Love Me Forever (37 page)

“Go and deliver the little bundle who will
guarantee my safety.”

He would not even extend a helpful hand. She
walked off on her own, the pain subsiding, but she knew not for
long. She barely reached the cottage door when another pain
struck.

Arran called out to her when she bent over
from the pain. “You are on your own, wife, there is no one here to
help you.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let
them fall. With difficulty she made it into the cottage, shutting
the door behind her. “Please,” she cried softly. “Please, Royce. I
need you.”

Having been present for several births and
having discussed the birthing process in detail with Moira, she
felt comfortable that she understood what needed to be done.

She had gathered twice the necessary items,
having left half in a bundle in the woods and the other half in the
cottage. She thought it wise that Arran should see her prepare for
the delivery, or he might grow suspicious.

Now she was relieved that she had done so,
for all was ready for her. She placed the items she needed close by
the bed and filled two buckets with water. Carrying them near the
bed was the most difficult, but with slow steps and much effort she
succeeded.

When another pain hit she was next to the
bed, and she sat, her hand resting where the pain struck. It was
then she realized that her birthing pains were close together and
that there was a good chance the delivery would be fast and she
hoped safe. If she grew too weary from the labor pains, she would
have difficulty tending the babe.

She managed to slip off all her clothes but
her shift, and then lay on the bed ready to face the birth
alone.

The pains continued on into the night and
Brianna did not have the quick birth she had hoped for. Arran had
ventured into the cottage now and again to complain that she took
too long and that she should be done with it.

She tried not to fight the pain, but at
times she wanted to scream. Instead she gripped hold of the sheets
and bit down on the thick stick that she had purposely broken down
to size for just this reason. She had no intentions of letting
Arran receive any pleasure from her screams. No matter how
difficult, she would not cry out.

The night wore on and into morning. She
thought she would not have an ounce of strength left to tend the
stubborn babe, for it seemed that he did not want to be born. She
ached from the endless hours of pain, and when finally she lay back
and told herself no more, the babe arrived.

It was past dawn when Brianna finally
settled herself and her daughter down to rest. She was a beautiful
little girl, full in the face and with a thatch of dark hair. While
she gave her mother hours of suffering, when she was ready she had
slipped into the world without a problem and with much less pain
than her mother had expected.

She gave a cry but settled quickly against
her mother, and even when Brianna washed her clean and tucked her
in a warm blanket to rest beside her, she barely made a sound. She
seemed content and fell fast asleep.

Brianna had little strength left to see to
her own needs but did what was necessary, and though she wished for
a thorough cleaning, it would wait until she was stronger.

Arran entered the cottage and looked upon
the sleeping babe and Brianna pale as death and barely able to keep
her eyes open.

“You could not even birth a babe,” he said
with his usual disgust. “Now what am I to do?” He shook his head,
and then quickly nodded. “You look as though you will not make the
day. It will be up to the babe to get me my coins. Aye, this will
work.”

He spoke to himself, and while he made
little sense, she realized he thought she was dying. If she could
rest for a few hours, perhaps then she could make an escape.

If she could just manage to get into the
woods, grab her bundle, and find a safe refuge, she and her
daughter would be fine. She was strong; she could do it. She had to
or else Arran would take her daughter from her, and that she would
not allow. She would rest and keep her daughter safely by her side,
and when the time was right she would make her escape. She had to,
no matter how much she ached or how tired she felt; escape meant
her daughter’s life.

Arran watched her eyes drift shut and shook
his head. “Worthless.”

She would be gone soon. His only hope now
was that Royce cared for his child as much as the mother. New plans
would be necessary all because his wife was a weak woman who had no
birthing strength in her.

He wrinkled his nose at the disorder in the
cottage.

Bloody towels lay on the floor and blood
stained the sheets. It was a disgusting sight and he wanted no part
of it. As soon as Brianna died, he would have her body dumped in
the woods for the animals to feast on.

Hopefully he could keep the tiny bundle
alive. For now he wanted no part of either of them, and he fled the
cottage.

Brianna heard the door shut and her daughter
stir. She rocked her gently in her arms. “It is all right, little
one. I will rest and then we will leave here and wait in the woods
for your father. He will come for us. I know he will.”

She fell into a light slumber, but the
birthing had robbed much of her strength, and she could not stop
the deep sleep that her body needed to heal from grabbing hold of
her. She and the babe fell into a contented and much needed
sleep.

Arran paced in front of the cottage. He had
to devise new plans. With Brianna close to death, the babe would
not survive long on its own unless he could find nourishment for
it. He needed to keep the child alive until Royce parted with a
substantial amount of coins, then it mattered not to him if the
babe lived or died.

He silently cursed Brianna. She never did
anything right. She never had the strength nor was she woman enough
to be his wife. He would not mourn her passing; she had not mourned
his.

He would make his escape to the outer Isles
and start anew. No one would know of him there. He would become
someone else and find a clan that was deserving of him. He looked
around at the men he had gathered. They were a motley bunch
deserving of nothing, and as soon as he was done here, he would
make certain to part ways with them quickly enough. They were not
worth the coins he had promised them and he certainly had no
intentions of sharing any coins with them.

He rubbed at the pain in his neck. He would
send a ransom demand to Royce immediately, not telling him of
Brianna’s death, but informing him of the child’s birth. He
laughed. He did not know whether Royce had a son or daughter, and
he did not care, though he thought that a son would bring more
coins. Knowing Brianna’s inadequacies, she probably gave Royce a
daughter. Nonetheless, the demand would be sent, and Royce no doubt
would answer.

Arran raised his head when he heard shouts
and someone cry out as if in pain. His eyes widened and he took
several steps back.

Royce walked out of the woods bare-chested,
sword in hand, and his deep green eyes enraged with fury. He
swatted the men who approached him out of his way as if they were
mere insects that disturbed him.

His men and Ian kept their distance at the
edge of the woods, but remained alert and ready for battle. When
Arran’s men caught sight of them, they fled without a thought.

Arran stood alone.

Royce drew his sword and stopped a few feet
in front of the trembling man. “I have come for
my wife.

Arran watched his men flee like frightened
rabbits. He was left with no choice but to face the mighty Royce
Campbell. He needed to keep his wits and think quickly. There had
to be a way to make the warrior more vulnerable, giving him a
better chance at defeating him.

Royce’s voice thundered with demand. “Where
is Brianna?”

It was a quick decision for Arran, and one
that could go in his favor or against him, but he made it with
hopes that it would work to his advantage. “Brianna birthed your
babe early this morning. She did not survive; the child barely
clings to life. They lie together in the cottage.”

Royce stood silent, trying to comprehend the
news.

Arran hoped his first thought would be to go
to Brianna and the child. Then he could easily slip away before
Royce’s men could reach him. He took a step aside as if offering
Royce entrance to the cottage.

Fury raged in Royce’s eyes and he threw back
his head and let out a tremendous roar that had the animals
scurrying in the woods, the birds taking flight, and Ian and the
men shivering.

Arran feared he misjudged the situation and
attempted to convince Royce to go to her. “She called for you
repeatedly, and even now I know she would wish you by her side. She
loved you more than she could ever love me. And she begged that you
see the child safe.”

His words worked the opposite of what he had
hoped.

Royce grew enraged and drew his sword.

Arran held up his hands. “This will solve
nothing.”

“A coward to the end, Arran?” Royce asked
with a calm fury. “You think to take the woman I love from me and
cause her death, and there will be no consequences? You are not
only a coward, you are a fool.”

Arran did not care for this remark. “Who is
the fool? Am I not the one who took her from the great Royce
Campbell?”

Royce advanced on him slowly. “And are you
not the one who is responsible for her death?”

Arran knew then there was no escaping him.
He would have to fight, but he did not have to fight fair. He drew
his sword. “You were the one who followed the wrong trail, so are
you not the one responsible for her death? Did you not promise to
keep her safe—and did you not fail her?”

His accusation pierced Royce’s heart, and he
knew that when all was done, he would suffer as he had never
suffered before, but right now at this moment he would make Arran
suffer for all he had done to Brianna and for robbing him of
her.

“I am about to rectify that,” Royce said and
swung his sword.

Arran raised his sword to deflect the blow
but was driven to the hard ground from the force of the powerful
strike. The idea that he should be on the ground beneath any man
infuriated him, and he lashed out, swinging his leg to catch Royce
with a heavy blow to his knees.

Royce stumbled but righted himself quickly
enough, giving Arran time to lurch to his feet and hold his weapon
firmly in hand.

Metal clashed with metal, fists flew, blood
poured, and the two men continued fighting. Arran was confident
with his swordsmanship, though his strength was nowhere near equal
to Royce’s. But he had no wish to die and no intentions of
dying.

Royce gave thought to nothing but striking
out at Arran, blow after blow after blow, and he was prepared for
anything, not trusting Arran to fight fairly. Therefore, he was not
surprised when in desperation Arran pulled a knife from his boot
and lunged at his chest.

Royce grabbed for his hand, twisted the
knife away from him, the end hitting him hard in the nose, and
tossed it to the side. “You fight like a coward.”

“I fight wisely,” Arran said, wiping away
the blood that spilled from his nose.

Royce raised his sword and edged him on with
a wave of his hand. “Come on, then, and fight me like a man.”

Royce’s men and Ian had moved in closer and
watched the fight with interest. Arran knew that he could not win;
his only chance was to escape. He had grown tired, and Royce looked
enraged with revenge, and that would provide him with the stamina
to fight all day. He had to end this and quick.

Arran raised his sword and moved so that he
was nearer to the woods and as their swords clashed, he maneuvered
them closer and closer to the edge of the woods. His chance came
when he fell to the ground, and Royce was about to lunge at his
chest with his sword.

He grabbed a handful of dry dirt and threw
it in Royce’s face, blinding him and giving himself enough time to
attempt an escape. He ran straight for the woods with the speed of
a frightened rabbit.

Royce cleared his eyes in seconds and
followed him.

Arran was fast and Royce feared losing him.
He stopped, raised his sword, and with two hands on the handle and
all the force he could muster, he flung the sword at Arran.

Arran turned at that moment and with wide,
horrified eyes, he watched the sword descend and pierce his chest.
He fell on his back, hitting the hard ground and gasping for
breath.

Royce reached him as his last breaths
slipped away, and it was with a smile he said, “Brianna joins
me.”

An agonizing roar echoed throughout the
surrounding area, and Royce pulled his sword from Arran’s chest and
rushed to the cottage. He stopped Ian from entering, handing him
his sword.

“This is for me to do.”

Ian tensed. “My sister?”

Royce did not answer; he turned and entered
the cottage alone. The smell of blood stung his nostrils, and the
scene in front of him tore at his heart. How she must have suffered
birthing the babe alone with no one to lend a helping hand, and
here of all places. Here, where they had shared so much love.

He tensed from the pain and desperately
fought the tears that threatened. He would be strong—he had to
be—if not for him, then for Brianna, for she had been strong.

He could tell she had worked hard giving
birth and had fought to the very end. And he had not been there for
her. The pain in his heart was like none he had ever felt, and he
knew he would feel more before his time in the cottage was
done.

He approached the bed, a sheet covering most
of Brianna’s body. She lay on her side in a protective huddle, and
he could see why when he stood beside the bed. A small bundle he
first thought was a pillow lay beside her, her arm draped over it.
It was the babe wrapped in a blanket and lying there lifeless.