Highlander The Cursed Lord (Highland Intrigue Trilogy 3)

He shook his head, growing tired of the heavy constant thoughts. He wished for a simple life like the last three weeks with Bliss, helping her heal, waking with her in his arms, catching her smiling, the feel of her soft skin, the gentleness of her touch and the willingness of her kiss. The pleasant memories haunted him, and he wanted to make more memories with her.

“You are a fool, Rannick, you will bring her nothing but pain,” he warned himself.

Too late! You already care for her.

He nearly roared to the heavens at the thought. He did not care. He would not let himself care. She meant nothing to him and never would.

Why then did his own words bring such pain to his heart?

CHAPTER 12

Rannick watched his wife busily collecting greens in the garden to make a soup for supper and he looked forward to it. He had discovered that she could make any food taste good, an attribute that he had never considered necessary in a wife since the keep’s cooks saw to that. Experiencing both, he much preferred the meals he and Bliss shared alone and the intimacy of the cottage. He would love to spend the winter here with her, but he did not think it wise to isolate them when they were being hunted. The keep would be a far better place to keep her safe.

He would see what information he got from the next attack and make his decision then. Until then, he kept himself alert to all around him. He had also set traps in the woods that would warn him to anyone’s approach. For now, he was confident he could keep them safe. He would have to reconsider that thought if more than two men attacked.

He also needed to reconsider having them sleep naked together. He had fought the urge to couple with her over the last few days, worried that if he sealed their vows that it would make her more vulnerable to the curse, not to mention the chance of getting her with child. He had not even kissed her though he wanted to—ached to. He knew it would only flame his already heightened passion.

He shook his head, knowing it was one battle that would not see victory.

Rannick walked over to the garden to take the full basket from his wife, though healing well, she still caught a stitch in her side now and again when lifting anything too heavy.

“Leave the basket where it is,” he ordered when he saw her ready to lift it. “I will get it for you.”

“That is kind of you,” Bliss said and smiled at the scowl he turned on her. She waited for his warning that was sure to follow.

His scowl deepened. “How many times must I warn that I am not kind?”

Her smile grew. “It is difficult for me to believe that when you show me differently.”

“I want your wound to heal well so I do not have to tend you again,” he said and snatched up the basket.

Bliss wanted to reach out and take his arm, but he had been keeping his distance from her except in bed at night. Though, she had not given him a choice. She had disrobed and slipped in bed before he could order her otherwise, though he never did. He seemed just as eager to have her naked in his arms as she was to be there.

She had thought to encourage him with intimate touches, but worried over his response. When she finally attempted, with great nervousness, to do so, he had pushed her hand away.

“You will not touch me without permission,” he had warned and left their bed.

It had upset her and robbed her of some of the ease she had felt with him. She had not tried again, and she had no plans to do so. She would wait and see what time with him would bring.

She followed alongside him to the cottage and they both stopped when they heard the rattling of the cascade of sticks Rannick had hung with rope from several trees.

He placed the basket on the ground and grabbed Bliss by the arm. “You will go inside and secure the door and not come out until I come for you.”

“If there are more than two you will need help,” she protested.

“Do not even think it,” he argued. “Now do as I say.”

“Oh look, it is Lawler,” she said, seeing the man emerge from the woods with his horse.

Rannick was furious and gripped her arm tighter. “Never again argue with me when I give you an order. If it was someone other than Lawler, we could both be dead by now.”

“Aye, my lord,” she said and winced, his grip far too tight.

He let go of her arm. “And do not call me my lord.”