Warrior Of Fire. Michelle Willingham
freedom. It would cause chaos in the midst of Éireann, making the provincial kings rise up against one another. And it would allow Henry to gain full control of this land, creating order where there was none.
Carice Faoilin could allow him to get even closer to the High King, giving him a reason to be at Tara. Why should he not deliver the missing bride to her betrothed husband? Especially if Raine intended to kill the man anyway? Carice would not have to wed Rory Ó Connor—not if he carried out the man’s death sentence.
And yet, she had already fled her father in an effort to avoid the marriage. If he tried to bring her to Tara, she would only run away from him as well. Or if Trahern MacEgan arrived, she would go willingly with the man she had already asked to save her. Raine turned over the idea in his mind, wondering if he should use her or let her go.
She kissed you, his conscience reminded him. What sort of man would betray a woman who had willingly touched him? Only a bastard whose soul was already damned. He hardened his heart, knowing that it was better if she hated him. He was a killer, not a man worthy of redemption.
Yet, he didn’t want to let her go. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she had awakened a protective instinct within him. He wanted to guard her innocence, to see those sky blue eyes look upon him with gratefulness. She was unable to defend herself, and he wanted to slaughter any man who dared to threaten her.
There was no logical reason for his possessive urges, save her touch. It had conjured a fire inside him, stoking the need to caress her, to make her burn in the same way he did. The taste of her lips had aroused needs he’d buried for months. And if he took her with him, he could spend more time in her company.
After he was certain the soldier had gone, Raine returned to the sanctuary. Shadows clung to the stone walls, and he stared at the simple altar, remembering the men who had died in the fire. He could almost sense their chastisement for the thoughts he was considering. For a moment, he rested his palm upon the wall, hoping the men’s souls had found peace.
Slowly, he ascended the winding stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden door. He expected to find Carice seated before the fire or resting upon the bed. But she was not there.
He walked towards the opening in the wall and peered inside. She was seated on the floor with her knees drawn up, and her body was shivering violently.
‘It’s safe to come out,’ he told her, offering his hand. But she didn’t take it.
His suspicions tightened, and he stepped into the opening. When Carice didn’t move, he reached down and lifted her into his arms. Dieu, she was so light. And despite the gown and cloak she wore, her skin was like ice.
‘I was c-cold,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t have the strength to climb out. I am sorry for it.’ She was trembling, and he brought her over to the bed, tucking her beneath the coverlet. ‘I heard you talking to someone. Who was it?’
‘One of your father’s men.’ He reached for her hand and began rubbing at it, trying to bring warmth back into her skin. ‘I sent him away.’
She closed her eyes and murmured, ‘I am sorry for disturbing you here. I will leave as soon as I can.’
No, he wasn’t going to let her go. Not yet.
‘You need to rest first,’ he said. ‘Try to warm yourself.’
She nodded, burrowing tightly beneath the coverlet. He sat beside her, wondering if she would even survive the journey to Tara. There was no doubt that she could never wed the High King of Ireland. Why would Rory uphold the betrothal when she was so ill? Either the Ard-Rígh was unaware of her weakness, or he didn’t care. It was possible that Carice’s father held a lot of influence among the chiefs.
And yet, there was no denying her beauty, in spite of the illness. Her face was lovely, while her eyes were the colour of sapphires. Although her hair hung limply against her shoulders, it held all the mysterious shades of brown and red, like polished wood.
‘I can’t seem to get warm,’ she admitted, biting her lower lip. ‘My feet are freezing.’
He knew the fastest way to warm her was to lie beside her, curling his body against hers. But he didn’t want her to see him as a threat. She needed to feel safe with him, to trust him.
Before you take her to a wedding she doesn’t want. Before you betray her.
He silenced the voice of his conscience and reached beneath the coverlet to find her feet. With his hands, he began to massage the skin, bringing warmth to it.
Her eyes locked onto his with gratitude. Raine knew he ought not to touch her in this way, but she held him captive with her gaze. She stared at him as if she remembered every moment of their forbidden kiss. As if she wanted him to stay with her.
This woman was dangerous in a way he’d never anticipated. And the longer he spent at her side, the more she might bind him to her.
Abruptly, he covered her feet and stood. ‘Rest now. I’ll find more blankets.’
It was an excuse to leave her, for he had not yet decided what to do. An honourable man would bring her to safety at Laochre Castle with the MacEgans. Raine could leave her there with no regrets.
But he wasn’t honourable. He was a soldier, ordered to spill the blood of men, whatever the cost. He would have struck down her father’s guard without a second thought, except that he wanted the soldier to inform the chief that they should not return.
He shouldn’t care that Carice was a fragile beauty whose kiss had tempted him. She was a pawn in a game that he had no choice but to play. Henry held his sisters captive, and their lives depended on Raine’s obedience.
Kill the High King, and they would have their freedom. One life taken and two lives given.
He knew well what it was to be a pawn, used for another man’s ruthless commands. But when it was done, he would have his own freedom.
And so would Carice.
* * *
Her body felt as if it were frozen in a block of ice. Carice could hardly feel her hands and feet, and despite the layers of blankets, it wasn’t enough.
Raine hadn’t returned in hours, and she was beginning to wonder if he had left the abbey. He was a man of contradictions. One moment he kissed her like a starving man, and the next, he disappeared, as if he no longer wanted to be near her.
Soon enough, she heard his footsteps approaching, and the door swung open. Snow dotted his hair and cloak while in his hand, he carried a wrapped bundle of food. ‘Eat, and then rest again. We leave tomorrow at nightfall.’
She hesitated, for there was a hint of unrest in his voice. ‘We? I thought you were searching for Trahern MacEgan to bring me to Laochre.’
‘I did not find him,’ he answered, ‘and you lack the strength to travel alone.’
Carice knew that was true, but why had he suddenly changed his mind? Earlier, he’d seemed insistent that she leave him behind. Had her impulsive kiss affected him in such a way that he was now wanting to help her?
She rested her palm against her cheek, studying him. His face was like stone, utterly impassive. No, it didn’t seem that he was feeling in any way protective. Instead, there was impatience in his mood, as if he wanted to leave now. Or perhaps he was wanting to be rid of her.
‘What changed your mind?’ she asked bluntly. ‘You didn’t want to help me before.’
He sat down and unwrapped the food. ‘Eat something before you rest. You’ll need your strength for the journey.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ She tried to sit up, and he reached back to help her.
‘Does it matter why?’
The cool tone of his voice bothered her, for he behaved as if she was a burden he didn’t want. ‘If you are too busy