moonlight illuminated the room and Bram opened his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached, and he swallowed hard. Thirsty. So thirsty.
‘Bram,’ came a soft voice. ‘Are you awake?’
He turned towards the sound and wondered if he was dead. He had to be, for he knew that voice. It was Nairna, the woman he’d dreamed of for so long.
A cup was raised to his lips and he drank the cool ale, grateful that she’d anticipated the need. She moved closer and lit an oil lamp to illuminate the darkness. The amber glow revealed her features, and he stared at her, afraid the vision would fade away if he blinked.
Her mouth was soft, her cheekbones well formed and her long brown hair fell freely across her shoulders. She’d become a beautiful woman.
He wanted to touch her. Just to know that she was real.
Longing swelled through him, mingled with bittersweet regret. His hand was shaking when he reached out to her. As if asking forgiveness, he stroked her palm, wishing things could have been different.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, her hand curled around his, her face filled with confusion. ‘I can’t believe you’re alive.’
He sat up and she moved beside him. With one hand clasped in hers, he touched her nape. The light scent of flowers and grass seemed to emanate from her, and he leaned closer, drinking in the sight.
God help him, he needed her right now. He threaded his hands in her hair, lifting her face to his. He took her mouth in a kiss, for she was the hope and life he’d craved for so long.
Nairna’s heart was beating so fast, she hardly knew what to do. She tasted the heady danger within his kiss, of a man who didn’t care about all the lost years. Bram had never been much for talking, and without words, he told her how much he’d missed her.
He kissed her as though he couldn’t get enough, as though she were an answered prayer. And in spite of everything, she found herself kissing him back.
God above, she’d never expected this. Not in a thousand years. It was as if she were seeing a spirit, and when he bent to take her lips again, he convinced her that he was indeed made of flesh and blood.
A tangled knot of emotions warred inside her. She gripped his lean shoulders, unable to stop the tears. She’d grieved for him, raged against the injustice of losing him. And when she’d finally accepted the dull ache of loss, Fate made a mockery of her grief by returning him.
She was torn between happiness that he was here and her guilt of betrayal. She’d married someone else. And though Iver was dead and there was no shame in kissing Bram, it felt strange.
His mouth moved against her cheek, along the line of her jaw. A spiral of desire tightened within her breasts, spearing down between her thighs. And when he pulled her down on top of him, she felt his heated arousal pressing against her.
‘Nairna,’ he whispered. His voice was husky, a deep bass note that rumbled against her throat. Her skin flushed, while warmth pooled within her body.
She didn’t know where these feelings were coming from, but they terrified her. Bram’s hands moved down her back, bringing her hips against him. The sensation of his arousal cradled against her womanhood made her moist with wanting, her nipples tightening beneath her gown.
His mouth captured hers in demanding possession. Every part of her body was attuned to his touch and the longer he kissed her, the more she wanted him. She envisioned lifting her skirts, feeling his hard naked body against her own.
Confusion warred inside her, for she wasn’t supposed to respond this way to a man who was virtually a stranger. Caught between past and present, she didn’t know whether to trust her heart or her mind.
Bram’s palm moved down her cheek, stroking her in a caress that evoked the feelings she’d tried to bury. His face was harrowed, as though he’d seen things he shouldn’t have. And he’d grown so terribly thin.
‘Bram, where have you been all this time?’
He didn’t answer at first. Then he sat up, keeping her on his lap. His hands framed her face, as if he were trying to learn her features. She covered his hands with hers, staring into his eyes. Willing him to tell her the truth.
‘I was a prisoner at Cairnross.’
She’d heard of the English Earl and his cruelty. Her heart bled at the thought of Bram enduring captivity for so long, in such a place.
‘I thought you were dead,’ she managed.
He touched her as if he were afraid she might disappear. His roughened palms abraded her skin, his fingers trembling. ‘I thought you would have married another by now. That you’d found someone else.’
I did, she nearly said, but stopped herself, not wanting to hurt him. She’d married Iver, desperately wanting a home and a family of her own. But now, it shamed her to think of what she’d done. It made her feel like she’d committed adultery, though she knew that wasn’t true.
Her cheeks grew hot and she didn’t know how to tell him about the marriage. A tear spilled down her cheek, but whether it was from grief or joy, she couldn’t tell.
Bram’s thumb brushed it away, and his hands moved down her shoulders, resting upon her waist. He drew her into his arms, caressing her back. ‘You’ve grown into a woman since I saw you last.’
Nairna’s skin prickled. A latent fire seemed to rise up from within her, burning her flesh with need. His mouth bent to her throat, and she bit back a shuddering breath at the kindled sensations. His thumbs stroked lazy circles over her spine.
But when he moved to the upper curve of her breasts, she panicked.
‘Bram, wait.’ She stood up, pushing him away. ‘I need to know what’s happened since you—’
‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered, rising from the bed.
He looked wild, his eyes blazing with fierce need. He reminded her of a savage tribesman who had come to claim his woman at last.
For a long moment, he stared at her, as if he didn’t know what to do next. Before she could voice another question, he walked towards the door. He turned back again, his hand resting against the door frame. For a breathless moment, he studied her, as if making a decision.
Then he left, without a word of explanation.
Chapter Two
Seven years earlier
‘For God’s sakes, Bram, keep your eyes upon your opponent!’ his father roared.
Bram blinked, staring at Malcolm MacPherson who was attempting to stab him in the training match. He balanced his footing, trying to determine where the dirk would slash next. Though both of them were sixteen, Malcolm had a stronger instinct for fighting.
Bram lunged left, only to be slashed from the right. The blade didn’t cut his skin, but skidded off the chainmail armour his father had made him wear.
He adjusted his position, trying
