Page 40 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

Chapter Fifteen

“As I said last night, I thought going to war would be a grand adventure—a way to see more of the world than just the Highlands. As far as that, I did see more of the world. Though it didn’t turn out to be a very appealing journey.” He cleared his throat and continued.

“When I arrived in Spain, I was clothed in a proper uniform, given a weapon, and shown how to fire it. I was fed like a prince, and the wine was supplied aplenty. But after we left for France, everything changed.”

“How so?”

“I’d arrived with my horse—Brimstone served me well—so I was permitted to ride. But we couldn’t get ahead of the men the whole way. While their feet ached, my arse and back hurt like the devil from being seated from predawn to well after dark. I found someone willing to trade off and let me walk awhile.”

“I’m sure he was happy to give his feet a rest, as well,” she suggested.

“Aye.” Ronan nodded. “We got to the camp at midday. There was hardly time to throw down our things in the tent before we were whisked away to battle.”

He looked at her slim fingers and remembered that first day. “I rode out onto the battlefield and was immediately bombarded by men coming at me. I didn’t have time to think about anything. I started fighting through them out of survival rather than wanting them dead.”

She let out a breath. “Was it different? Killing a man who was not your true enemy?”

He understood her question. It had been different when he’d protected his lands during a raid. There had been purpose to it.

“Aye. I didn’t know the man who threatened my life, and he didn’t know me. Most likely, we didn’t even speak the same language. I understood why he wouldn’t want me on his land. It would have been enough to draw a sword across his throat without thought if he had been on Grant lands. But as it was his land, I thought about its wrongness.”

“Did you win that first battle?”

“Aye. I fell onto my bedroll that first night with nothing but a few scratches to show for the day. My head, however, was filled with thoughts and regrets that turned into that numbness I spoke of earlier. The soldier who’d rode my horse earlier in the day hadn’t lived. Shane and I found our feet quickly. Fighting back-to-back, we were invincible, or so we thought.”

He nodded toward his leg. “I went to fight because Shane had told me of the adventure it would be. It didn’t take us long to realize how wrong we’d been. There was none of the glory we were promised. I knew right then I’d made a mistake.”

Her fingers tightened slightly.

“I held on to that mistake the whole time. Using it to spur me into fighting. Using that anger at myself to keep me going.”

He went on for hours, telling her other stories while sparing her the worst gore. The day wore on. She brought him dinner when they grew hungry again. Her hand remained on him the whole time he spoke, tethering him to the room, the castle, and home. He told her of that last battle where he’d been caught in the leg by a boy who couldn’t have been older than thirteen. He was telling her of his fevered dreams when her hand slipped from his arm. Had he finally disgusted her enough that she no longer wanted to touch him?

But when he looked to her, he saw she had slumped over in sleep. He smiled. She hadn’t found him disgusting, simply boring. The sun had left them hours ago, and she’d been up early. Not to mention the lack of sleep the night before because he’d awakened her and nearly killed her.

After watching her sleep for a few moments, he slid from the bed and slipped off her shoes. He picked her up from the chair, expecting his leg to protest. But thanks to her care, he only suffered a minor ache.

He settled her in the bed, wishing he knew her well enough to remove her dress so she’d be more comfortable. But he didn’t want her to think him improper for undressing her while she slept.

He was her husband and, by rights, would have been allowed to disrobe her, but he wouldn’t until she was awake and able to give her permission.

Once he was in bed beside her, he pulled the blanket over them, ensuring she was covered. She burrowed in, making a sweet sound of contentment. Aye, he’d definitely made a mistake when he left home to find adventure. Perhaps the adventure he’d been seeking had been right here all along.

With her.

***

Brenna dreamed about battle—the sounds and the chaos. If this was what war felt like, she would gladly follow the drum. She was so warm and comfortable. She was probably too close to the fire and would go up in flames at any moment. But she couldn’t care enough to make herself move.

She opened her eyes to see a hard, naked chest in front of her face. Her hand rested over Ronan’s heart, and she smiled at the steady thump, proving he was here, healthy and alive. If he’d succumbed to fever, she would never have had this moment with him.

Or this second chance.

Was that what she was hoping for? Where was the anger she’d been gripping onto to help save her from the pain he would inevitably cause? A tear came to her eye at the thought of losing him, but she pushed it away. It was silly to be sad about something that hadn’t happened.

Knowing he was sound asleep, she pressed her lips to his warm skin—checking for a fever, she lied to herself.

Slowly, as not to wake him, she pulled her hand across his taut stomach. She paused momentarily to caress the sprinkling of hair she encountered, but eventually, she removed her hand and slipped out of bed without disturbing him.