The Bewitching Twin, page 6
“Could there be?” he finished, and stroked her cheek with his finger. “That you are a good and generous woman whom a man could easily love.”
“I need no man,” she reiterated sharply and made a dash for the edge of the bed.
Rogan was quicker and had her on her back in a flash.
“Sometimes we deny what we want the most,” he said, staring down at her.
“That is nonsense.”
He loved the way her eyes fired a blazing green; a passion lay burning in them. A passion he was certain she had yet to discover. He leaned closer. His lips so near to hers that it appeared they kissed, but they did not, though when he spoke his warm breath stroked her pink lips like a kiss waiting for an invitation.
“Is it nonsense? Think about it.” He stood and walked to the door. “Do not dare get off that bed at least until supper.”
“If I do?” she challenged.
He laughed deeply and walked out the door.
Aliss listened to his fading laughter. He had left her to rest, but it was her thoughts that he really left her to. Thoughts of him kissing her. Not that he had; was she disappointed?
His lips had been close enough for her to almost feel them on her own. She licked her tingling lips, recalling the warm sweetness of his breath and the way it had tickled and tempted. She had for a brief moment actually thought of kissing him.
She jolted up and pressed her fingers to her mouth.
Was she crazy?
Had she actually thought of kissing the Wolf?
She felt her head, certain she suffered from fever.
Nothing.
She scurried off the bed and heard his laughter in her mind. Should she challenge him?
With a heavy sigh, she dropped back on the straw mattress.
He had upset her—or was she upset with herself? Their talk had reminded her of the problem she had left behind in Hellewyk and would face upon her return.
Marriage.
Unwanted marriage, though her brother-in-law Tarr had offered her a chance to choose her own husband. No amount of protesting had changed the circumstances. Tarr had decreed that the prophecy Giann had predicted be satisfied, which meant that the twins, she and Fiona, had to wed if the clans were to avoid destruction. Fiona had fulfilled her part; now it was Aliss’s turn.
She had yet to find anyone suitable. Though there had been many willing prospects, none had impressed her. Actually, none would have tolerated her propensity for healing.
She hesitantly touched her lips and thought of the intimacy expected of her once she wed. How could she be so intimate with a stranger?
A peck or two on the cheek was all the experience she had with kissing, though Fiona, her sister, claimed it was fantastic and urged her to try it. She had insisted it would help her to decide on a husband. If a man could not kiss then Aliss should not even consider wedding him.
What else, though, did she look for in a husband?
Kindness. Strength. Patience.
Rogan possessed all three qualities. He had demonstrated them often with his clan and with her.
What of love?
She jumped, startled by the question that popped into her head. She had not even considered it. She had no time for it. She was not certain she would recognize it if it hit her in the face.
Would a kiss help acquaint her with it?
Kissing, Fiona had said, was a pleasure to be shared repeatedly and often between husband and wife. If a man’s kiss left her feeling nothing, then he was not the one for Aliss.
She rested her fingers to her lips.
How would Rogan’s kisses leave her feeling?
Aliss drifted off to sleep, her mind chaotic with kisses.
“Sweet, you taste so very sweet.”
Aliss sighed with pleasure. His lips caressed every inch of her face, her closed eyes, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her forehead.
“Sweet.”
He kissed along her neck. It tickled and she laughed softly, hunching her shoulders to prevent him access. She relinquished them and his kisses resumed, bringing her a pleasure she had not known possible.
Her lips began to ache for him. He had not kissed her lips. She wanted him to kiss her lips. He had to; how else would she know if he was the one?
She turned her head toward his mouth. “Kiss me.”
He kept his lips a breath from hers.
“Kiss me!”
“Do you know what you ask?”
“Kiss me.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Kiss me and I shall know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she insisted, her eyes springing open.
She stared into the eyes of a snarling wolf and screamed.
“You are all right. You are safe.”
Aliss ceased her struggling once she realized that Rogan held her protectively in his arms. She rested her head on his chest, grateful to have escaped her nightmare.
“It was nothing more than a bad dream,” he said.
She refused to close her eyes, fearing she would return to the snarling wolf. All she wanted to do, at least for a moment, was remain safe and warm in Rogan’s arms.
She glanced up at him.
“Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head, while realization startled her. She woke to escape one wolf only to land in the arms of another. Or were they one and the same? She eased herself out of his embrace and casually moved to the edge of the bed.
“Your actions answer.”
She stood away from the bed. “And that would be?”
“You dreamed of me and now you run.”
“Since I woke screaming, I would not think that a compliment.”
He stood abruptly. Aliss was in no mood to continue their debate. She turned away and walked to the door. “I am hungry.”
“Are you, or do you run away, Aliss?”
She raised her hands to her cheeks when she entered the other room. Even with warm hands, she could feel the heat that had rushed to her face when he accused her of retreat. She hurriedly busied herself at the hearth. The fire’s heat was a good excuse for rosy red cheeks.
“Sit and eat since you claim hunger.”
She turned to notice the table laden with food.
“The women of the village wished to show their appreciation for your help thus far,” Rogan said, and was about to take a seat when Anna rushed into the room.
“James complains of severe stomach pains.”
Aliss hurried out with Anna. Rogan followed close behind.
A quick examination and a few facts proved James had eaten too much. A brew to ease his discomfort and a lecture to the grandparents about his meals was all that was needed.
Unfortunately, Aliss, after finishing with James, was summoned again then again and again until she was finally finished around midnight.
Rogan waited outside the last cottage and held out his hand to her.
She thought to take it, grasp it tightly and not let go. He anchored her when she felt herself adrift and lonely, especially after hours of tending the ill. The sudden thought of dependence startled her and she quickly handed him her healing basket.
He took the basket then reached out and grasped her hand firmly in his.
She did not object; after all, it was what she had wanted but feared reaching out for. It felt so good to be connected to him by a simple grasp of hands, though if she allowed her tired mind to rationalize it, she would understand that their clasped hands meant much more.
She forced her mind silent, too tired to make sense of her musings. But before long her thoughts wandered to her work, or was it that she felt in safer territory there? “I thought by now I would have prevented any new illnesses.” She shook her head, disappointed. “Three more tonight.”
“But none have died since you arrived,” he reminded her.
“And none have mended permanently, except—” She stopped. “Tara’s son Daniel has suffered no relapses.”
“True enough.” Rogan laughed. “He runs around like a little banshee.”
She started walking again. “What is different about him?”
“His age,” Rogan offered.
“What else?” Her stomach rumbled.
“You need food.”
“I need answers,” she insisted.
“I will help you search for your answers,” he offered. “I want this culprit caught and done away with, never to bother my people again.”
“You are all different and yet—”
“We care for each other, for if not, no one else will.”
“What brought you all together?”
“A common trait,” Rogan answered. “No one else wanted us. We are not pure breeds. Our blood is mixed. No specific birthright means no specific allegiance to any clan, or so it is believed. My father had settled us in the far north of Scotland, nearer to Oslo, where the Norse left their mark.”
“What brought you here?”
“Love.”
Chapter 9
They entered the cottage and were soon settled at the table to eat the meal that had been delayed several hours.
“You cannot tell me that love brought you here and then say no more,” Aliss urged. “Tell me the story.”
“It breaks the heart,” he warned.
“Most love stories do. Now tell me.”
He watched eagerness break through her weary-filled eyes and turn them bright green. Rogan rested his arms on the table and began his tale.
“My father had to make it on his own since he was eight. His father refused to claim him and his mother died from sickness. He found that few were interested in a lad with blood of Scot, English, and Norse mixed in his veins. He wandered for a good many years accumulating others just like him.
“Together they forged a clan, and since my father had always admired the nature of the wolf, he took its name. The Wolf clan was born and my father was its leader. He along with his men would hire out as mercenaries. It was while in the service of a powerful chieftain that he met my mother.”
“They fell in love.” Aliss smiled with excitement.
“Almost instantly, though they dared not admit it to anyone, even themselves. You see, her father had plans for her to wed another, a uniting of two powerful clans.”
“That was to be my sister’s fate, an arranged marriage, though it worked out well for her.”
“Not so my mother. They knew their only chance to be together was for my mother to run away with my father.”
Rogan grew silent. His father had recited the tale often to him and the memories he had imparted were harsh and bitter for Rogan to recall, yet endearing in their own special way.
“Memories hurt.”
He heard compassion in her voice and knew that she had to have suffered a similar loss. Only someone who had known loss could truly understand its unique pain.
He continued. “My parents returned to my father’s land. They soon discovered that my mother’s father intended to come after her and they decided to leave, not wanting to place the Wolf clan in jeopardy. The clan would not hear of losing their leader. They all agreed to join him.”
Rogan’s glance drifted down to his hands, clenched on the table in front of him.
He was not surprised when Aliss squeezed his hands reassuringly.
He looked up at her, her beauty startling, her concern obvious, her tender touch palpable, and a sense of loving warmth flooded him. He had realized of late just how very comfortable he felt when with her. She was so very easy to talk with, even to share the silence with. Theirs was a natural companionship—or was it more?
“What happened?”
“My mother was taken away from me before I saw my first year. He came for her, her father, with more men than my father could battle, though battle he would have if my mother had not stopped him.
“My father told me that she refused to see the Wolf clan slaughtered because of her and—” He bit back the anger and bitterness. “Her father warned that he would slice her son’s throat in front of her and let her watch me bleed to death if she did not return willingly with him.”
“Did you ever see your mother again?”
Rogan shook his head. “Mother made my father promise to take me away. She did not trust her own father. She feared he would see me dead regardless of what she had agreed to and Father agreed with her. We never saw my mother again.”
“How very sad for you all.”
Rogan reached up and wiped away the lone teardrop that lingered in the corner of Aliss’s eye. “Love can be sad and it can be happy, but love is forever beautiful—just like you.”
He watched her body tense and she took her hand off his. He did not want her to shy away from him. He wanted to learn more about her, come to better understand her, this woman who lovingly healed yet evaded loving.
“What of your parents?” he asked.
Her smile was slow in coming, as if she had to think on the question, then it suddenly burst wide and generous.
“I have two sets of parents.”
“Two?”
“There were the parents that raised Fiona and me, a kind and loving couple, and then there are our birth parents, Oleg and Anya. They are also kind and loving. We were taken from them when we were newborn babes. Fiona and I have only recently reunited with them and with a brother, Raynor.”
“How did you feel when you learned about them?”
“It was strange to suddenly discover that the loving parents who raised you are not truly your parents. Upon meeting my real parents, I found myself feeling terribly sorry for my mother as I do for your mother. Neither of them were able to watch their children grow, hug us, laugh with us, cry with us, though they always continued to love us.”
“You would make a good mother.” He almost laughed when her eyes sprang wide, her mouth dropped open, and she sat speechless.
She was quick to rein in her shock. “I do not have time for children.”
“No?” he questioned. “That is odd. You deal so well with ill children. Even the devilish little Daniel behaves around you.”
She jumped as if his name sparked a thought. “We need to discuss Daniel.”
“Now?” he asked, knowing she was uncomfortable with where their conversation had drifted and looked to avoid it.
“You told me you would help to unravel the mystery of this illness, and I believe Daniel is the best place to start.” She shook off a yawn.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “You need to sleep.”
“There is too much on my mind. Sleep will elude me tonight.”
“Try anyway. We will discuss this in the morning.” He stood and waited for her to stand, leaving her no choice but to follow his lead.
She did not budge. She dismissed him with, “I will see you in the morning.”
“Not this time.”
Her wide-eyed innocent gaze made him laugh. “I have no intention of leaving you at this table to fall asleep like last time. You will get in that bed now.” He pointed to her bed.
He smiled as her protest was swallowed by a yawn.
Rogan walked around the table, took her hand and gently eased her to her feet. He tucked a curly red strand behind her ear, tugged at her earlobe then ran a finger along her chin. It was impossible not to, she was so soft and touchable.
“You are tired. Why fight it? Sleep and we will discuss Daniel in the morning.”
“But—”
He pressed a finger to her lips and wished instead it was his lips that silenced her. A taste, that was all he wanted; a taste of her sweetness.
He lowered his head.
Rogan jumped, startled, then she ducked out of his arms like a frightened animal fleeing capture and hurried into bed.
“We will talk in the morning,” she said and pulled the covers over her head.
She lay curled in a ball and he would have loved to have gone to her, join her under the covers and simply hold her in his arms. She needed to be held and loved gently.
He shook off his foolish thoughts, turned and went to seek the solace of sleep. His mind had been filled with Aliss of late and in ways he had not intended.
He knew someday he would find love again, but with Aliss?
It was not in his plans, but then plans changed all the time.
Aliss watched the sun rise. It rose like a majestic fiery ball; its rays stretching over the land to nourish all it touched. The seedlings she had planted had sprung and the tiny plants turned eager leaves toward the sun.
She mimicked them, lifting her face up for a kiss.
The small village was just coming to life and she was reminded of her own clan and of her sister. She missed her. A day did not go by that she did not think of Fiona and returning home. A day also did not go by without Rogan popping into her thoughts.
He would be there suddenly in her head when she least expected it. It was usually a recollection of something he had said to her or the thought of his hand on hers, warm and strong and welcoming.
It had disturbed her to realize she had welcomed his touch, innocent as it was, though was it? Lately she was beginning to notice his hand reached out to her more and more and she did not mind. His touch seemed natural and somehow right.
Aliss walked along the outskirts of her garden, meaning to tend it. Instead, she weeded her way through her chaotic thoughts.
She could not continue to deny her attraction to the warrior wolf, nor could she make sense of it. It was as if it had happened without thought or reason. It was simply born naturally.
As love was so often born.
She shook the nonsensical thought from her head. Love had nothing to do with it. Circumstance was what had produced her strange musings. Her abduction had forced their closeness. She lived in Rogan’s cottage, shared meals with him. He had even given her his deceased wife’s clothes to use.
She stroked the soft, dark green wool skirt and fingered the pale yellow blouse she wore. Had her wearing his wife’s garments rekindled memories in him? Had he suddenly felt the emptiness of his loss and looked to her to ease his grief?
Aliss sighed in frustration. Why did she waste time on such nonsense? This was the very reason she had not wanted to wed. She had not wanted her mind distracted from her work.
