The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (9 page)

He felt the ache behind her words. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on, lovelier and more valuable than a whole herd of marbled boar, maybe even more valuable than all the ladies cosseted in Chroina’s safe houses put together. But she thought herself ugly, ruined.

Then the implication of her words penetrated his mind.
“When you’re a last resort, when ye have no choice but to go to a man.”
She valued her choice.

And he was taking her to Chroina to give her to the king, knowing he would take her as his queen. He was taking away her choice.

But without her, his people would die. Her going to King Magnus had been predestined. The king himself had seen it, seen
her
. Riggs hadn’t believed it until he’d seen her gemstone and felt its magic, or rather the loss of its magic.

It wasn’t him taking away her choice. It was fate. Or Danu, if he was willing to believe the goddess still gave a shite about them.

Still, uneasiness stirred within him. How would Anya react when he told her the truth? Would she hate him? It shouldn’t matter. He was not the one she would need to breed with.

If only he could convince his body that was the case. To borrow a curse from Anya, he was getting bloody tired of walking with a hard-on.

Tall birches soared over Anya’s head. The woodsy scents of moist bark and dried leaves filled her lungs. All around were the sounds of scurrying creatures and chirping birds who had not yet headed for warmer climes in preparation for winter’s chill. Alive. The forest was alive. And it made her feel alive too. She almost didn’t notice the pain in her legs or the way her back and side had started to burn with her labored gait.

Several paces in front of her, Riggs led the way to Chroina, this city that would apparently be her new home, where he claimed she would not have to be a servant and would want for nothing. She believed him about as far as she could throw him. Nothing in this life came free, especially not luxury.

She didn’t fash overmuch about it. Riggs gave her bread to eat and clothes to wear, and he treated her well. He seemed concerned with her safety. He might be part wolf and part fey, but he was all man, and she’d known precious few men in her life as trustworthy as Riggs seemed.

Things could be much worse. Especially if she’d never come to this place. She’d probably be dead by now, at Steafan’s hands, and rightfully so since she’d betrayed him and nearly murdered his nephew. ’Twas by the grace of the saints the viper she’d handed Darcy in that bag of apples hadn’t killed him. Or his wife. Or the wee bairn on his wife’s lap.

“Any whelps who appeared weak or didn’t have the desired traits were thrown out like threadbare rags.”

The venom in his voice when he’d spoken of the abominable Larnians applied equally well to her. She’d taken a foolish risk with the life of a child who’d done no wrong to her or anybody else. Vengeance had blinded her to the kind of morality respectable women took for granted.

There was somat broken inside of her, and it had been broken long before her fall. ’Twas almost a relief to have her outside match her inside. And ’twas why she didn’t fash about Riggs’s plans for her. Mayhap they were innocent—he didn’t seem the type to lead a lass into harm’s way intentionally. But mayhap they weren’t so innocent. Sometimes he got a secretive glint in his eye, and he liked to dodge certain questions, like what she might expect when they reached Chroina. She didn’t press. If she came to harm by trusting Riggs, ’twould be no more than she deserved.

In the meantime, she focused her energy on moving forward in her trews and clunky boots, and she drank in the sight of the stunning wolfkind male cutting a confident path through the forest. If she walked herself to a damning fate, at least she’d enjoy the view along the way.

The enormous pack obscured most of his back, but she had a lovely view of other parts of him. His dark hair shining with health and curling over his ears and collar. His powerful thighs as they flexed beneath his trews. His arms. She loved the way his muscles appeared as if they’d been chiseled from stone and then dusted with dark hairs. Her fingers would have been eager to stroke those hairs if she weren’t too broken to ever again entertain such fantasies.

And just like that, her pleasure at appreciating this specimen of brawn and wild grace evaporated into the cool autumn air. “Where’s the nearest village?” she asked to give herself somat to think about other than how loathsome he must find her now that he kent she was beneath even whoring. “Where do
you buy your grain, get news from Chroina?” Where did he go for his tupping? Surely he had one or more women he visited on occasion. Probably not whores. A fine looking man like him probably had plenty of women willing to give him what he required for free.

Unbidden images assaulted her: Riggs atop a sturdy wolfkind woman with broad shoulders
and bulky teeth to match his, moving over her, lifting her thigh to move inside her. Riggs poised behind a lass of his own kind, taking her like an animal, like they were both animals.

Pain in her palms made her look down. Her hands had curled into fists until the nails bit into her skin.

“Used to be Figcroft,” he said, and it took her a moment to remember she’d asked about the nearest village. “Half a day’s walk from my cabin. Now...” He shrugged and muttered somat she couldn’t make out.

“What’s that?”

“It changes all the time.” Was that resignation she heard in his voice?

“What does that mean?” Were wolfkind a
travelling people, like the Rom? Riggs did not strike her as a nomad. His cabin was most definitely a home that had been lived in for many years. And once he brought her to Chroina, he would likely return to it. Without her.

“It means, I’m not sure. If Baileyrock still has the Farworth brothers running the inn, then that’s likely the nearest village. A day’s journey due east.”

“When did you go there last?” How often did these villages “change”?

“Early summer I went over to trade skins for supplies.”

So it had been months. Did that mean he hadn’t had a lover in months? Why should that make her glad?

Silly lass. Get your head out of the clouds. He’s taking you away from his home, and it doesna sound as though he intends to bring
you back.
What more proof did she need that he didn’t view her as a potential bedmate? Why did she even care, when she’d made up her mind never to tup again?

They walked in silence a while. Her legs began to ache. Her lower back burned. She hadn’t walked this far in one go since before her fall. Chi-Yuen had gradually increased the length of their walks, but none had lasted more than two hours. It had been at least four since they’d left Riggs’s cabin, and he showed no signs of needing rest.

After another agonizing hour, the sun was well past its zenith and her stomach began to growl. She needed rest and food, but she said nothing, pushing her body through the pain. If she complained, Riggs would insist on carrying her. If he put his brawny arms around her, she’d start contemplating tupping again.

After another hour, she spotted a patch of mushrooms that looked like an edible variety she’d picked countless times. They grew near the base of a fir tree, fat and happy in the dark, shaded soil. She broke from the trail Riggs made and stopped before them. Her mouth watered.

With her knees swollen, there was no graceful way to kneel, so she bent at the waist to pick them. Losing her balance in her overlarge boots, she toppled forward. Her knees bent, and shards of agony stabbed her like swords all up and down her legs. She cried out and instantly despised herself for it. She would despise Riggs too, if he showed her pity.

She fell to her side, her shoulder hitting the soft earth. Tears sprang to her eyes as much from mortification as from pain. She refused to let them fall.

Riggs appeared over her, eyes wide. His pack hit the ground with a thud. Then he was on his knees lifting her into his arms. The sudden change in the position of her knees made her gasp with renewed pain.

“What happened? Did you trip?” He held her with one arm while his other hand roamed down her hip and paused over her left knee. The tightness of the skin there and the coolness of his hand through the canvas meant the joint was even more swollen than she’d assumed. Chi-Yuen would have scolded her for letting herself come to such a state. Then she would have thrust
one of her hempen rolls into Anya’s mouth and kneaded and stretched her legs, heedless of her screams and threats of violence.

Riggs’s
alert demeanor softened as his fingers explored her leg. His shoulders rounded, and his eyebrows pinched. “Lady,” he said, and he drew her tighter to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pity. She shoved at his immovable chest. “Doona call me lady.”

“I’ll call you what I damn well please.” Gold flecks in his eyes crackled against the brown in his eyes. She’d never been close enough to notice them before. Or mayhap they only came out when he was angry. “You let yourself become lame,” he practically bellowed. “It’ll be days before you’ll walk again.” He jabbed a thick finger in the direction they’d come. “If we’re being followed, we may not even have a full day’s advantage. I could have carried you and gone twice as far. We’ve wasted half a moon-cursed day!”

“
Cease yelling at me!” Was fury better than pity? She couldn’t decide. She only kent she wanted to get away from this growling, furrow-browed beast. She struggled to break free of his hold, with no success. “Bloody ungrateful cur! I walked today to spare you having to carry me. And what do I get? No’ thanks.
Noooo.
I get an earful of grumbling.” Her fists hitting his shoulders might as well have been feathers hurled at a stone wall.

Her aching body could take no more. She collapsed against him, hating her crippled form, hating him, hating everything. The tears she’d been holding back slid over her cheeks. Damn them to bloody hell. She swatted at them, and at least
they
had the grace to react to her touch.

“By Danu, forgive me.” He bowed his head over her and pressed his cheek to her forehead. He rubbed his face on her there, once, twice, his coarse beard lightly scratching. “Forgive me, lady.” He spoke against her skin, his breath fogging her brow.

Her tears fell faster. When had her arm wrapped around his neck? When had the fingers of her other hand curled into the rough fabric of his shirt? When had her body curved around him as though seeking comfort from the worst of her pain?

“N
ay. You’re a cocksure, thick-skulled, overbearing brute, and you doona deserve forgiveness. And doona call me lady.” She spoke into his shoulder, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

A soft huff from his nose might have been a chuckle. “You’re a proud, stubborn female. I’ve driven mules more amenable than you.”

She gasped. How dare he insult her further?

“And you’re fair as the winter’s first snowfall,
” he went on, “delicate as a rose, and braver than the fiercest soldiers I’ve fought beside.”

Her tears stopped.

“Do you have any idea what will happen if trackers are after us, if they find us?”

She shook her head, unable to look away from the grim set of his mouth.

“Let’s not find out, yeah?” He stood with a powerful thrust of his legs and not so much as a flinch due to his healing wound. Cradling her first in one arm then the other, he hoisted his pack into place and secured the straps. He picked up his axe and hooked it through the strap that fitted low across his hips, all the while treating her like a sack of grain.

“So, I’m to lie here like a useless slug an
d let you carry me until nightfall?” How would she bear the indignity? Curse her legs.

“You could tell me stories while I walk,” he said. “Or sing me songs. Or keep playing with my hair like you’re doing.”

Och,
she was twisting his curls around and around her fingers like a bloody child with her mother’s apron strings. She made herself stop, but not before giving those silky strands a sharp tug.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest. His lips tilted in a grin that suggested he had more than protecting her on his mind.

Mayhap the decision never to tup again had been made in haste.

* * * *

Anya had avoided Riggs’s gaze all afternoon. She also seemed disinclined to touch him any more than necessary. She’d crossed her arms over her breasts, barring their generous swell from his view, and kept them like that until she’d fallen asleep. Now, with her eyes closed and her face soft and peaceful, she’d nuzzled into his shoulder and threaded one arm around his neck, where her fingers dipped into his collar to cool his heated skin. Every time they twitched, tingles raced up and down his spine.

“
I walked today to spare you having to carry me.”

Like carrying her was a chore. She fit in his arms like she was meant to be there. In fact, having her slight weight in front pleasantly stretched the muscles in his shoulders beginning to ache from his pack. With her snug to his chest, he felt balanced. And since he didn’t have to worry about her comfort, he’d managed a much quicker pace than they’d averaged that morning.