Chapter Twelve

Two days later, Connall reined in his horse outside the stables on the lowest terrace, now completely rebuilt from the fire. Rònan forked fresh hay into piles around the outside run, but Connall barely greeted the man in his haste.

Ever since that feverish encounter with his wife in the cave, he was starved for her. Starved for running his hands along those sweet curves. Starved for seeing her face when she found her pleasure. Starved for, aye, the cuddling she loved to indulge in afterward.

Oh, he’d had her again. And again. Implanting his essence deep inside his wife. Implanting all the burgeoning feelings inside her that he dared not utter aloud. But it was never enough. That first night in the bed she finally let him share with her, they’d made love by the hearth fire, and the next day, without saying it was their plan, they’d brought a load of stones to the build site for their midday break. And stopped at the cave, though there was no storm.

This morning, after they’d parted to attend to their many chores, he’d sneaked out to their cave with the softest furs he possessed to make her more comfortable. He’d also searched for the clever pin she’d crafted for him, but as yet had not found it. He’d noticed it missing several days ago and it bothered him that he’d been so careless as to lose something she’d made.

His loins stirred in anticipation of finding her and beholding her beautiful face upon seeing his gift of soft hides in their cave.

He rubbed down his horse and put away the tackle, making sure there were fresh oats for the beast, and then, breath quickening in excitement, he worked his way around the incline, aiming for the kitchen where she’d most likely be.

But as he reached the main courtyard, he stopped. He’d been so keen on seeing his wife, it only struck him now—with every villager crowded into the courtyard—that the terraces had been devoid of their faces, their chatter. He strode up to the edge. “What is amiss?”

“Nothing that we know of,” Sionn the blacksmith replied. “But there’s a Roman inside.”

A Roman? “Just the one?”

Sionn nodded.

Odd. He knew from his father that the earlier visitation had been a whole retinue of guards, along with a handful of emissaries and their attendants.

He glanced at the door to the kitchens, where Ashley was working, and grimaced. He blew out a frustrated breath—their pleasure would have to wait. After pushing inside the keep, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior. At first he didn’t see any Roman. With a jolt he realized his mistake, for there was a stranger in the grouping around the hearth, but he wasn’t dressed like a Roman.

In fact, if Connall had been asked, he’d have guessed the visitor was another tribesman, except he lacked the telltale blue ink that marked a warrior come-of-age. His father waved him into their circle, and Connall slipped into a gap.

His father raised a hand, indicating the stranger. “This is Nonus Octavius Vibianus, who has only now arrived with his commander’s tidings.”

Connall nodded to the man. “A hundred thousand welcomes to Dunadd.”

Easily as tall as himself, Vibianus, however, wasn’t a warrior. Wiry but not unhealthy. And while the angles of his features and warmer tones of his skin marked him from another land, his clothes and the styling of his hair were like his own people.

“You aren’t dressed like a Roman.”

Vibianus shook his head, his temple braids swinging. “I’m an arcani.”

He frowned at the unfamiliar word, even though the rest of the words were in his own tongue. Unlike all the other Romans he’d encountered, this man needed no interpreter.

“It means ‘secret ones.’ We’re charged by the emperor to interact with the tribes between this wall and the one to the south. Sometimes we act as scouts. Or, in this instance, as a ready messenger.”

His father turned to him, his face grave. “Our part of the alliance is to be paid sooner rather than later, it seems.”

The arcani supplied the rest. “Your people will need to muster a force to send to Bearsden in five days’ time for a fight against the Caledonians. We’d hoped to bribe them into peace, but they are recalcitrant. It’s time we marched north.”

Though he relished a fight, an unfamiliar emotion settled in his gut.

Regret.

He glanced in the direction of the kitchens again, as if he could see through several walls. Then he briefly dropped his head.

Regret that he’d have to leave his wife so soon.

And then he brought himself to his full height and faced this arcani and his fate. A lashing of anger tightened his shoulders. Anger that an emperor he never met could take him away from her.

He ground his teeth and willed his hands to unclench from the tight fists he’d formed, pushing the swirling emotions down. It was time to act as a warrior and protector for his people.

…

Ashley snuggled up against Connall’s chest, the sweat from their lovemaking cooling on her skin. The hearth fire sizzled and popped behind them and lent a pinkish glow to the hut’s interior. Every day since their first encounter in the cave, they’d made love there on their return trips from the site, as well as every night in their bed.

She bit her lip and traced her finger around his nipple. He was an awesome mix of carnal and sweet. Unlike her assumption in the cave, doggy-style was not the extent of his knowledge. That night he’d taken her slowly, face-to-face, as he kissed and stroked her unrelentingly to a mind-blowing orgasm.

More and more she caught herself daydreaming about what it would be like to stay here. Then she’d shake herself for even thinking it, because it was dangerous, on so many levels, to stay. Even though her life had sucked in San Francisco, she had access to hot showers, toothpaste, and modern medicine. She didn’t regret fleeing that shithole of a situation, but couldn’t she have fled to a safer spot in her own time?

Thank God she’d been taking the pregnancy-prevention herbs. But that was one of the dangers, wasn’t it? Besides the pregnancy itself, the herbs might not work. And then where would she be?

It had been easy enough to eat the seeds of the Queen Anne’s Lace she’d bought in Bearsden with no one wiser, but the stash was dwindling. And it wasn’t like she could go to Eithne and say, oh hey, I know the tribe wants babies, but do you have Queen Anne’s Lace to spare?

And even if she could think of some way of asking Mungan, he’d already left this morning after only two short days at Dunadd. That meant one full moon had now passed, and the next would potentially see her tether weakened.

And a new danger emerged, driving the point home—Connall was leaving in the morning to fight in a friggin’ battle.

Ever since the Roman had visited four days ago, Connall had been as thoughtful and diligent as ever, but a slight wall had arisen. She tried not to be hurt, because she got it—his mind was focused on the upcoming fight. Even now, he wasn’t quite here with her, despite the amazing sex they’d just had.

Her throat swelled as tears threatened, and she swallowed hard.

Oh God, she cared for him.

And some barbarian could slice right into the skin she was touching. She stopped stroking his nipple and buried her face in his chest, hugging him tight.

His arm encircled her. “Shhh. All will be well.” He kissed the top of her head.

“You can’t know that.” Dammit, that had come out high-pitched, though it was muffled because her face was pressed into his body.

Swallowing her fear for him, she straightened up on her elbows and pushed her hair out of her face.

“How long will you be gone? Will you be back before…” Wow, just even voicing the idea that she had a deadline looming was hard. A deadline where she had to decide whether to remain here—with him—or go back to her old life. A deadline that was twenty-four days away.

And when had her friggin’ brain—or God, her heart—morphed it into a decision? When had she stopped seeing it as a given that she’d go back?

She shivered at the implication—and the fear for him blended into a fear for herself. Was this the magic at work? Was she accepting her life here? With him?

Pain flashed briefly in his eyes. “I will be back before the spring equinox. I swear it. Even if I have to leave before the battle is waged. The Romans will not miss one man.” His eyes searched hers. “Have you made a decision, then?”

There was one part of her life here that wasn’t quite ideal. While he was a complete marshmallow when they were alone, he tended to be all he-man-I’m-in-charge when they interacted with his people, which was annoying as hell.

“If I decide to stay and be your wife, you need to treat me as an equal.”

His forehead creased, but he nodded.

She narrowed her eyes at him, because that had been too easy. He probably didn’t really understand what that meant yet. But he would. His ass needed to be woke.

When he came back. Because that’s all she’d allow herself to believe.

He stroked a finger across her cheek. “I will return. Do not fear for me.”

She smiled but knew it was tremulous. She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, needing to taste him again. Taste him so she could memorize him and this moment.

At first their kiss was languid, a bittersweet expression of parting. And that effin’ wall was still there, keeping him separate from her.

Fuck that wall. She poured herself into the kiss, desperate to break through. Desperate to make him not forget her. Desperate for him to want her enough that he’d return alive.

And then their kiss grew heated as his hands cradled her face and he took control. Even though they’d just made love, urgency built within her again.

Yes! One last chance to have him again. One last chance to break through to the man she’d been starting to fall for before he left for a friggin’ battle.

He flipped her onto her back. “Do not move.”

She smirked at him. “Real men ask nicely.” It had become their thing whenever he gave an order. Though most of the time it was because he truly needed to learn.

He smiled. “Real men know how to give orders.”

This time he made love to her with a new urgency. And as she cried out her release and he stilled inside her with his own, his eyes flicked to hers.

And there he was. The depths of his green eyes no longer eerily flat.

He was here in this moment with her.

But he’d be gone in the morning.

Several days later, Ashley caught herself. As happened so often lately, she’d been doing an activity and had just…stopped.

This time it was a shout that startled her into awareness, and she found she was in the middle of churning butter, her fingers gripping the plunger.

She dropped her hands. Eithne, who’d been stirring a pot of stew by the hearth fire, put down the ladle and stood, wiping her hands on her skirt apron. A frown creased her pillow-soft forehead. “I wonder what’s amiss?”

“I don’t know.” Her tone was snappish, and she winced, as Eithne had been nothing but nice to her. But the truth was, she was pining. Pining for that dang Highlander. And eaten up with worry. Last night as she’d lain in their cold bed, brushing her hands across the space where he usually slept, she realized she was now spending more time thinking about him than of her old life in San Francisco.

She stood, ready to go out the door to find out what was going on, because the noise had only grown. However, one of the younger warriors tasked with building the signal towers rushed in, his chest heaving. He steadied himself against the doorframe.

“There’s been an accident.”

Her heart clenched. Connall!

But no…it would be too soon for his return. “What happened?”

“Teàrlach slipped while hauling rocks up the signal tower ladder. He fell, and the basket of stone fell, too, nearly crushing him.”

She gripped the door frame, leaning into it—relief that Connall was unharmed whacked aside by guilt for feeling relief and then worry for Teàrlach making her a tad unsteady. “Where is he?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his brown braids swinging in an arc. “They’re bringing him in on a litter.” He brought his hand down over his face and then looked at her, his eyes pleading. “Do ye know how to heal? Our healer was taken in the raid, and Mungan is still absent.”

“I thought you had more than one druid?”

“Yes, but druids have different specialties—the one who trained as a healer is gone.”

Her stomach turned queasy as the responsibility he was hoping to place on her hit.

Her? A healer? She started to shake her head but stopped. “Not by training, but I can try divining. There’s no guarantee I can find the answer, or even if I do, that I’ll know how to apply the knowledge.” Holy hell—she could hear her siblings laughing, and possibly her dad as well. They expect you to do what now? Her—the baby in the family everyone called spoiled.

Her—the coddled wife of an investment banker.

Her—the overworked coder slash Etsy shop crafter trying to pay off that scoundrel’s legal debts and running from his illegal ones.

But the man stepped forward. “It’s more hope than we have now, isn’t it?” He sprang through the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Follow me. They’re bringing him to the courtyard now.”

Eithne shooed her out, and Ashley ran after the warrior. A trail of men worked their way up the incline. They’d be here in minutes. “I’ll be right back. Let me get my divining leather.”

She dashed down the slope to the hut she shared with Connall. What if the man was so severely injured nothing could help him? What if she couldn’t think of the right search terms to come up with an answer? What if she failed?

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her divining equipment. It had to work, it had to. People looked up symptoms all the time on Google. Okay, sometimes that led down a rabbit hole of increasingly worse diagnoses, but she needed to keep her head.

She darted back up the slope. So, so glad that’s easier now.

She arrived just as the men were lowering the wounded man onto an open grassy area near the north wall. One of the men was completely naked, because they’d used his kilt to carry Teàrlach.

Averting her eyes, she rushed up to the group and the men parted, making room for her. She knelt beside Teàrlach. Sweat plastered his dark-red hair to his skull and dirt streaked his too pale face. She quickly scanned his chest and limbs but couldn’t see any obvious injury. “Where is he hurt?”

They pointed to his ankle, which was already beginning to swell.

Teàrlach spat. “It’s only been turned.”

“Then why did ye go fainting the moment you were putting weight on it?” Sionn asked.

Oh God, she had no clue how to tell if it was broken or sprained. She closed her eyes and thought of how she’d search for this on Google. As a question formed, she gathered a handful of dirt and threw it across the leather. It took several tries to narrow down and adjust her questions while she also had him move his foot. Her audience stole glances at her while they looked on their friend or neighbor with concern.

Please work.

“It’s just a sprain,” she concluded. “He’ll need to stay off it for several days and keep it elevated.”

“This means we’ll have to stop working on the signal tower,” one said.

“Why?” she asked.

“With half our warriors off fighting for the Romans, we didn’t dare send too many to work on the project. It’s why he was injured—too few to help.”

She turned to the guy who’d alerted her. “So you’ve been without a healer since the raid?”

He nodded.

“Do we have any onions? We could make a poultice to help with the swelling.”

“No. We’re out and haven’t scavenged for more.”

“I wish the council would have granted my request to speak with them. This is exactly the kind of thing a woman would prioritize and bring up.”

An older man she knew sat on the council cocked his head at her. “What do ye mean, lass?”

She shook her head in frustration. “I’m sure the men on the council are aware we’re low on onions, but they might not realize they—”

“No. I mean what request?”

She sat back on her haunches, willing herself to remain calm because it was probably just her Universal Translator not getting her meaning across. “Connall said he’d ask you and the other members of the council if I could address them.”

Several people around her gasped, but the older man gave nothing away in his expression. “Interesting request. But Connall never asked this of us.”

He what?

Disbelief, followed by a shot of anger, surged through her, and she plopped down onto her butt.

Ooh, if he wasn’t off fighting in a damn battle, she’d hunt him down and give him a battle of her own.

He’d promised.

A frustrated grunt as Teàrlach tried to sit up and failed brought her focus back to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Color was beginning to return to his face, which she assumed was a good sign.

“Does he live with anyone here?” she asked the concerned faces peering down at her.

An older woman stepped forward. “I’m his grandmother.”

“All right. Make sure he gets plenty of rest and that you keep him off that foot for several days and keep it elevated. I’ll check in with you every day, but you need to understand I’m not a healer.”

“You look like one to me,” she replied. “I’m grateful to you. He’s my only family left.” She blinked, and her lips rolled together.

The others murmured, but all she saw reflected back at her was awe, gratefulness, or respect.

Phew.

As she packed up her divining leather, though, she couldn’t find pleasure in her small victory here. All she could think about was the fact that Connall had not talked to the council.

How could she live with a man who didn’t respect her?