Love of my Heart
Drowned.
The word sent shivers down Alec’s spine.
Aye, the lass was truly gifted with the Second Sight—or mayhap, tortured. He watched the color drain from her panic-stricken face, and as she turned to bolt, he caught her about the waist with a muscled arm.
Nodding at the young, blond-haired highlander, he said, “If ye’ll excuse me, Ravenscraig, ‘tis been a long hard day, and one of many. I’ll leave ye with Taran to explain, if that suits ye fine?”
Taran started at the mention of his name. Tearing an indecipherable gaze from Sorcha, he nodded once. Curtly.
“Meg will see ye to a chamber,” Ravenscraig offered, waving at the thin wisp of a maid as he moved to comfort his grieving twin sister. “’Tis an accursed day for us all, it seems.”
Alec could feel the young man’s curious gaze as he guided Sorcha out of the chamber.
As they stepped into the hallway, he caught her with a hard arm beneath the knees and lifted her into his arms. She didn’t object.
She simply laid her head against his shoulder as he strode after Meg with easy, long steps.
“I’ve already lit the fire,” the maid said, leading them to a small, arched door. She pushed it open and stood aside as it swung back, creaking loudly. “And I’ll return straightway with your things now.”
“Aye,” Alec nodded his thanks and, carrying Sorcha over the threshold, set her gently upon her feet. With a gentle thumb, he tilted her chin up and brushed a strand of wet, tangled hair back from her face.
“I dinna want to dream anymore, Alec,” she said, her voice plunging into a whisper. “Please, no more. I beg ye.” With a shudder, she moved close and buried her face into his chest.
What could he say? He cradled her and offered the comfort of his arms. They stood that way, until after the maid returned with their saddlebags and left again.
“Ye’ll catch ill,” Alec finally said, brushing Sorcha’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll leave ye to change.”
“Nay,” she differed, digging her fingers deep into his plaid. “Dinna leave me alone, I beg ye.” Her pale face seemed even whiter in the chamber’s dim light. Tears thickened her voice.
“Aye, gràdh geal mo chrìdh,” he murmured. “Then, I’ll wait for ye by the fire.”
Carefully extricating his plaid from her grip, he steered her to the bed and found dry clothing for them both before retreating to the fireplace to change.
The fire snapped and popped as he lifted his wet shirt over his broad shoulders and thrust his arms through the sleeves of a dry one.
With an adroit twist, he swirled a fresh Montgomery plaid around himself and tossed his wet clothing over the back of a chair.
He expelled a long breath, the exhaustion of the past week washing over him. Almost in a stupor, he permitted the hissing, spitting flames to draw his thoughts to the dangers that faced him on the morrow. Tracking his brothers’ assailants would not be an easy task.
“I dinna want ye to go,” Sorcha’s soft voice shattered his thoughts.
He shivered as her slender arms slipped around his waist, and he cupped his large hands over hers, squeezing them tightly before turning towards her. Dark rings puffed under her eyes. Her thin lips tugged into a frown, and tears trailed down her cheeks.
Gently, he gathered her close against his chest in a protective embrace.
“Nor do I wish to leave ye,” he swore into her hair, never meaning it more. “But I must. As ye must stay for your own safety, lass, until this nightmare is done. I’ve no other choice.”
“Aye, I know,” she said, nodding into his chest.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Ye should sleep,” he said after a time.
“I dinna think I can,” she murmured, weaving her fingers into his plaid once more. “Will ye be gone in the morning?”
“Aye,” he sighed.
A shudder swelled through her; he could feel it as he stroked her back softly with his hand.
“I fear for ye, Alec,” she whispered, curving closer into him. “Stay with me until ye have to go.”
His heart tightened at the sadness with which she voiced his name. “Aye, and I will,” he promised.
Lifting her into his arms once again, he carried her to the bed and lay back with her amongst the pillows, cushioning her soft curves against his hard muscles.
Aye, passion simmered under the dark horror of the past days, but he wasn’t tempted to let it loose.
It was not yet time for such things. He didn’t speak, and she simply lay by his side as they took comfort in each other’s closeness, listening to the wind rage and the rain drum against the shutters.
Time passed. Late into the night, he could tell by the soft, rhythmic pattern of her breathing that sleep had finally claimed her.
But sleep did not find him so easily, even with the decided lack of it for over a week.
Irksomely alert, Alec stared at the long shadows the candle cast upon the wall, his mind wandering from his brothers’ childhoods to the Cunninghams now fleeing his wrath.
At times, grief and anger threatened to overwhelm him, but Sorcha’s quiet presence at his side soothed his heart.
He held her close, running one hand through her hair, and with his other, methodically caressing the ridge of her knuckles.
At long last, his eyes grew heavy and, snuffing the candle flame betwixt his fingers, he lay back and soon drifted into a deep slumber.
But it wasn’t a long one.
The first rays of the sun had yet to color the sky when he awoke.
Aye, ‘twas time to ride. Sorcha lay at his side, her arm thrown over his chest as if to anchor him there. He rose on an elbow, knowing he must leave but wanting only to stay, and leaning down, he kissed the tip of her ear first before dropping his mouth to plant more kisses against her shoulder.
She stirred and he held still, lest he should wake her, knowing full well if he were to look into her eyes, he wouldn’t be leaving her side. He waited until her sleep deepened and then lightly kissed the top of her head, breathing deeply. Aye, he’d carry the scent of her with him.
A hot spark of lust jolted thorough him then, threatening to enflame his desire to deliver burning kisses over every inch of her soft, creamy skin. He expelled a long breath and wryly shook his head. Such things must wait.
Finally summoning his resolve, he rose from the bed and, slinging his saddlebags over his shoulder, strode out of the chamber without a backwards glance.
Taran waited for him by the entrance, his dark brows drawn into a line that betrayed a mood even more solemn than usual, but Alec wasn’t one to intrude upon the man’s privacy. The highlander’s betrothal to the Lady Helen was a thorny matter—one they’d never discussed.
In silent companionship, the two men stepped outside, saddled their mounts, and squinting through the rain and gloom, rode south along the coast with the cold sea dashing against the rocks below them.
The ride was a miserable one, and the winter wind and rains stung Alec bitterly, but he found the pain over leaving Sorcha to hurt far worse.