The Bewitching Twin, page 9
“Tell me why you weep?”
Aliss sniffled. “I do not know.”
“Does the crying help?”
“I think so.” She shook her head. “Though I am not certain.” She cried some more.
Her tears once again stabbed at his heart and he felt as helpless as a warrior without his weapon or shield.
“I rarely cry.” She sniffled back her tears.
“Everyone cries.”
“Have you?”
He almost felt as if he could drown in the tears that pooled in her wide eyes, their green color reminding him of the surface of a loch sprinkled with nature’s summer dust.
He kissed her fingers again, taking time to think over her question. He remembered shedding tears now and again as a young lad, the episodes fading as he matured. He, like Aliss, rarely shed tears except . . .
“I wept when my wife, Kendra, died in my arms and again when I held my stillborn son.”
“I am so sorry,” she said, freeing her hands to grasp his in hers. “My tears are frivolous compared to yours.”
“All tears are relevant to those who shed them.”
She stared at him a moment. “I had not expected wisdom from the Wolf.”
He moved in closer. “Never underestimate a wolf. They are cunning and wise in ways man does not realize.”
“Do you warn me?”
“Yes.”
He was not surprised when she released his hands. It was better this way, better to keep a distance between them. His plan had been set in motion. There was no changing it. He could not change it. He had waited too long to settle this debt of honor. He could let nothing stop him.
Nothing.
Damn, but he wanted to kiss her again, yank her into his arms and ravish her mouth until they finally lay copulating on the ground.
He jumped up and stepped away from her, but the vision had already been burned into his mind. He could not stop seeing them both naked, her creamy skin so stark in contrast to the bed of earth beneath her. And her red hair flamed as if it had been ignited with the passion that raged through them both.
He could feel his hands spreading her thighs, hear her welcoming moans, feel her flesh wet with desire, and he was rock hard with wanting for her.
Rogan turned narrowed eyes on her, his breathing heavy and his salacious thoughts soaring. With a growl and a snarl, he escaped the woods, leaving his prey intact.
Aliss remained on the stump, stunned. In one breath, he soothed her, and in another, he warned her before fleeing like a scowling beast. She did not understand him or her tears.
This was the very reason she had not entertained the thought of marriage. She did not want love interfering with her work. And love did that; it interfered to the point where all thought revolved around that special someone.
In the last few hours her mind had been sidetracked from her healing work to thoughts of kissing Rogan. The kiss itself had nearly devastated her. It was more than she had imagined and the emotions it had stirred in her had brought her to tears.
For what reason?
She had no answer.
What she did have was clear proof that kissing and anything that went with it would greatly interfere with her healing work, and that she could not tolerate. She could not have her mind occupied with nonsense while she dealt with the sick.
She stood and wiped the last vestiges of tears off her face with her fingers. She threw back her shoulders and stuck out her chin.
Nothing would stop her from treating the ill, finding ways to prevent illness and cures for recurring maladies. She was a healer first and foremost, nothing else mattered, especially a kiss.
Even if it did feel too good to be true.
Even if she did enjoy it immensely.
Even if she had thought about kissing Rogan again.
Even if she desperately wanted to.
Even if . . .
She shook her head and refused to think any more on the matter. It wasted precious time that she could be spending on her healing work.
She was a healer; she would heal.
“A woman loves.”
Damn her sister’s voice. She would be the one to remind her that she was a woman as well as a healer and that a woman had needs, just like a healer had needs. Fiona would warn her to reconcile the two, just as the Wolf had to do with Rogan, who was simply a man.
She always thought of herself as a healer, nothing more.
She was, however, a healer and a woman. How did she meld them together when the healer was the stronger of the two?
Chapter 13
Rogan wanted to scoop Aliss up and carry her off to bed, but he was certain she would protest, argue, and dig her feet in. She would not be budged from Ivan’s bedside.
The only thing he could do was to keep vigil with her from time to time throughout the day.
She had remained by the old man’s side for over a full day. Ivan had been doing well when suddenly he had grown severely ill. He could keep nothing in his stomach, not even the broth Aliss had specially prepared. He could barely lift his head or move his arm. Everyone thought that this time was the end for him. His daughter Myra wept softly next to his bed until Aliss chased her away.
Aliss refused to give up and tended Ivan like a small child, spooning liquid into his mouth and checking constantly for fever.
“He was fine two days ago,” Myra whispered to Rogan as she drifted over to stand beside him. “He was eating like his old self. Margaret indulged him with that dark bread he favors, though I cannot stomach its bitter taste. He ate every bit of it along with my rabbit stew.”
“He turned ill soon afterward?” Rogan asked.
“The next day.”
Aliss held out an empty crock. “I need more boiled water.”
Myra hurried to fetch it.
Rogan stepped back from the edge of the mantel he had been leaning against. He had noticed that Aliss’s shoulders had slumped. He had learned from watching her time and again that it was a sure sign of fatigue combined with the burden of deep concern. When she reached this point, she often doubted herself, questioning her skills.
The only recourse was for her to step away, rest, and return renewed, refreshed, and ready to battle. In his eyes, Aliss was a relentless warrior, battling a foe that lurked in plain sight yet could not be seen.
He admired and respected her courage and resolve, but she could also be stubborn. A warrior knew when to retreat and replenish his reserves for another attack.
Aliss needed replenishing, soon, or defeat would surely claim her.
He walked over and placed a hand on Aliss’s shoulder, and felt the knotted muscle jab at his palm. “You are tired.” He kneaded the stubborn muscle with strong fingers and she slumped back against him.
“I cannot leave Ivan’s side until he improves.”
Her green eyes told him differently. They were fraught with despair that this time she might not be able to save him.
“You have done all you can.”
She grabbed his hand on her shoulder. “There must be something I am missing. Why can I not see it?”
“My father is grateful, as is my family, for all you have done for him,” Myra said, handing her the crock of water.
“It is not enough,” Aliss said and took the crock to infuse with a blend of crushed leaves.
“Is so,” came the feeble reply.
Three pairs of eyes widened in surprise as the old man’s eyes fluttered open.
“Let me go, my time,” he managed to say.
“No!” Aliss snapped. “It is not your time or you would not be fighting so hard to live. I know death. He comes when it is time and not before. He is not here for you. You will fight and you will live.”
“Stubborn,” Ivan mumbled.
“Absolutely,” Aliss said, and spooned the fresh liquid into his mouth.
It was after midnight when Ivan’s purging finally subsided and Aliss no longer feared leaving his side. She was grateful for Rogan’s arm around her waist as they walked to the cottage. She was so very tired, bone tired, every step an effort, every muscle taut with tension. Yet, there was no time to worry about her physical complaints.
“Ivan cannot survive another relapse. I must find the culprit and fast.”
“After you rest we will combine our findings and see what we can make of the puzzle.”
“No time for rest,” she argued.
“No time not to,” he said, and scooped her up into his arms. “You cannot do your best if you are not at your best.”
“There you go with words of wisdom again.” She yawned.
“There you go proving me right.”
She attempted a laugh but was too tired and rested her head on his shoulder. “Have you any thoughts as to the culprit?”
“You never stop, do you?”
“No, I cannot.” She sighed. “And it worries me.”
“Why?”
“I see how you tolerate my endless madness for healing out of necessity. I cannot imagine any husband enduring it willingly, and yet I must search for a husband who will. I had hoped I would not be forced into such a difficult situation.”
“You will not.”
She popped her head up, surprised.
“I told you that if we can find this culprit that attacks my people, then we can find a solution to your problem.”
“And if we do not find the culprit?”
Rogan stopped in front of the door to the cottage. “Do you really believe you will let the culprit escape you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then your situation will also be resolved, worry not.”
Aliss laid her head on his shoulder with a sense of relief. She did not know how it would all work out, but Rogan’s reassurance lifted the burden for now.
She was grateful when he laid her on the bed. She rolled onto her stomach, cringing at the pain that stabbed her neck and shoulders.
His hands were instantly at her neck kneading and rubbing until she wanted to die from the pure relief of his touch.
“That feels good,” she said, sighing.
“Your neck and shoulders tighten like a warrior who has drawn his bow or wielded his sword in an all-day battle.”
“Some warrior I am, needing to be carried off the battlefield.”
Rogan snickered.
“Was that a laugh?” she asked, raising her head.
His fingers kneaded along the center of her neck up into her head until she surrendered and lowered her head to the mattress.
“You walked with dignity off the battlefield.”
“Really? You believe that?”
“I witnessed it for myself,” he reassured her. “More importantly, you refused to leave until you knew all was well. Only a brave warrior would posses such spirit.”
“I am not brave. My sister is but I am not.”
He laughed. “You could fool me, considering the way you jumped off that large boulder onto the man below to protect your sister.”
Aliss sat up with a bounce. “How do you know about that incident?”
“I am the man you fell on.”
“You! I jumped on you and knocked you out?”
“Almost knocked me out,” he corrected. “You dazed me well enough that I could not move right away and I watched as you ran off to help your sister. It took courage to enter an unknown fighting arena with no thought of your own life, only that of saving your sister.”
“She is my sister and I love her. I could never leave her to die without . . .” Aliss attempted to choke back her tears, but fatigue left her without an ounce of strength and she began to cry.
Rogan reached out for her and she went willingly into his arms.
“I do not cry this much.”
“It is only the second time I have seen you cry, and you are tired.”
She continued crying. “Yes, I am.”
“And you miss your sister.”
“I do.” She nodded. “And I know how helpless she must feel not being able to help me.”
“She will see you soon enough.”
Aliss looked at him and burst into a torrent of tears. Seeing her sister would mean leaving Rogan and never seeing him again. The idea ripped at her heart.
“It is all right, Aliss,” he said, attempting to comfort her. “Very soon you will be reunited with Fiona.”
She continued to cry, her mind filled with joyous thoughts of hugging her sister, as well as a heart-wrenching vision of watching Rogan sail away forever on his ship. He would never hold her again, touch her again, kiss her again. The thought was too much and with teary eyes, she reached out to claim his lips.
He tasted so good and so very familiar, as if the taste of him belonged to her and her alone. She loved the firmness of his kiss. It made her feel that he wanted to drink deeply of her as if he could not get enough of her. The feeling was certainly mutual for she could not get enough of him and that thought enflamed her already fueled passion.
They fell back on the bed together, arms locked around each other and lips sealed in a thirst-quenching kiss that refused to end.
Aliss protested each time Rogan attempted to end their kiss, nipping at his lips, running her tongue across his mouth and wreaking havoc with their senses.
Rogan finally grabbed hold of her chin. “This must stop now.”
“Why?”
He pressed himself firmly against her.
Her shocked gasp was not for the hard feel of him but how she had reacted to it. She had moistened instantly and a tiny throbbing sensation had begun to build.
“You are right,” she said, and shoved gently at his chest to move him away.
He did move, though he did not get off the bed. “I like when we kiss.”
“So do I,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.
“Why do you hesitate to love?”
His query startled her speechless until she thought on his question. She was about to deny her resistance to love when she answered, “I do not know.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek with his fingers. “You honor me with the truth and your trust.”
“You have proven yourself trustworthy.” She thought she caught him flinch, then scowl, then smile. The myriad of expressions confused her until she realized it was a trick of the eye caused by the hearth’s flickering flames.
“Have you thought about loving?” he asked.
Aliss had hoped he would not pursue his query; exhaustion made her much too vulnerable now. Or perhaps she didn’t want to admit that she was growing comfortable with the Wolf?
“Perhaps now and again.”
“And you dismiss the thought,” he confirmed.
“I know not what else to do with it.”
“Let yourself think on it,” he encouraged.
She yawned. “I do not have . . .” Another yawn swallowed her words and her eyes drifted shut. “Wake me with the sun,” she said before another yawn attacked.
“Rest, you need it,” he urged gently.
In minutes, she was snoring lightly and Rogan reached around her to pull a light wool blanket over her.
He lay beside her studying her lovely face. Hers was a natural beauty, her creamy skin flawless, her lashes as fiery as her mane of red curls, her slim nose in perfect symmetry with her features, and her rosy lips much too inviting.
She was bewitching and he had fallen easily under her spell. It could not be helped, fight as he did against it, it seemed inevitable. They were drawn to each other. She wanted his kisses as much as he wanted to kiss her.
Was this the prelude to love?
The signs were all there as they had been when he had fallen in love with Kendra. He had wanted to spend all the time he could with her, hold her, touch her, kiss her, and damn, how he had ached to make love to her.
He felt all those things now about Aliss, and he felt grateful, grateful to be experiencing such powerful feelings once again. He had forgotten the intensity of love; sorrow had replaced it with his wife’s death. He wanted to savor the feelings that had finally revisited him, explore them with Aliss and let the sensations take them where they might.
He reached out and stroked her silky skin, her cheek cool to his touch. She was such a special woman. He could not imagine that any man would not want her, healing propensity and all. And he could not imagine any man but him touching her, a thought that had haunted him of late.
Rogan rested his hand on her hip and watched her sleep and listened to her snore, a light purring sound. He would not mind hearing her purr in his ear each night. He would cuddle close with her; perhaps join in with his own snores to form a distinct melody of their own.
He shook his head and rolled quietly off the bed, reluctantly going to his room.
Was he crazy?
How did he think this could possibly work between them?
She had deemed him trustworthy, confiding in him.
He dropped down on the bed, pillowing his head with his arms and stretching his feet out.
He was a wolf in every sense of the word, cunning, fearless, and fiercely loyal, that loyalty being the very reason Aliss was here with him. She, however, would not view it that way, and how could he ever get her to understand?
Strange, he felt he was on the precipice of finding love once again, excited and eager and fearful that once Aliss learned the truth he would plunge over the edge alone.
Chapter 14
“Your neck healed nicely,” Aliss said, slipping her yellow blouse on and tucking it in her waistband.
Anna beamed. “I am so very happy the rash is gone. And for good as long as I do not touch motherwort with my bare hands. I cannot thank you enough for helping me.”
Aliss sat down beside Anna on the grassy knoll not far from the stream’s edge. The sun was bright, the air warm for early morning and she felt refreshed having just washed from top to bottom in the stream.
She squeezed the excess water from her red hair and used the thick towel she had dried off with to soak up the rest before she attempted to comb it.
“You have thanked me many times over with all your help.”
“I enjoy healing work—” Anna paused a moment before rushing to finish her words. “I would love to be a healer.”
