Page 32 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

“You’re bleeding.” She pointed to his temple, where a small cut oozed down his cheek.

“I don’t care. Are you harmed? I could have crushed your throat and killed ye,” he repeated, though she was well aware of how close it had come to being the case.

He paced away only to return to her immediately. He was having trouble reckoning what had nearly happened.

“I’m so sorry, Brenna. I didn’t mean to—” He reached for her, but she pulled back on instinct, not because of what he had nearly done minutes ago, but because he was a man and thanks to Ewan, any such movements caused such a reaction.

And in truth, the memory of his attack was too fresh in her mind. She was rattled and didn’t want to be touched. Not while her throat still burned.

“I’ll get Moira. She’ll know what to do.” He stood and headed for the door in only his shirt.

“Nay.” Brenna managed to stay him with a hand after taking in the enticing curve of his buttocks through the thin linen. She shook her head. “Sleeping.”

“I don’t care if she’s sleeping. You need a healer right now. She’ll come if I call.”

Brenna rolled her eyes as he rushed out of the room. He came right back, snatched up his kilt, and hastily pulled on his boots before leaving again. She knew Moira wouldn’t be able to do much. Some willow bark tea for the pain or honeyed mead to coat her burning throat was about all that could be done.

She heard Ronan’s cursing before he entered their room again. “The woman is out helping with a birth in the village. I’ll take ye to her.” He moved to scoop her up from where she sat on the edge of their bed.

Brenna shook her head again and said, “Kitchen.” She stood alone and went toward the door, picking up her robe. While he didn’t move to try to lift her again, he quickly supported her when she wobbled. The stones were cool under her feet.

Despite the warmth of the July days, the castle still turned cold at night. Together, they made their way down to the kitchens, where she made her drink, adding extra honey to sweeten the bitterness of the willow bark. The first sip burned a little, but she could swallow without discomfort after a few more.

Either the honey was working, or the mead was dulling the pain. Whichever, she didn’t much care. “Do ye have nightmares often?” she asked, her voice a bit stronger.

“Aye.”

“What are they about?” It must have been the mead. She wouldn’t have asked him something so personal without the extra courage. Her defenses were low while her curiosity was in full force.

She’d seen how much he worried that he’d hurt her. The regret. That kindness she remembered from that night long ago. How he’d not wanted to hurt her as he took her in their marriage bed. Despite what lies Ewan had told him, Ronan was a kind man at his core. She felt her anger slip further and gathered it tighter around her.

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, and she guessed he didn’t want to tell her. She was no one he would like to share secrets with. Just the unwanted wife who had been forced on him. The wife he didn’t want. Her throat burned again, but this time from holding back tears of resentment.

He surprised her when he finally spoke, his tone somber. “When I first went to fight, the number of deaths I witnessed was shocking. I’d been on several raids before that, so I wasn’t new to battle, but war is much different than a skirmish with a neighboring clan. Somehow, it didn’t feel real, so it was easy to sleep afterward. Keeping that part sealed off from my own life worked for nearly a year. But at some point, you’re faced with the truth of things. He ceases to exist when you thrust your sword through a man’s heart. There’s no hiding from that reality for long.”

Wanting to comfort him, she took his hand in hers. Without the bitterness, she had nothing to protect her. The unease of being vulnerable prickled as she stroked his palm with her thumb. For this moment, at least, she was safe from the anger he brought out in her.

She kept silent as he found the words to continue.

“When your mind fails to protect you from the truth, you start to think of those you’ve killed and who they were. They were your enemy, yes, but they were also men with kin and lives of their own. Were they even fighting for their homeland? Or were they hired from somewhere else, as was I? And then, as if that weren’t enough, there is the matter of my men, the ones that died because of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I was injured, I was made captain. I thought it a great honor. Shane had been my captain and had recommended me for the job. A fool sees only a title and not the duty required to hold up such a thing. When I was called upon to make a crucial decision, I made a grave mistake, and lives were lost. I carry the burden of their deaths on my shoulders. Their faces still haunt me at night when I try to sleep.”

She remembered his inability to decide what to do about the lad who had taken the bread and imagined that was why he couldn’t act. Did he see every decision as life or death? His hesitation was born from this pain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing he’d not had to live through such horror even if he’d chosen that life over one with her.

“You’ve no reason to be sorry. Ye didn’t tell me to go. You probably would have told me to stay and be your husband if I asked your opinion. But I dinna give you a say in the matter, did I?” He shook his head. “And now I pay dearly for that. As I should.”

He bore these nightmares as a punishment. She could see that. Guilt washed over her. He must have seen her resentment earlier. She’d done nothing to hide it. He’d left her. He’d found a way to get out of being shackled to a woman he didn’t want. But she’d been wrong to think he’d enjoyed his time away. He’d lived through hell. He’d been wounded inside and out.

Mayhap he deserved a small measure of compassion. He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. “I’m sorry I hurt ye.” His breath whispered across her skin, sending a shiver as heat washed her clean of bitterness.

This apology was short on words, but she thought she heard all he didn’t say. He was sorry he’d hurt her throat, but he was also sorry for the other, more profound hurt he’d caused her. They were just words, much like the vows they’d shared. They only meant something if a person took them to heart. She didn’t know if he regretted leaving her, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed seeing his pain. Like Ewan, one would have to be a monster and not want to offer comfort.

“I’m sorry you are tormented as you sleep.”

He offered a sad smile. “The truth is, even before France, I didn’t sleep all that well. When I was a lad of eight, I followed Ewan into the loch to swim. Being a taller boy of twelve, I was quickly beyond my depth and couldn’t touch the bottom. I struggled and would have drowned if Ewan hadn’t pulled me out. He saved me. I owe him my life.”

Brenna wanted to argue that he didn’t owe that vicious cur a damned thing, but she understood how he had made Ewan into a hero in his mind, and words would never change his thoughts on the matter. She disliked the idea of being the one to force him to look at Ewan as the monster he was now and slay the person Ronan thought his uncle to be. Wouldn’t he come to resent such a thing?

Wasn’t there too much resentment between them already?

“Come. My throat is better. Let’s try to get some sleep. Hopefully, the demons will leave us be if we face them together.”

She held out her hand in invitation, and he didn’t hesitate even a second before putting his larger, warmer hand around hers and offering a comforting squeeze.

“I vow to protect ye, if you’ll have my back.”

She smiled and nodded, but she wasn’t sure who Ronan might choose to protect, Ewan or her.