The Highlander's Forbidden Bride(33)

She wasn’t worried for herself. She had been trained to survive the wilderness with nothing more than her wits. She would do fine. It was Ronan who concerned her, and so she carefully followed his tracks, worried that something dreadful had happened to him. After all, he had reminded her time and again that nothing would stop him from making sure she paid for her crimes. Yet he hadn’t returned, which could mean only one thing.

He couldn’t. Something had to have happened to him.

With observant eyes and cautious steps, she followed his tracks, fearful of what she would find.



The cold seeped into Ronan’s body, and he shivered as he struggled out of his stupor. He silently criticized himself for not being more careful as he tried to roll off his back and onto his side. The sharp pain that sliced through his head quickly quelled his effort.

It was difficult to ascertain how long he had been lying on the ground with so much cloud covering overhead. At least with the sun and where it sat in the sky, he’d have a good indication of the time of day, but the clouds masked time, and so he had no idea how long after his fall he had lain unconscious. He also knew it was imperative that he not continue to lie there. He had to get himself moving.

His vision began to clear, though not in his right eye. When he examined the area with his hand, he realized that he had suffered an abrasion just above his right eye and some of the blood had pooled there.

He flinched as a pain shot through his wound, but what followed was far worse. Snow began to fall, and he cursed his own stupidity. He should have been more careful where he walked. He had been so eager to chase down the only animal, a wild deer, he had seen in the hour he had been surveying the results of the storm that he had slipped and hit his head on a snow-covered rock.

“Get up,” he scolded himself, then wondered if Carissa would come in search of him. But why would she? It would be to her advantage if he didn’t return. That thought spurred him on and gave him enough impetus to roll on his side, though the effort cost him, the severe pain almost rendering him unconscious once again.

The snow had already coated him with a light blanket, and he continued to shiver. He had to get on his feet. He had to get moving. His life depended on it.

He struggled through the hazy dizziness the pain produced as he finally made it to his feet. He felt as if he weighed more than he could carry, and his vision turned blurry once again. He stumbled along, uncertain of the direction in which he traveled or what direction he should travel. Did he move farther away or closer to the cottage?

He couldn’t determine; he only knew he needed to keep moving.

“Ronan.”

He thought he heard someone shout his name, so he stood still and listened but heard nothing. He dragged his feet while the pain continued to hammer at his head.

“Ronan.”

He was sure he heard it that time. Someone was calling out to him. He stilled and listened.

“Ronan! Ronan!”

He knew that voice, was familiar with the concern that echoed in his name. But it couldn’t be, Hope was dead. How could she be here searching for him?

“Ronan!”

It was her. He was sure of it. He had heard that fearful anxiety in her voice before. It was just before they parted, and as she had lain wrapped in his arms, he had promised that he would return for her and set her free.

“Hope!” he shouted. “I’m here. I’ve come back.”

His frantic response caused his head to spin, nausea to rise, and his legs to grow weak. He fought to remain standing, but he could feel himself losing the battle. And just before he collapsed, he felt arms wrap around his middle, a head push upward from beneath his arm, and a petite body struggle to support the brunt of his weight.

“Hope.” He sighed, trying to clear his vision enough to catch sight of her.

“I’m here,” she said, “don’t worry. You’ll be all right. I’ll get you home.”

“I’ve come back for you,” he said, trying hard not to weigh too heavily on her.

“I never doubted you would,” she said.

“I love you,” he said, and winced from another sharp pain.

“And I love you, but you mustn’t talk. You must save your strength.”

“Promise me you won’t leave me.” He winced again, the pain shooting through his head.

“Stop talking.”

“Promise me,” he said with a moan.

“I promise,” she said anxiously. “I promise I will never ever leave you.”

He smiled then cringed. “The pain—”

“Keep silent,” she ordered. “We will be home soon.”

He obeyed, though he wondered. Had that been Carissa who had ordered him silent?