Espy had grown strong over the past two weeks and her grandmother had grown more worried that any day now Craven would come for her. Cyra had suggested several escape possibilities, but Espy had been adamant. She would not leave. If she dared sneak off, her grandmother would suffer for it and that she could not bear. Besides, she had no other recourse. Wise or foolish, her return home was all that was left to her.

“I fear every time I leave you that I will return and Craven will have taken you away,” Cyra said as she packed the last few items in her healing basket.

“Do not think on that now. You must go and tend those in the outlying crofts. You have delayed your visits because of me and someone may need care,” Espy said, snatching her grandmother’s cloak off the back of the chair and draping it over her shoulders.

Cyra hugged Espy. “I do love you.”

Her words touched Espy’s heart, but it pained her to see the worry in her grandmother’s eyes. “Something I never doubted and return tenfold. Worry not, I will be here when you return.”

Espy saw her grandmother off, waving to her, then watching until she disappeared in the distance. It would be two or three days before she returned and while she hoped she would be here when her grandmother came back, she could not be sure.

Craven’s hand had healed nicely and Cyra no longer had to go to the keep. Tass was replaced by other warriors, who took turns making certain Espy remained at the cottage. But each day that passed no summons came from the keep and since that day she had tended Craven’s hand, Espy had not seen him.

She delayed going inside the cottage, the sun bright, and there was an unusual warmth to the air for the middle of spring. Of course, it probably would not last, which was why she wanted to take advantage of the sun while she could.

She wished she could take Trumble for a ride, but that would not be allowed. Once she had felt well enough, she had seen to his care herself and had assured him all was fine, hoping her words would hold true.

The sun started to fade after an hour and a chill blew in with a sudden wind. She was about to enter the cottage and make herself a hot brew when she caught the approach of someone in the distance. The person staggered rather than walked, then suddenly dropped to the ground.

Espy did not hesitate, she ran to help the obvious ill or injured person.

Tass was guarding her today and yelled after her to stop as he fumbled to get up from where he sat as she sped past him. She paid him no heed. He would catch up with her soon enough and could help get the person to the cottage.

Espy saw that it was a woman. She lay curled on her side, her hood partially covering her face, and Espy dropped down beside her and reached out a tender hand to offer help.

“Please do not hurt me,” the woman whimpered, drawing back away as if Espy might strike her.

“I will not hurt you. I am a healer and can help you.” Cautiously and gently, Espy drew the woman’s hood fully away from her face and almost gasped at what she saw.

The woman had been beaten unmercifully in the face and God only knew where else. Her one eye was swollen completely shut. The large bruise on her jaw was as deep a purple as her closed eye and blood was caked under her nose and in the corner of her mouth. Espy did not need to ask if she had suffered a beating to other parts of her body. She could tell by the way she lay curled up that she was accustomed to feigning off blows that way.

“Please do not let him take me…” The woman’s strength failed her. She could get no more words out. She stretched a bruised, bare arm out to Espy, the sleeve of her blouse hanging tattered from her shoulder.

“You are safe here,” Espy said and looked to Tass as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her, causing the woman to flinch. “Help me get her to the cottage.”

Tass’ face betrayed his shock when he reached down for the battered woman, and Espy was glad to see him handle her gently. Once inside the cottage, Tass helped get the woman to the bed and her cloak off before taking his leave.

The woman could not keep her uninjured eye open after her head touched the pillow. She was exhausted and Espy wondered how long she had been walking or perhaps she had run all the way out of fear.

Glad that the woman was getting the rest she needed to help heal, Espy got a bucket of water from the rain barrel, grabbed a fresh cloth from the ones folded neatly in a chest, placed a chair by the bed, and got busy cleaning the woman’s face. The sleeping woman winced now and again but she did not wake. A once pretty face was revealed after Espy cleaned away the grime and blood, and it would be so again once she healed.

With the woman’s odor potent, Espy washed her arms as she took a closer look at the bruises there. It was obvious they had been caused by being grabbed by a strong hand and squeezed so tightly it left its mark. There was also a bruise by her ribs, but it was already fading in color which meant she had suffered a previous beating to this one.

Her father had often reminded her that it was what you could not see that often caused the most trouble. She hoped the woman’s eye had not suffered any serious damage. There was little she could do for the bruises, but let them heal. She did, however, plan to wash her thoroughly and get her out of her filthy garments when she woke. Clean garments and a good meal with a hot brew would help heal her in more ways than one.

“Be gone!”

Espy jumped, hearing Tass shout, and she hurried to the door to open it a crack and see who Tass had ordered away. It was a large man, with a hooked nose, full beard, and long brown hair. He did not wear the MacCara plaid and the one he did wear was so filthy that it was difficult to distinguish any colors.

“Bring my wife to me and I will leave. I know Bonnie is here. She seeks the aid of the healer after she gets the beatings she deserves,” the large man said, raising a threatening fist at Tass. “You have no right to keep my wife from me.”

“This is MacCara land and Lord Craven will be the judge of that. Go take your complaint to him,” Tass ordered, his hand going to rest on the hilt of his sword in warning.

The large man looked ready to spew fire and, with warning, he lunged at Tass, locking his meaty arms around the young warrior, squeezing him tight, then hoisting him in the air over his head and slamming him to the ground and kicking him even though Tass lay motionless.

Instinct had Espy running to help the young warrior. She grabbed a split log from the stack near the door and charged at the man. He was so intent on beating Tass senseless that he did not see her coming. She whacked him in the back of the head and he stumbled. He shook his head and turned to glare at her, his eyes growing wide with rage.

“No woman hits me,” he snarled and dove at her.

Espy was fast on her feet, having learned to be so out of necessity and she moved out of his path with ease, slamming the log down on his shoulder as she did. He cried out, more in anger than pain, and before he could turn around, she slammed her foot into the back of his leg, sending him tumbling to the ground and whacked him again in the head with the log.

Though stunned, his hand shot out to grab her ankle, and she jumped out of his way and brought the log down on his wrist with such force that he let loose a guttural scream.

His intense anger had him surging to his feet, his face so red he looked as if he would burst into flames and his eyes so wide she feared they would pop from his head. He roared and dove for her once again and this time he was able to swat the log out of her hand with his arm as she swung it at him. His hand swung back at her with tremendous force, catching her scarred cheek so hard that her head snapped back and she fell to the ground.

He straddled her before she could gather her senses and get to her feet, his legs locking her arms to her sides, and he raised his hand ready to batter her face.

Espy struggled against him. She would not give up. She would never give up as long as she had a breath left in her.

A furious roar like that of a mighty animal tore through the air, halting the man’s hand as his head snapped up. Fright turned him pale and in the next instant he was ripped off her.

Espy hurried to her feet and was stunned to see that Craven had the man by the throat, his powerful hand squeezing tightly.

“You dare come on my land, attack one of my warriors and clanswoman,” Craven growled, his fingers digging tighter into the man’s fleshy throat.

Cyra had repeatedly warned her that Craven had gotten even stronger since his wife’s death and even his warriors feared facing him on the practice field and neighboring clans made sure to remain in his favor. She had felt his strength once, but her size was nothing to this large man’s size and yet Craven contained him with one hand, choking the life from him as he did.

The man clawed at Craven’s fingers and wrist, struggling to break free. He even swung at his arm, but it did little good, Craven held him firm.

Without any warning, Craven threw the man to the ground and called out, “Take him to the keep and put him in the stocks.”

Espy had not realized that six warriors had arrive with him and not a one had stepped forward to help him. They all understood he needed no help.

“My wife,” the large man spat as he struggled for breath.

Craven turned to Espy and she was quick to explain. “He beat her unmercifully. She came here for help and begged that we not return her to him.” She turned to glance at Tass who was just coming to. “He needs care, the man kicked him brutally after he was on the ground unconscious.”

Craven could not take his eyes off her scarred cheek. It was flaming red. “You came to Tass’ rescue?” He knew the answer. He had seen it for himself, though had not believed his eyes as he had approached the cottage with his warriors. She had battled that large man with nothing more than a split log and courage.

“Why would I not?’ Espy asked and she did not wait for a response, she hurried over to Tass.

Craven stared after her, shocked that she had walked away from him without asking permission to take her leave. He followed after her, annoyed.

“Do not move until I see to your injuries,” Espy ordered, bending down beside Tass.

“I am good. I need no help,” Tass insisted though groaned when he went to sit up.

Espy laid a firm hand on his chest to keep him from moving. “It will only take a moment.” She ran a gentle hand around his head, feeling for any bumps, but there were none, a good sign. But it was his side that concerned her since the large man had kicked him several times there. She pressed her hand a partial way between his waist and chest, feeling for his ribs, and he winced loudly.

She kept her hand there. “Take a deep breath.”

Tass tried, but he cringed in pain.

“Your ribs are bruised or could possibly be broken. To have them heal properly, you need to rest, no swinging your sword, no practice field, no work that is strenuous for three to four weeks,” Espy explained.

Tass shook his head and he let loose a sharp groan when he went to sit up. “I have my duties.”

“Which will be difficult for you to perform if you do not let your ribs heal and then it will be much longer before you can lift a sword without pain.” Espy stood. “The choice is yours.”

“You will do as she says until Cyra returns and can look at you,” Craven ordered, having listened to the exchange, and Tass gave a reluctant nod.

That Craven knew Cyra was not there was not a surprise to Espy. His warriors who stood guard no doubt reported everything they heard to him and he would know that Cyra had left today. It was also not a surprise to her that he continued to doubt her ability as a healer. She did wonder, though, if Craven had planned to wait until Cyra was absent from the cottage to come fetch her. Why else would he be here with six of his warriors?

“I will speak with the man’s wife,” Craven said.

“She rests,” Espy said.

“Wake her,” he ordered.

“I do not think that will be necessary once you see her. Besides, she needs all the rest she can get to heal.”

“I will not repeat my command,” Craven said and walked toward the cottage.

Espy followed and hurried around him as they got to the door to open it.

Craven stopped inside the door, his nose wrinkling. “What is that odor?”

Espy pointed to the woman on the bed.

Craven walked over to her and anger twisted in his gut. He turned and took two quick steps to Espy. “You saw what he did to his wife and still you went after him with nothing more than a split log?”

“I could not let him take her. He would have killed her,” Espy argued.

“He would have done the same to you.”

“Then you would have gotten what you wanted.”

Craven lowered his face close to hers. “I want the pleasure of doing it myself.”

Espy reached for his hand and placed it at her throat. “Then be done with it, for I am tired of the wait.” She dropped her hand away, but his remained at her throat.

Craven gave her smooth flesh a gentle squeeze. His manhood had jumped to life when she had taken a gentle hold of his hand and had stirred even more when she placed it against her throat. It was not choking her that had entered his head when his hand closed around her neck. It was how much he wanted to caress her smooth skin before his lips settled there to taste her.

The thought jolted him and he shoved her away.

“I will come for you when Cyra returns,” he said and went to the door. “Remember a warrior stands guard.”

“It matters not,” Espy said. “I will not run.” Again she was reminded that she had no place to go, but then she was finally home and there was no place else she would want to be.

Craven did not look back. He walked out and barked orders for one of his warriors to remain and for Tass to ride back with them. Two warriors had already left with their prisoner in tow and Craven wanted to be gone from there as well.

He did not like that Espy stirred him to life with a simple touch, even Aubrey had not done that to him. It was because he had gone without coupling for far too long that this was happening. He needed a woman, but he did not want just any woman. He wanted Aubrey. He missed her tender touch, her sweet voice. The way she would slowly melt in his arms when he touched or kissed her.

Why, though, had it been Espy who he responded to after all this time?

* * *

Espy sat at the table, locking her hands together to keep them from shaking. It was not her words to Craven that had her trembling, it was the look in his eyes she had seen when his hand rested at her throat. She was familiar with that look, had seen it on men’s faces, and had guarded against it, for not all men asked permission of a woman. She did not understand why it had sparked in Craven’s eyes. He hated her, wanted nothing to do with her except to see her suffer. So why had she seen passion flare in Craven’s eyes when she touched him?

Worse though… why had she felt the same herself?