Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (39 page)

Dagger's laughter filled the air. He advanced and swung again. Roman ducked, barely clearing the blade's path as he backed away. Dagger stalked him, his eyes bright with bloodlust. He swung again. Again, Roman dodged to the right. Dagger's sword sliced his arm, but he was beyond pain now.

"I'd like to stay and play," Dagger said, advancing again. "But your lady awaits my pleasure, so now ... you die!" he said and lunged.

Roman tried to twist away. His foot became snared in the bracken. He fell with his branch braced, point up, beside him. Dagger rushed in, sword held before him, ready for the kill. But suddenly, he, too, tripped, and he fell, blade thrust out.

Death roared in upon Roman. He watched it come, helpless to stop it, paralyzed beneath Dagger's sword. He had failed! Dear God, he had failed her.

He felt Dagger's blade slice through his flesh and into the ground below. The blackness swelled around him, and he let it take him.

Unable to stop his fall, Dagger plunged downward onto the branch sharpened by his own sword. It entered below his sternum, ripping into his guts as he shrieked in agony.

"Roman!" Tara stumbled to her feet. "Roman!" She raced toward him, then staggered back as reality grabbed hold of her. Roman was skewered to the ground beside Dagger's lifeless form. "Nay!" Her world ripped apart. She fell to her knees.

His blood was bright red, still flowing, puddling into the bracken crushed beneath him. She had killed him. But she would not allow him to be defiled. She would remove the sword, bind the wound.

Rising to her feet, she reached for the hilt. It felt cold and hard beneath her fingers. She closed her eyes and pulled. The sword resisted, clinging to his pierced flesh. Bile rose in Tara's throat, but she tightened her grip and dragged the blade from Roman's body.

The bloodied sword dangled from her fingers.

"Step away," said a voice from behind.

Tara staggered about.

Another horseman had arrived. His sword was drawn and death was in his face.

Sanity was flung aside. "Nay!" Tara screamed. "You will not have him. I will take him to the Highlands."

The huge man dismounted, still watching her. "Step away from him."

"Come on then!" She motioned him toward her. Blood dripped from the sword's tip. "Come if you dare."

Dressed all in black, he approached slowly. "Put down the sword."

"Nay!" she screamed. Hopelessness swallowed her. "Nay! Kill me, too! Kill me, too, and have done with it!"

"Put the sword aside, lass," said the warrior quietly. "And we may yet save your love."

The woods reverberated in the silence. Tara's mind scrambled as she tried to think, tried to sort the lies from the truth. "Save?" she whispered.

"He yet lives."

"Nay." She shook her head, not daring to hope. "Do not try to fool me."

"The Wolf yet lives, lass," said the warrior, his voice lightly burred. He turned his head, as if having caught the sound of distant danger. "But he willna last much longer if we dunna hide him."

"The Wolf!" The sword drooped in Tara's numbed fingers. "He is the Wolf and you are ..."

"The Hawk," said the warrior, and, stepping forward, slipped the sword from her hand.

Roman lived, but by the barest of margins. Tara could not touch him, could not hold him. She sat like a doll of rags upon her mount's back. The days passed like nightmares without end, the nights like hell's eternity.

Hawk had carried Roman into hiding. Dagger's men had passed by then finally retreated. And eventually, after a thousand lifetimes, Liam and David had arrived with the four horses freed from the coach.

Roman's wound had been tightly bound. Hawk believed the sword had missed his vital organs, but Tara didn’t know whether to believe him. And would it matter in the end? Roman remained unconscious.

For two days they stopped for nothing but to water the horses. A quick course in equitation, but the thought failed to amuse her. The land became rough and rolling, green beyond description.

The third night they halted some hours past sunset. Tara slipped from her mount. Her legs buckled and she fell to the earth.

The night was cold and endless.

Long before dawn, they were moving again. The night ground away. Morning slid up the horizon. Tara walked beside Roman, lest he somehow break the bonds that kept him tethered to Hawk's huge mount.

Miles passed beneath them. Tara stumbled and fell. Hands reached for her. She felt herself lifted and set aboard a horse's bare back.

It began to rain, tiny pellets of water.

"How far?" she asked, speaking through exhaustion as gray as fog.

Hawk's eyes were a strange, silver-blue and flat with worry. He turned away. "Dun Ard is near."

Tara braced herself against her mount's withers and lifted her gaze to squint through the rain at Roman's pale face. Mayhap he would yet survive. Mayhap, she thought.

But just then a warrior stepped into their path.

Chapter 28

Tara gasped. No! They were nearly to safety. They couldn’t be stopped now. She wouldn’t let them be. Grabbing both her reins and Roman's, she prepared to flee.

Hawk swept his sword from its scabbard, but held up his opposite hand and stayed perfectly still, facing their attacker. Off to the side, a dozen more men stepped from the woods, mere shadows in the pelting rain.

"So is the Hawk no longer welcome at Dun Ard?" Hawk asked, raising his voice above the pound of the rain.

There was a moment of silence, then, "Haydan, is that ye, lad?"

"Roderic," Hawk breathed.

The leader of the men rushed through the rain toward them. Tara remained poised and ready, but in a moment Hawk was on his feet and engulfed in a man's embrace.

"Hawk," he said. "Our Hawk has returned to the mews."

Though bigger and broader, Hawk seemed suddenly to droop in the other man's embrace.

Roderic frowned, then lifted his gaze to Tara. "What is this? What's happened?"

"'Tis Roman," Hawk said. "I came too late to assist him."

"God's wrath! Not Roman."

"Aye. I couldn’t save him, Roddy. 'Tis me own fault."

"He is dead then?"

"Nay!" Tara said, but the word was a croak of misery. "He will not die. He cannot."

Roderic's gaze caught hers again, then swept away.

"William!" he yelled.

"Aye, m'lord?" said a young man. He stepped forward, lean and small.

"Ride—nay—take Lochan's Bairn and
fly
ta Glen Creag. Fiona will know what ta do."

William fell back a step, his eyes going wide. "The Flame willna let me take her favorite steed."

"Buck up, man," said Roderic. "She willna bite ye. Bullock, ye'd best go with him, lest I'm wrong."

"Aye, m'lord."

"Adam, run ahead and tell Bethia that the Wolf has been struck."

Within minutes, they crossed a drawbridge. The courtyard was slick beneath Tara's mount's hooves. The keep loomed before her.

Hawk untied Roman and carried him into the hall.

Tara slid to the ground, feeling numb and worn.

"Come, lass," Roderic said, reaching for her hand.

"Nay." She drew back. For a moment of time she had hoped Roman could be hers. For a moment she had dreamed, but no more. When she loved, people died. She couldn’t risk his life.

"He'll die without ye," Roderic said.

"No." She whispered the word. "’Tis his only chance to live.”

"I know the Wolf well," Roderic said. "He needs ye."

Tara tried to turn away, but she lacked the strength to leave him. In a moment, she followed Roderic up the stairs to the infirmary.

Tara awoke with a start.

An angel stood in the doorway. "Roman!" she said. Her hair challenged the color of the fire in the hearth, and her eyes were as bright as amethyst.

Another woman rushed forward. She was taller, younger. But her hair was the same bright hue. In Tara's fatigue, it seemed they floated above the floor, ethereal, sent from heaven.

"Help him," she pleaded.

The first angel caught Tara's gaze.

"Do you love him?"

She wasn’t certain if the words were spoken or merely thought, but she was certain she couldn’t risk the truth. Silence ruled the room.

Still, the angel nodded as if she had spoken.

There was no time for denials.

The angels swept forward. They removed Roman's tattered tunic, cut away his bandages.

His wound was swollen and purple, oozing and crusted.

The taller woman gasped but the other remained steady.

"Flanna," she said, not taking her gaze from Roman's side. "I need purslane and dogwood leaves."

The younger woman straightened. "I can stay. Let me help."

"Nay," Fiona said, her own face ashen. "I need the leaves."

Flanna nodded and backed away. "What else?"

"Have Bethia bring boiling water and bandages."

Flanna nodded and disappeared.

"What can I do?" Tara whispered.

Fiona's gaze caught hers. There was wisdom and healing in the depths of her eyes. But there was more, love so vast it could encompass her even now. "Hold fast and pray, lass," she whispered.

Night fell. Morning dawned. Two days came and went, but Tara was caught forever in darkness. She remained as she was, unspeaking, unmoving. 'Twas her fault he was dying. Therefore, she didn’t deserve to touch him, but neither could she force herself to leave him.

"David MacAulay is well?" Fiona asked.

Three tawny hounds sat beside Roman's bed. Their long noses rested on his mattress as they gazed at him. Sweet Mary, Tara thought, even the dogs loved him.

There was a small group of people by the door. Tara knew them by name now. Leith was Fiona's husband, dark and solemn. Roderic was Leith's brother, the opposite in both looks and manner, his arm wrapped about his wife Flanna as she pressed close to his side.

Hawk was there, standing apart from the rest as he stared at Roman's pale face.

"Aye." Leith's voice was deep and quiet. "David is well. He has returned to his father."

Fiona nodded. The room fell silent.

Roderic drew a deep breath and absently rubbed his wife's arm. "Is there aught else we can do, Fiona? Are there other herbs that might help?"

Fiona shook her head. "His wounds are grievous, aye, but... He has been sorely wounded afore, and always he has fought back to health. But now... 'tis almost as if he does not wish to stay amongst us."

Leith tightened his fist. "Mayhap if ye tried more purslane. I could fetch—"

"I have done all I can," Fiona snapped, then stifled a sob with the back of her hand. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "’Tis not your fault. Tis only that I... I remember him as I first saw him. Brave ..." Her fingers slipped from her face. Tears washed her cheeks as she gazed at Roman's pale face. "He was so brave," she whispered. "Carrying Dora."

"The hound," Roderic murmured. He cleared his throat, but his eyes were filled with tears. One spilled past his golden lashes. "Sweet Mary, how he loved that hound."

"Enough to give his life," Fiona whispered. "It has always been thus with Roman. So easily could he sacrifice himself for those he cherished. But never could he see the good that is himself. Damn Dermid for the damage he has wrought!" she swore with sudden vehemence.

"Shhh." Leith pulled her into his arms. "'Tis all past, Fiona. 'Tis yer pure love that saved him. Yer love and none other's."

Fiona pressed her face against his chest. Her fingers gripped his sleeves. “But I canna save him now. ‘Tis almost as if he does not wish to be saved."

Tara said nothing. Her world had been ripped in two.

"Mayhap if we move him ta Glen Creag, ta his home, he'll..." Leith began, but Fiona shook her head.

"He'll not survive the night," she whispered.

The words yanked Tara from her trance. "Nay!" She shot out of her chair. "Nay!" she screamed. "He'll not die! He’ll not. I do not love him!"

The room went absolutely still. Five pair of eyes watched her.

"He will not die!" she croaked, backing away. "I never said I loved him. I never did."

Fiona drew herself from her husband's arms. "But you do, don't you?” she asked. “You do, but you've not said as much."

"No!" Tara whimpered and fell to her knees, fists clenched. Tears flooded her eyes. Misery drowned her. "Don't let him die! I'll leave. I'll go and not come back. I swear it."

"And think ye that will heal him?" Fiona asked.

Tara swiped the tears away. How many years had it been since she’d cried. "'Tis my fault," she whispered. "He wasn’t for the likes of me. I knew this—and yet I wanted him so. If I love, people die. Da, Mother, Cork. I knew, and yet..."

Fiona dropped to her knees. "They died because you loved them?" she asked quietly. Tara tried to avoid her eyes, tried to look away, but she couldn’t. "He’s my son," she whispered. "I deserve to know."

Tara nodded. "Make him better." She whimpered the words like a small, broken child. "Make him better, and I'll go away."

Fiona lifted her chin, and gripping Tara's hand, slowly pulled her to her feet. "You'll not go away," she said quietly. "You'll tell him the truth."

Tara shook her head and stepped back.

"His spirifs leaving," Fiona rasped, moving with her. "But love can do miracles. I've seen it afore."

"I don’t love. I can’t love. I'm not like you. I’ve done..." She shook her head, clasping her hands close to her chest. "My life has been corrupt. My love couldn’t heal him," she whispered.

Fiona's eyes burned into hers. "So ye’ve lived with evil, and yet ye long for what is good. Yer soul has not been blackened by that which ye have seen. 'Tis a special gift, Tara O'Flynn. 'Tis the gift that Roman needs. The love of a woman who has seen the darkness and fought for light. We love him, lass, but we cannot understand him, not truly, for he endured that which we shudder to imagine. But ye... ye understand him, and yet ye love him. Ye are two hearts destined to be melded. Ye belong together."

"Nay!" Tara said and stumbled backward.

"Aye, ye do," Fiona whispered. "Tell him the truth."