t his business—just as the business of his clan was not his business.

The sewing of her bodice shouldn’t take long, but Kaden took his time in fetching more wood. He returned to find Helena sound asleep, and her bodice more tightly fitting. His cock pulsed. He’d been too long without a woman. Two years since he’d left his clan. Since Rhona told his father that Liam had stolen the famed MacLeod Faery Flag, given to the MacLeod bairn by the Fae Queen herself. Kaden’s chest tightened. If the flag truly offered protection as legend said, his brother would still be alive.

An hour later, a whimper caused Kaden to snap his head up from the book he was reading. Helena twitched in her sleep. She flung an arm aside and cried out. Kaden leapt to his feet, his mother's journal tumbling from his lap onto the floor. Helena twisted and flailed. He took three quick steps to the bed, but she stilled as he reached down to grasp her arm. He watched, heart pounding. She must be dreaming about her fall through the ice.

Helena whimpered again and muttered something he couldn't distinguish. She began to cry. “Malcolm,” she whispered.

Kayden stiffened. Malcolm? Her husband, no doubt. Was he the man who left the bruises on her arms? He had to be, for no husband would stand idly by while another man abused his wife. She’d seemed relieved to be off Donald land. Was her husband a Donald? Malcolm Donald. Kaden started. Not Malcolm Donald, Captain to Domhnall Donald, the Donald chief? Nae. Last Kaden had heard, Malcom Donald hadn’t married. But Kaden had been away from Skye these last two years. Malcom could have married. Still, the name was common. He couldn't be the lass’ husband.

Her crying intensified. Kaden sat on the bed, grasped her shoulders and gently shook her. She bolted upright and buried her face in his chest. He stiffened and remained still as a statue when she fisted his shirt and cried. At last, she quieted and lifted her head. Eyes wide, she stared up at him.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Ye cried out in your sleep,” he said. “I came to see what was wrong and you burst into tears against my chest.”

Her cheeks pinked. She brushed hair from her face and his gaze caught on the bruises on her arm. Her eyes shifted to her arm. She yanked the cover up over her breasts.

Kaden realized the room had cooled. He rose and went to the fire, which had burned low. He knelt and added more wood.

“I cannae thank ye enough for saving me,” she said.

“Think nothing of it, lass.”

“Have you lived here long?” she asked.

This croft had belonged to his great uncle. They’d spent many a day here, fishing and hunting. He’d brought a lass or two here for a few stolen kisses. But he replied, “Nae.” Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie.

“ ‘Tis a cozy cottage,” she said, her voice sleepy. “

“Aye,” Kaden agreed. He wanted to ask about the bruises on her arms, about the man named Malcolm. Would she twist truth as he had? Kaden rose and turned. She lay on the bed, fast asleep.

The day passed too slowly. Kaden took care to remain quiet, and sat before the fire most of the day, trying to read his mother’s journal. Helena slept on. He would have worried, but the color returned to her cheeks and the steady rise and fall of her breasts told him she was beginning to mend. The blankets should cover her shoulders, so she didn’t catch a chill. He debated whether or not he might disturb her but, in the end, rose and gently pulled the plaid up to her shoulders. She sighed in her sleep and shifted. He jumped back, heart pounding. If she woke to him bending over her bed, she was sure to think he intended to dishonor her. But she slept on.

* * *

The following morning, Kaden awoke early. He rubbed the stiffness from his left shoulder. “You are no’ as young as ye once were,” he murmured, but shrugged into his furs and went out to bring in more wood. Helena would wake and want to be up and about. To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to sharing another companionable meal with her.

He returned to the cottage, the cart filled with enough wood to last through the day, then halted in the doorway, his arms full of logs. Helena stood near the table, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. God’s teeth. She intended to venture into the woods alone, again.

She stared for a moment. “Kaden, I am sorry if I said something to upset you.”

He frowned, then realized she spoke of their conversation yesterday. He closed the door, crossed to the hearth and stacked the logs. “Ye didnae upset me. Besides, that was yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” she blurted.

“Aye. Ye slept through the day and night.”

“I-I didn’t know.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You are kind to allow me to stay. I feel much better.”

He shrugged. “Ye will be happy to know the storm has passed and the sun is shining. It should prove to be a good day to travel.”

“I dinnae know how I can repay ye.”