Page 2 of Highlander’s Bride

“Raghnall…” she croaked out. “’Tis too late.”

The blood oozed quickly, aye, and she looked pale, her lips bluish purple… He’d seen enough deadly wounds on the battlefields to know that she had lost too much blood. Her wound—they must have nicked the kidney… There was no way she’d survive that. His whole body went cold and numb.

“I came to propose to ye,” Raghnall said, hooking his hands under her arms and dragging her gently up so that her head lay on his knees.

A weak smile touched her lips. “Ye did?”

“Aye,” he whispered, stroking her hair, painfully ignoring the bruise that was blooming on her cheekbone under her weathered, sun-kissed skin. “I love ye, Mòrag. I love ye, Seoc.” He glanced at the lad, who blinked, and his hand relaxed around the small dagger that lay on the ground by his side. Wee, six-year-old warrior…

Raghnall went into the leather pouch on his belt and retrieved the ring. It was silver, with simple, interwoven Celtic knots.

Fighting tears, he swallowed a knot that scratched his throat like a knife. “I have loved ye from the moment I peered from between those bushes and saw ye commanding yer harvest workers like a queen.” He brushed his knuckles against her skin, and her eyelashes fluttered.

She chuckled softly. “And yet I’d thought ’twas my bowl of gruel that made ye lodge with us.”

He exhaled softly. “’Twas just an excuse. A young widow like ye, a good farm, a lad and no one to protect ye… I couldna stay away… I couldna have left these golden-amber eyes of yers.”

He’d stayed with them for a few sennights, watched the harvest laborers, protected the farm from occasional reivers and small bands of robbers. They’d talked. They’d kissed. He’d whispered sweet words of love and seduction into her ear while he’d brought her pleasure with his hands… For months, they’d been like this. He’d taught Seoc sword fighting and archery. He’d become familiar with the ins and outs of the farm. He’d practically been her husband, without the church ceremony.

And so, she’d suggested it.

And he’d wanted to. The words had itched his tongue several times—Marry me.

But every time, fear had gripped him in its icy claws as the memories of his father chasing him away from his family, from his clan like a rabid dog, had invaded his mind. His father had taught him that loving people meant that he’d lose them. That he’d be alone sooner or later, anyway.

And so when Mòrag had suggested they get married, he’d left. Like a coward. But a few sennights away from her and Seoc were an agony, and he didn’t want to ever be away from her again. He loved her more than he feared heartache.

“Dinna speak to Ma like that,” Seoc growled and stabbed the ground with his knife. “Nae about her eyes, nae about her anything. Daidh and his band came back. Had ye nae have let them go, or had ye been here…”

The lad’s fierce words pierced right through Raghnall, tearing his heart into shreds. Raghnall had had a long history with Daidh, who was a Borderland reiver together with his men. Reivers raided farms, villages, and homesteads along the border between England and Scotland. Long ago, Raghnall had been one of them, and Daidh had never forgiven him for leaving. Raghnall should have killed the man when he had had the chance; he shouldn’t have let a dangerous man like that walk away.

“Ye’re right, lad,” he croaked. “’Tis my fault. All of it. Mòrag, had I marrit ye a while ago, like ye had asked me to, I’d have been here. I’d have protected ye…”

She squeezed his hand weakly. “But ye’re here now.”

Wind blew smoke into his face, burning his eyes and making him blink. “I am.” He brought his forehead to hers, inhaling the scent of her—something flowery, and feminine and hers alone—spoiled by the scent of death, of blood and smoke.

But he’d make it right. He’d do anything to atone for his guilt. “Will ye marry me, lass?”

“I kent ye’d ask one day.” She gave a weak laugh. “Aye. Of course I’ll marry ye, my fearless Highlander.”

Fearless? He had a soul darker than the depths of hell. The life of the woman he loved would be on his hands, thanks to his fear.

She blinked slowly. “Will ye take care of Seoc?”

Seoc…the lad with hair the color of flames and eyes as hard as gemstones. He reminded Raghnall of himself as a lad. Stubborn. A rebel.

A loner.

But the lad was about to be an orphan. He needed someone to protect him, to take care of him.

“Aye. Of course I’ll take care of Seoc.”

She met his gaze, her eyes pale and weak. “Thank ye.” She looked to her side, at her son, and, stretching her hand to him, smiled at him. With bloodshot eyes, but with no tears, Seoc grabbed her hand like a sinking man grabbed a rope. “Be well, Seoc. Listen to Raghnall. He’ll be yer stepda now…”

“Ma?”

But she didn’t reply, and her chest didn’t move again.