Her eyes drifted open, her wish drifting away unanswered as so many wishes before. This was her destiny, and she could not escape it. It was only a matter of time before the Sinclares captured her, and she would face the same fate as her father.
“Let us speak with Carissa, Bethane,” Cavan said. “Perhaps we could come to an agreement.”
Carissa quickly grabbed her deep blue, wool cloak from the peg by the door and swung it around her shoulders. That wasn’t Bethane’s question to answer, it was hers. With a stoic tilt of her chin, she opened the door and marched outside and straight to the Sinclares.
“And what agreement would that be Cavan Sinclare? My death at your hands?”
If looks could kill, she would have been dead many times over. Zia was the only one who offered a smile.
Ronan marched straight for her. “No! Death by my hands.”
Carissa stood her ground without a shudder or a tremble, though any other would have probably quaked and begged in his formidable presence. He towered over her. But what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in her attitude.
“So the laird Sinclare feels it beneath him to deal with a woman and gives the chore to his baby brother?”
Carissa could almost feel the fury in Ronan’s glaring green eyes. And the way he clinched his fists at his sides, she wondered if he imagined squeezing the life from her.
“You will pay for what you have done,” Ronan said through gritted teeth.
She stretched herself up and placed her face just inches from his. “You have neither the strength nor the stomach for it, Highlander.”
Ronan plastered his face to hers, and his warm, earthy breath fanned her face and sent gooseflesh rushing over her skin.
“I have something much more—hatred. My hatred for you knows no bounds and you will—I promise—die by my hands.”
“Enough,” Bethane ordered firmly. “There will be no violence here.”
Zia stepped to her grandmother’s side. “She is right. This village has always been a safe haven for those who seek it.”
“And it will continue to be,” Bethane said. “Carissa will be protected if she chooses to remain here.”
“Then I choose to remain here as well,” Ronan said.
Although his face no longer melded with hers, he stood close enough for their arms to brush. It was as if he was letting her know he would stick to her side until he got his way.
Carissa sent a different message when she slowly and with purposeful strides put distance between them.
Cavan stepped forward and looked directly at Carissa. “You know we will not give up. Your kind will not be able to remain here for long. It is a place of goodness and caring, and there isn’t a barbarian alive who possesses those qualities. Sooner or later, this haven will become a prison to you, and you will leave. We will be waiting. Face your fate now and get it over with, for it is inevitable.”
“You think highly of yourself, Highlander,” Carissa said with the coldness that was all too familiar to her. “Do you think that it was you who found me?” She laughed. “I’ve avoided capture how long now?” She grinned. “Two years, isn’t it?” She sneered, and her tone was condescending. “Truly, Highlander, you are pathetic.”
Ronan took a quick step toward her, but Cavan swung his arm out, stopping him.
“Are you telling me that you intended for us to know you were here?” Cavan asked.
“Finally, a shred of intelligence.”
This time Lachlan moved forward, but Cavan halted him with a firm nod.
“Why?” Artair asked.
Carissa admired Artair. He sought explanations before decisive action. “I wanted the Sinclare brothers to know that I’d bested them, that they couldn’t find me, though I could have them at my beck and call.” She grinned again. “Imagine. One female barbarian outwits four Highlanders.”
Fury raged in every one of their eyes, and rightly so. She had gravely insulted them, and she had done so with nothing but lies. She had planned a brief stay here in the village before moving on and, hopefully, shedding her identity and finding a new life along the way. She had been insane to think that she could run from her past; her legacy never failed to follow her.
“But your plan is flawed,” Artair said. “We may be here by your choice, but how do you avoid inevitable capture?”
Carissa laughed and tossed her head up, her soft blond waves bouncing before landing with a gentle caress around her lovely face. The movement was intentional, for she had learned that it never failed to grab a man’s attention and muddle his thoughts, most times giving her a chance to conjure a suitable response.