Celtic Fury (7 page)

Startled, both Brielle and Rory bolted awake. The sudden jarring caused Brielle to wince.

Rory gathered her gently into his arms and said, “Sshh, it’s alright. Ye are safe.”
Was she still dreaming?
 

“What…what are you doing here?”

Rory let her go as if he had been burned. He leapt out of the bed and said, “Ye were shivering. I only thought to warm ye. I wasna’ tryin’ to do anything improper.” 

Brielle sat up with an effort, breathing through the pain
that wracked her with every breath
. She looked around the room, still disoriented from the herbal sleeping draft and from waking in a strange place. The potion made her feel drowsy and woozy. She still felt like she was having another dream.

She saw the chair pulled close to the bed. In her haziness, she realized that Rory had been keeping a vigil for her. He said, “I am sorry, Lass. I wouldna’ hurt ye or dishonor ye.” 

By the flickering firelight, Rory could see the light in her violet eyes. They were enormous, nearly swallowing her face. She looked terrified. She felt heat flood her face and she was grateful for the dimness of the room. She had been dreaming of him and the dream was far from proper. She raised her eyes to his and was again struck with his masculine beauty. He stood next to the bed, legs slightly apart, hands fisted at his sides. His leonine dark hair was tousled from sleep, but it gave him an endearing boy-like quality.

He cleared his throat and said, “I …I should go. My room is right next door to yers’ should ye need me, Brielle.”

She knew she should say something, but as he turned to go, she couldn’t find her voice. She had to thank him for caring for her. She watched him stoop down to retrieve his boots and she finally said, “Wait…please don’t go just yet.”  He turned back to her and she raised her hand to offer it to him. He took it and gently brought her fingers to his lips.

“I meant ye no harm,” he said again.

Brielle clasped his hand and said, “I know. You have been so very kind to me. Thank you for all you have done.”

Rory was again embarrassed by her thanks.

He stammered, “Ye are feelin’ better.” 

She nodded, still so groggy. She still was not certain if she was still dreaming. Her body felt like it was not part of her and her movements were slow, or so they seemed.

She nodded. “Well, that is thanks enough, lass.”

He sat down on the bed beside her and he said, “Go back to sleep, lass. It will help ye get well.”

“Will you stay?” Her voice seemed to echo in her head, so very much still like a dream. She must still be dreaming because she would never have had the courage to ask a handsome man to stay with her in her chambers. Besides, only in a dream would she not be afraid of the Highland Wolf.

Rory looked into her eyes and said, “If it helps ye”.

Her hand rose up and she touched his face. Yes, she was dreaming, because only in a dream would she be so bold.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Rory looked confused.

“Because ye were hurt, Lass.” She looked away.

Of course that was why. Brielle reminded herself that Rory MacCollum was an honorable man. She blushed, thinking to feel attraction to this man. She knew nothing about him except that he had rescued her. She did not know if he was married or betrothed, but then she vaguely remembered Morag saying he wasn’t. She tried again to search her memory. Rory MacCollum . . . nay he was not married. Did she remember that he was known as a ladies’ favorite? How could the Wolf be a favorite of the ladies? Perhaps she was wrong about that name. He was kind, and gentle. It was more likely he was a ladies favorite than the blood thirsty beast. And she could see why. Beautiful was an understatement to describe Rory MacCollum. He was beyond the norm of handsome. Dark hair framing his handsome face brushed his shoulders. He was a big man with strong legs and arms strengthened from war training. His jaw line was square and masculine. His mouth was full and sensual and his teeth straight and white. Surely, this was not the dreaded Wolf. Brielle could see the shadow of a day’s growth of a beard, which only defined the line of his sculpted handsomeness. Those golden eyes were soulful and smoldering. They bespoke of passion and intensity, not savagery. Unconsciously, Brielle’s hand brushed over the old scar. She felt foolish in her girlhood musings. Rory MacCollum was being nice to her as he would to a wounded animal. Lest she forget, she was a Campbell.

Rory watched her as something had taken her thoughts. Her expression visibly had changed and something had made her pretty lips draw down into a frown. She had been subconsciously fingering that old scar near her chin. Rory took that hand in his, feeling its unnatural coolness and he pressed it to his lips again. She blushed and pulled her hand away realizing that she had drawn his attention to that very disfigurement. She turned her face away in shame, wishing to hide it from him. She never expected to feel his big hand, warm and gentle beneath her jaw, turning her back to face him. She did not want to meet his eyes, feeling them burn into her. She did not want to see pity in his eyes for her disfigurement. She hated that scar, but she hated being pitied more. She stole a glance at him; sure she would see both pity and disgust in his eyes. Instead she saw a look of intense emotion, like he was fighting rage.

“How did it happen, Brielle? Who did this to you?”

“It was an accident, long ago.”  But as she said the half-truth, she saw the fury he tried to hide, heighten only to be tamped down. Of course he would know she was lying. He was a warrior and knew what damage a dirk could do. Damn that potion Morag made her drink. Her voice seemed to disembody in her head and she could not properly discern if this was still a dream or not.

“Did yer’ husband do it?”  She shook her head, no.

“P-please don’t look at it. I know it is very ugly.”

He leaned close and brushed his lips over it. Now she was certain she was dreaming. That was such a tender gesture, surely she was still dreaming!

“Nay, not ugly, only I wish to know who did it for if he is still alive. I’d like to carve his nose from his very face.”

His voice became seriously deadly as he made that promise. She had felt her heart quicken as his lips had touched that awful scar. Why would it matter to this man that someone had cut her? She was a stranger; albeit his enemy. It seemed odd that he wanted to punish the perpetrators of that act of violence against her. Certainly, no man had ever wanted to protect her. If she hadn’t been the recipient of Rory’s tender care, Brielle would have been terrified of the intense tamped fury.

Rory was fighting the darkness. It was rising up in him like unbridled rage. Someone had deliberately cut this angel. He couldn’t stand when women were mistreated. The scar was old. He had known that upon finding her. He just hadn’t realized it had been deliberate. Brielle was drawn to the intensity of the gold fire in Rory’s eyes. It was almost like he was fighting a personal war within himself. She spoke softly, covering his hand with hers.

“Please, Ruiri, it happened a long time ago. T’is of no consequence, now.”

A muscle worked in his jaw and he looked at her tiny hand over his. He took a deep cleansing breath. He was obviously frightening her. He didn’t want to do that. She had been through so much. He pushed the darkness back for the moment. It was getting harder and harder to do each time he felt it happen.

“Ruiri,” her voice brought him out of his thoughts. He liked the way she said his name. He put his other hand over hers and he said, “I am sorry, Brielle.”  She just nodded, looking into his eyes.

“Rest now, lass. Ye need to get some sleep. I will wait for ye’ to rest and then retire to my own room.” Brielle was confused at the feelings he was cultivating in her. She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t ask him to climb back into bed with her. She also did not want him propped in that chair next to her bed all night. That was no way for him to spend the night after he had been so kind to her. Well, it was her dream after all, so she decided in her dream she would ask him to stay. She couldn’t help herself, but she now lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it.

“Thank you so much, for all your kindness.” He shook his head, but she said, “Thank you for helping me stay warm. I…I…”

“What is it, Lass?”

“I don’t want you …to go.”

Rory felt like he had been hit in the chest. He realized she was frightened and alone, but still her profession knocked the wind out of him. What was it about this girl? He felt drawn to her and he knew he should not encourage it. She was newly widowed. She was very vulnerable. She was the kind of woman used to being wed, he supposed. He was not the marrying kind.

“Brielle…I…”

“I know you will stay sitting in that uncomfortable chair…all night. I don’t want that for you.” She sighed heavily, feeling very tired.

She was slipping deeply into her dreams, she supposed. She lay back down, but continued to meet his eyes. She watched as he slid in beside her. With an effort, she turned on her side, so her back was to him. She felt his hands press her shoulders gently.

And, he said, “Try to rest, Brielle”. He initially felt her tense, but as he pulled her closer to his chest, the heat from his body lulled her and he could feel her relax. She immediately fell back to sleep in his arms, naturally eased and subdued, but not before murmuring something that vaguely sounded like she said, Gentle Wolf. Rory tensed at those words, but then he thought it had just been a soft murmur of a wounded girl sinking into unconsciousness and that he had been incorrect about what he heard. He sighed. He didn’t think he liked the way she tugged at his heart, but he had to help her and he knew that his body heat was what she needed right now. He decided not to make more of it than that and tried to put the memory of his dream aside. Yes, she was beautiful, but he already knew that this girl prompted responses from him he was not comfortable with. Making love to her would deeply complicated things. Still, as she relaxed in his arms, he wondered how she would feel beneath him and how she would taste as he kissed her.
Och! It was going to be a long night
.

Chapter Seven

Caleb MacCollum looked at the old woman who had become his dearest friend since his wife had died. He pondered Morag's words; Ruiri had found his mate, she had said. Caleb had long wanted Ruiri to settle down. He was too wild in ways since the loss of his beloved Caitlyn. Caleb worried that the damage to Ruiri’s soul would continue to worsen if he never allowed the love of a good woman in to heal his past wounds. This girl! Dear God, why was it this girl? Caleb knew Morag had “The Sight”. She had been right about Bronwyn and Drew.

Caleb sighed heavily and asked, “Does he know?”

The old one shook her head and said, “Nay. She needs to tell him herself.”

“That willna’ go well. Mother of God, does it always have to be like this? First the Englishman for our Bronnie and now this? Dear God! Gabrielle Campbell, sister to those Satan’s spawns. Morag, he is not going to handle this well.” 

Morag eyed the man she had grown to respect from watching him tend to the clan MacCollum as their laird all these years. He was an imposing man. Hell, all the MacCollums were, but for all his bluster and size, he did not scare her.

She planted her hands on her hips and she said, “Ye’ are NOT to tell him, Caleb MacCollum. It must come from the girl. Oft times true mates happen thus. But she must be the one to tell him. She has been broken in ways, not just from the carriage accident. She knows who Ruiri is and I am sure she is terrified of his reaction. She asked me about the Wolf of the Highlands.” Caleb shook his head again and he sighed almost painfully, knowing how Rory hated that analogy.

“Christ!  Gabrielle Campbell! Why did Rory have to find her?” 

“Because, she
is
his mate.”

“I fear when he learns the truth, it will destroy him.”  Morag placed a hand on the Laird’s arm.

“It may heal him. T’is time Ruiri faced the demons of his own. This girl isna’ like those two. She is good and kind. She has an untapped strength that Ruiri will be able to use when things turn dark for him. Even though she knows about the Wolf, she is not terrified of him. She is afraid, but I think it is just because of his masculine power. She will be Ruiri’s salvation. I am sure of it…that is, if she survives her injuries. She is very sick, Caleb. Despite her strength, her spirit has been battered too, no doubt from those devil’s sons you spoke of. It may take the love of a man like Ruiri to help her draw on her own strength. Ruiri has not left her side. They will be each other’s salvation.”

Caleb shook his head in disbelief, his silver hair falling forward. He pushed it away in dismay and said, “Ruiri takes to demoiselles in distress ever since he lost Caitlyn. When Bronwyn married, he decided to stay on to be sure his sister was happy and not alone in a strange land. Morag, ye are not confusing his good nature with love…” Morag cut him off.

“
She
is the
one
, Caleb. You know I am not wrong about these things.” A muscle worked in the laird’s cheek, so much like his son’s had a tendency to do when he was troubled.

“Then ye must do everything to help heal her. God forbid she dies, we will lose Ruiri forever.” Morag sighed heavily.