Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone
Seventeen
“Eve!” came the twins call at her bedchamber door one sennight after Eve had been bitten.
Eve let out a sigh of relief as she rose to move from the bed toward the door to slide the bar from her door and let the girls in. She was tired of cowering in her bedchamber, but that had proven the best way to avoid Royce. Each day she feigned a new ailment when he came to her door to see her. The first day it had been fatigue, the next a megrim, then a bothersome stomach, and then an achy throat. On the fifth day, she had floundered for what could be bothering her, when Elena had come up with an aching tooth, and they had both cursed Father Murdoch for not having returned to the castle yet. On the sixth day, Elena and Eve were at a loss for what small ailment could be keeping her in her room, and in desperation, Eve had told him from the other side of her door that her foot she had injured in the woods ached, and she did not feel like company.
All the lies made her ill. She wanted it to be over, and she had left her room this morning, determined to tell Royce the truth, but Elena had intercepted her, and informed her that Father Murdoch had sent word that he would be back this very day, and that Royce had ridden off this morning to hunt. Eve could have left her room then, but all the worry had robbed her of sleep, so she had napped until not long ago.
Upon opening her door, she was met with two grinning urchins. “What are you two about?” Eve asked, opening her arms for her daily hug from them. She’d not allowed their father into her bedchamber, but she’d been unable to resist allowing the girls in. She’d been beside herself with pleasure that they wanted to see her. They both took turns squeezing her hard, and then Lenora said, “We wish to go on a picnic and hoped ye could join us. Da is away, so—”
“Is it inside the boundaries and close?” she asked, having learned her lesson from the time before.
The girls both flushed. “Aye.”
That was all the reassurance Eve needed. She was desperate for fresh air. “All right,” she said, then donned her slippers and quickly followed the now chattering girls down the corridor, then the stairs and out into the bustling courtyard. Eve was so preoccupied with listening to their tale of how their Uncle Lachlan had once killed a boar to save his wife, their Aunt Bridgette, that between the fascinating tale and the warriors training in the courtyard, Eve did not see Royce until he was too near for her to flee unnoticed.
But she did stop in her tracks as her heart leaped. He looked magnificent. His black hair gleamed in the sun, and his chest was bare, except for the leather strap which held his sword in place. He wore braies low on his hips to fully display his perfectly sculpted body. Without looking at the girls, she said, “I thought you said your father went for a hunt?”
“We must have been wrong,” Lenora replied unapologetically.
“Since da is here, he can go with us on our picnic,” Lillith added, as Royce approached, leading two destriers laden with baskets for a picnic. Duped. She’d been duped by the girls, and she was quite certain by Royce.
When he stopped in front of them all and winked at the girls, Eve knew she was correct. To Eve, he smiled and said, “It’s good to see ye finally recovered.”
She had to swallow the knot of longing in her throat. The man had the singular ability to make her wanton. “Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out gravelly. “I feel much better.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied, and then handed off one of the reins he held to Lenora, who stepped forward to take it.
“What are you doing?” Eve asked, fearing she already knew the answer.
He gave her a gentle look that curled her toes. “Ye’ll ride with me, and Lenora and Lillith will ride together.”
“But—”
That was the only word she got out before his hands came around her waist, he lifted her, and slung her with ease up on the beast. Lenora and Lillith mounted their destrier with efficiency, as Royce gave them heartwarming compliments for their skill and mounted behind her. His heat enveloped her as his thighs embraced her and his arms encircled her. And when he leaned forward to signal the horse to go, her back pressed against his hard chest. His lips brushed her ear, and she shivered. “We’ll take it slow, aye, Eve, since ye’ve nae been feeling well all week.”
She suspected the astute man knew she’d been avoiding him, but she nodded. True to his word, they started off slow and kept that pace, and to her relief, the twins jabbered for the entire ride to the picnic spot, which was a small fall not too far from Dunvegan. Yet, even with the twins talking the whole way, Eve’s mind was mostly on Royce, and her body was attuned to his. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her back, and she knew by the pace of it that she was disturbing him as much as he was disturbing her. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, because if word from Father Murdoch was not good, there was no hope for a future between them, no matter how she felt about him.
After they all dismounted, Royce and the girls laid out blankets and the food. She tried several times to aid them, but they would not let her, insisting she rest. She finally gave up, content to watch them and imagine the life she had always wanted, but then the thought that she may never actually have that life with him and the girls, who she had also grown to love, filled her eyes with tears. Just as she rose her hand to dash them away, it happened that Royce looked at her.
“Eve?” The worry in his eyes and his voice made her ache to tell him the truth right then and there, but she certainly could not have that talk with him now, with the girls around.
“Eve? Are ye all right?”
Eve scrambled to her feet, feeling her secrets wanting to roll off the tip of her tongue and into the space between them. She had to have a moment alone to collect herself. “I need to splash some water on my face,” she blurted. “I’m hot.”
She was rushing away even as he rose. She sent up a silent prayer that he’d not come after her, but his footsteps thudded behind her on the uneven terrain and over the stepping stones she’d taken across the water. The footfalls softened on the winding trail that meandered to the falls. Her gut pinched, and her breath came in short gasps as she climbed, knowing even as she reached the top of the falls that he would likely ask her why she had been avoiding him. What could she say? She had to stall until she spoke with Father Murdoch, and yet, the thought of lying to him made her ill.
She paused at the top of the falls, moving close to the edge and staring down to where white water rushed and gushed to fill the bright-blue pool. The force of it hummed in her ears.
“Eve,” he said to her back, his voice a gentle entreaty. “Why have ye been avoiding me?”
Her mind raced and scrambled for what to say.
“Eve?”
She swiveled toward him, thinking of lies, and discarding them as she did, knowing she could not make herself utter another one. But what then? As she asked the question her foot slid on a loose rock. Her breath caught as she lost her balance and went careening over the edge.
Royce lunged and missed. His fingers grazed the linen of her gown, but she fell backward, and he dove after her without hesitation. The ice-cold water stole Royce’s breath as he hit it, but it was only for a second. He’d been swimming in this waterfall all his life. It wasn’t overly deep or dangerous, but still, fear beat at him. He opened his eyes underwater, his heart racing, his lungs adjusting, and he found her, already kicking toward the surface.
He broke it at the same time she did, and they floated there face-to-face, arms and legs swishing, water falling all around them. The girls called to them from the embankment, their young voices frantic. “’Tis fine,” he answered without taking his gaze off Eve. It wasn’t fine, though. He didn’t know exactly what was wrong. He’d thought at first it was her fear of letting him close, but it seemed somehow more than that.
“What is it, Eve?” he asked, kicking his legs and working his arms, just as she did, to stay afloat.
Her large blue eyes locked on him, and the sadness there was like a punch to his gut. “If ye do nae want my attentions—”
“I do,” she whispered. “That’s the problem, you see.”
He had vowed not to touch her unless she asked, but she was a siren to him. He glided toward her, one hand encircling her waist, the other delving through the wet tangle of her hair. She tensed under his touch, her hand coming to his chest as if to push him away, but she didn’t do so. Between them the air trembled, and everything around them seemed to fade away. He wasn’t good with soft words, and as his mind scrambled with what to say, she spoke.
“Royce, I—”
“Papa!” the girls screeched at once, the high, fearful pitch of their voices alerting Royce instantly that something was wrong. He turned, drawing Eve close to protect her, while he recalled his sword in the grass where he’d left it. There, standing on the embankment beside the girls was Magnus, Clyde, and six of Royce’s fiercest guards, all with swords drawn. To the left of them were three men, English knights by the looks of them. They wore battle armor over chain mail, leather gauntlets, plated hoods, and a deep-ruby silk surcoat with a gold lion’s head emblazoned on the chest. Beside him, Eve gasped, and Royce instinctively gripped her tighter.
“What’s this?” Royce demanded of Magnus.
“Laird—” Magnus began as the Englishman next to him drew off his helmet, revealing shorn, dark hair.
“Unhand my wife or you and I will be at war,” the man snarled.
“Yer wife?” Royce heard the disbelief in his voice, but in his arms, Eve’s stiffening body revealed the truth. It could not be. God’s blood, it could not be. He looked to her face, prepared to die for her, and there, with raw agony painted on her beautiful features, was guilt.
“Royce.” Pain glowed in her brilliant silvery-blue gaze.
Was this why she had not wished him to kiss her, why she had avoided him? Had she been afraid to tell him then that she was wed because she feared he would be honor bound to return her to her husband? And wasn’t he? The very question made him want to roar with the loss of her.
He didn’t want to ask the question, but he had to. “Is this man yer husband?”
“I just told you I was her husband, you filthy Scot. I’m Lord Frederick Sotherby.”
“Is this man yer husband?” Royce asked again, ignoring the man and needing to hear it from Eve’s lips.
Tears filled her eyes before spilling down her cheeks slowly. He waited—a hundred lifetimes at least before she finally spoke.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I was so fearful, and I… I… I was a coward. I didn’t want you to send me away. I—”
“Eve!” the man, her husband, bellowed. “Either you come out or I’ll come in after you.”
“Let me go,” she whispered.
Her request ripped through him, shredding the hope she’d given him before, and he went numb. He released her, and she turned immediately from him to swim toward the embankment. He saw his girls then, looking tiny and frightened, their eyes wide.
“Da!” Lillith burst out. “Ye kinnae let this man take Eve from us!”
“Please, Da,” Lenora begged.
It struck him then that his daughters had let Eve into their hearts all the way, and now they were losing her, just as they had lost their mother. The agony of it strummed through him as he watched Eve reach the embankment, and then images from talks he’d had with Eve started playing in his mind, along with what she’d told him. Her father had wed her to a cruel man. He had used her in marriage and not cared who he joined her with. And there had been real fear on her face when she had briefly spoken of her husband.
His pulse began to beat a hard tattoo, telling him to stop her, protect her, no matter the cost. He was suddenly swimming through the water at full speed, cutting the blue liquid with his hands and kicking with all his might. He reached Eve before she had managed to rise from the water, and he grasped her by the arm. She turned toward him, tears streaming down her face, and his need to protect her rose like a tide within him.
“I would hear yer story from ye,” he said, his voice for her ears only but his eyes finding Ragnar. Royce lifted his hand and motioned, and Ragnar answered by picking up Royce’s sword and coming to the water. On the embankment, Magnus swept the girls to his side, and the guards moved to stand in front of them. When Royce looked to Eve once more, she was staring agape at him.
“Alban, help my wife out of the water,” Sotherby spat.
A man with dark hair streaked with silver moved immediately toward them, but Royce gained the ground, took his sword, and planted himself between the man and Eve. “Ye’ll have to kill me to get to her,” he said to Alban.
Alban glanced back at Lord Sotherby, whose face turned the color of a berry. “Who the devil do you think you are? That woman,” he said and pointed toward Eve, who Royce could feel behind him now, “is my wife. I’ll do what I damn well please with her. I’ll take her now if I wish it. I’ll beat her if I—”
Royce had his hands around the man’s neck before he even realized what he was doing. Everyone moved at once, his guards faster than the English. Swords swished and came to chests and necks to still the English knights. Sotherby clawed at Royce’s hands, but it was useless for the man. His desperation was no match for Royce’s fury. It singed his veins as it flowed. This man might be Eve’s husband, but Royce loved her, and he was sure Sotherby had abused her. The thought of sending her back to him to be hurt was intolerable.
Eve’s gasp came from behind him. “Royce! Royce, he could bring war upon you!”
“Let him,” Royce said, not releasing the man. “I would fight a thousand wars for you.”
She was beside him, even as he squeezed, grasping his arm and begging him to stop. “Do not drag your clan into a war for me, Royce. I’m not worth it,” she pleaded.
It wasn’t true. God above, help him. Her grip on his heart was invisible, but it was unbreakable and complete.
He ignored her pleas and put his face up to Sotherby’s, willing the man to try to strike so Royce could kill him. “While yer wife is a guest on my land, if ye touch so much as a hair on her head, I’ll kill ye. I’ll rip yer black heart from yer chest if ye hurt her. I dare,” he snarled, “because I am laird of nearly eight hundred warriors. Test me and I will come for ye. It dunnae matter how far ye run or how long it takes. I will come for ye. I will hunt ye down and put ye down like the rabid dog ye are.”
With that, he shoved Sotherby away with such force that the man went flying backward into one of his guards with a hard grunt. “Bring them weaponless to the great hall,” he said to Magnus. “I will hear the man’s case for why I should release his wife to him.” It was absurd to say such a thing. By law, he had no right to keep her, but by the laws of his heart, she was his. He took her by the arm, pulling her close to his side, and he guided her soundlessly away, his heart beating for her.
How could they be together? How could he let her go?
The choices were both impossible.
He led her down the trail, barely aware of the men not far behind and acutely aware of the woman beside him who would tempt him to abandon the code of honor he’d always lived by, who would bring chaos raining down upon him if he dared to fight for her when by law he had no right. He would divide his clan. He would incite war and invite the king’s wrath. But he had no other choice that he could see. He loved her. Completely. Hopelessly.