Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy #3)(38)

He’d expected to find her asleep but when his gaze fell over the bed, it was empty. It didn’t look as though she’d slept in it recently. He turned his head, scanning the room to find her sitting by the fire, her head cocked to the side.

His breath caught at the bruises shadowing her face. He could see only her profile, but her eye was swollen and even from across the room he could see fingerprints around her neck.

Carefully he shut the door, not wanting to awaken her. Then he crossed the room so that he could look more closely at her.

Sweet Jesu, but someone had sorely beat the lass. His hands tightened in rage as he stood over her. She looked so fragile. So delicate. How had she ever survived such brutality? Worse, just how much had been done to her?

His stomach heaved as he imagined just what could have occurred. Sarah had said she had closed herself off in her chamber ever since the attack and would confide in no one. Had she been violated?

His hand trembled as he reached out to caress her cheek. Dear God, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone touching her. Of hurting her. He had to sit down on the stone hearth before his legs gave way.

She stirred when his hand left her face. Her eyelids blinked and then she squinted as if opening her right eye had caused her pain.

“Caelen,” she whispered.

“Aye, lass, ’tis me. Are you well? Do you hurt still?”

She licked her lips and then raised a hand to massage her throat. The delicate movement only brought more attention to her fragility, and fury sizzled through him like a whip.

“I’m sore, but I am well. ’Tis nothing serious. Was your hunt successful?”

The formality of their conversation baffled Caelen. ’Twas as if nothing amiss had occurred during his absence and he’d come home to a polite greeting from his wife.

The shadows around her eyes troubled him, for they went deeper than the bruises. The fragility that he’d already noted was more pronounced the longer she was awake. There was something off about her, and now he realized why Sarah was so concerned.

“Rionna,” he began gently. “Can you tell me what happened to you? ’Tis important I know all. Take your time. ’Tis no hurry for ’tis just you and I alone in our chamber. There is naught you can’t tell me.”

Her eyes flickered dispassionately as her gaze rested on him. He wanted to touch her but, God’s teeth, he didn’t know where he could lay hand on her that wouldn’t hurt her.

“I was standing at the brook. When I looked up, I saw men on horses across the water. I knew I would never be able to run up the hill before they caught me so I ran along the bank, but they quickly caught up to me.”

He slid his hand over the top of hers where it rested on her lap. He eased his fingers underneath hers and rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. Her hand was tiny in his, and he was reminded of how small and slight she was.

“One knocked me to the ground and backhanded me. I put my fingers in his eyes and scratched him.”

“Good,” Caelen said gruffly.

“I escaped a moment but was caught by another man.”

For the first time, her voice wavered, fringed with emotion as she broke off and fixed her stare into the fire.

“ ’Twas naught I could do,” she whispered. “He hit me. He tore my clothing. He … touched me,” she choked out.

Caelen went completely still. He tried to swallow but couldn’t manage it. “Did he rape you?”

She turned her gaze back on him, her eyes wide and startled. “Nay. He groped my br**sts. He bruised me and humiliated me. He gave me a message for you.”

Relief that she hadn’t been molested was tempered by the fact that she’d still been sorely abused. And now it appeared as though it had all happened because someone wanted to hurt what was his.

“Tell me his message.”

“He said that no McCabe is safe from Duncan Cameron. Not Mairin. Not Isabel. Not anyone who a McCabe calls dear. He said to tell you that my face is a token of Cameron’s esteem.”

He ground his teeth together so hard that he feared breaking them. His jaw ached as he tried valiantly to keep his rage at bay. His wife needed gentleness and understanding from him. Not a warrior bent on killing everyone in his path.

“What then, Rionna?” he asked gently.

Her eyes found his again, so dark and troubled. There was shame and pain in the golden depths. She looked … beaten. Not just in body, but in spirit. It was like a dagger to his gut.

“They left and I crawled up the hill to the courtyard. I don’t remember much else.”

His chest hurt. His stomach heaved. The idea that his proud, spirited wife was beaten so badly that she had to crawl on the ground like an animal. Crawl.

It was too much for him to bear.

He stood abruptly and turned away so she wouldn’t see the ugly rage on his face. It took him a moment before he could breathe normally again. Then he turned back to see Rionna staring into the fire, so still and rigid.

He went back and knelt beside her, touching her chin until she turned to look at him. “Have you slept?”

She was confused by his question. Her eyes became cloudy. The fact that she couldn’t answer told him that she likely hadn’t slept at all beyond brief moments by the fire.

Not waiting longer for her to respond, he carefully looped his arms underneath her body and lifted her as gently as he was able. He held her close to his chest and rested his lips atop her head as he carried her to the bed.