The Highlander's Forbidden Bride(37)

She had to admit that part of her cherished knowing he had loved Hope so strongly that he abandoned reuniting with his family for her. And even when he learned of her death, it had not driven him home but only made him more determined to revenge Hope.

Carissa shook her head silently admonishing herself. It had been foolish of her from the start to play such a dangerous game. But it had been done without malice and with such innocence. He had been needy; but then so had she.

She had, however, made it worse.

His sorrowful groan had her off the chair and to his side in seconds. He looked in the throes of a nightmare, his face scrunched in agony and his mouth tightly gripped. It broke her heart to know she was the cause of his suffering.

She stroked his face with gentle fingers, running them lightly across his forehead, then drifting down to circle his cheek and in a waving motion across his chin and along his jaw from ear to ear. She repeated the route until his face relaxed, and he slept contentedly. She had done the same to him before, when he had thought her Hope, and he had loved it. He had told her that she possessed magic hands.

She had told him that her magic only worked on him.

With a teasing boldness, he had informed her that soon they would work magic together. But they had never had the chance, and now he suffered even more because of her.

She couldn’t stand to see him hurt anymore.

This had to end.

And she was the only one who could end it.





Chapter 16




In four days, Ronan felt better. He had rested and eaten well and spoken little to Carissa. And he wasn’t surprised that she had kept her distance from him. He had caught her in her lies, revealed her ruse, and sealed her fate.

He could try to convince himself that he was wrong, that Hope truly had existed, but the more thought he gave it, the more it was obvious that Carissa had played him for a fool, and like a fool, he had fallen right into her trap.

She and her father must have had a good laugh over him, the young, blind Highlander who was stupid enough to trust while in enemy hands. He had shared stories of his childhood with her, and in turn she had learned about his brothers, about his family, about his own hopes and dreams.

Whatever had made him confide in the slave?

She was a complete stranger to him, but she had also been the only one who had shown him any help or kindness. Being blind had been challenging in itself, but being wounded as well made it that much more difficult. She was a ray of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

Oddly, though, he felt safe with her, and that was what he didn’t understand. How could he have so badly misjudged his own gut instinct? He had always prided himself on being a good judge of a person’s nature. And though he had no visual to go by with the slave, it had been her caring way and her consistent encouragement that had his gut believing she was a good, honest person.

His musing was interrupted when he noticed Carissa reach for her cloak on the peg. He waited and watched as she turned and grabbed hold of the small cauldron.

“Don’t be long,” he ordered.

It surprised him that she didn’t respond but simply walked out the door.

That the last couple of days had been a strain on them both was obvious. The truth had to be told, this matter settled. He needed to know for certain. He needed his pride to heal, and his heart.

She returned, and after shedding her cloak and setting the cauldron in the hearth, she sat on the chair to stare at the flames. He had expected her to retire to the table to chop or mix, or do whatever it was she did when preparing a meal.

“Say what you have to say to me and be done with it,” she said solemnly.

“I want the truth,” he said.

She laughed and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“The truth speaks louder than lies.”

“Truly?” she asked.

He nodded. “If you speak the truth, I will hear it.”

She folded her hands across her chest and with a firm tilt of her chin she said, “Good, then I will tell you the truth.”

He sat forward eager to listen.

“I am not what you think, and when I met you, I felt safe to be who I truly—”

“Stop,” he shouted, annoyed, and rose to brace his hand on the mantel. “I hear no truth in your words.”

She jumped up, and although her height by no means matched his, her annoyance did. “Then you are deaf.”

“I hear well enough, and what I hear is you thinking you can make a fool of me yet again.” He shook his head. “That will not happen.”

“Of course not,” she argued. “Once a fool always a fool.”

“Now I hear the truth.”

“You know nothing of the truth,” she said, her voice growing loud. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it stared you in the face.”