Chapter Nine
Had she heard him correctly? Was there a note of possessiveness in his voice, or was he simply agitated by the whole situation? He’d risked much bringing her home. “I am not a helpless child,” she reminded him. “I am capable of looking after myself.”
She felt Darach watching her—knew he was attracted to her. Surprisingly, she felt the same. But why? They’d known each other but a day. Her mother’s wise warning came to her then, telling her to guard herself against any man she felt a sudden attachment to. Especially if it’s mutual, her mother had said. Tis the most dangerous and lasting sort of affection a man and woman can share.
Aye . . . She was frozen, staring at Darach. Dangerous was only one of the ways to describe the man. He was handsome and so big and strong, not unlike a Norseman. Untamed and thirsty for battle and adventure, like most warriors. And passionate. She took a slow, deep breath.
“What is it, Elle? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”
She retreated a step, out of reach. “Tis nothing. Only a fleeting memory.”
“Will ye share it with me?”
“Will you steal my private thoughts, too?”
He snorted. “Never ye mind,” he said dismissively. “Twas an attempt at being friendly. Nothing more.”
“Wait,” she said more sweetly. “I am sorry, Darach. So much has happened. And no matter how much I try to think of the happy future I might have, I cannot seem to forget my dire circumstances. I am without my family and friends, and now I do not have a place to call home.” Ashamed of the tears that started to blur her vision, she turned away. “Perhaps it would be best if you left me alone.” She’d not planned on confessing her deepest fears to him. Much the opposite, she’d hoped to keep careful control over her emotions. Her sire had raised her to reject pity—to stand strong whenever she faced a challenge.
But her mother . . .
Elle blamed this sudden show of weakness on her mother’s tender heart. Where her father had failed to make her tough, Elle’s mother had made her loving and caring. There was a hollow place in her chest now, and she desperately wanted to fill it. “Please, leave me.”
Darach’s warm breath tickled the back of her neck as he hugged her from behind, locking his large hands over her stomach. He buried his face in her long hair, inhaling loudly.
“There’s no shame in crying, lass,” he whispered. “My arms are open wide for ye. Count me as a friend, not an enemy.”
When had his feelings changed? “Friend?” She turned around, looking up at him. “Only yesterday—”
“I spoke too soon.” He cupped her cheek, offering her solace. “Mourn for yer family and friends, lass.”
She blinked at him, unsure what to say.
“Ye’ve suffered enough loss for three lifetimes.”
Strength completely failed her now. She silently laid her head upon his shoulder, tears falling freely down her cheeks.
Darach wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight to his body, stroking her hair and making comforting noises. “Time will help,” he said.
Elle couldn’t disagree more. Time would only deepen her sorrow. For the longer she was left with her memories, the more it pained her to think at all.
Darach’s body screamed for relief as Elle clung to him for comfort. He raised his head, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the Almighty had placed this beautiful woman in his care. He might not be the same man once Elle was done with him. And though he knew the lass couldn’t stay in his house forever, he was determined to make whatever time they had together meaningful. Let her first experiences in Scotia be as happy as possible, so when she did find her way elsewhere, she’d look back on these new memories fondly.
I want ye . . . All of ye. To make love to ye all day and night. To hold ye close and hear ye laugh. To make ye smile. To make ye forget. Words he wanted to speak, but never would. She was forbidden fruit—Norse. Ripe for the plucking. He pulled back then, tipping her chin up so he could search her blue eyes.
He saw the same fire in them he knew shined in his own whenever he gazed at her. The lass felt something for him—an undeniable connection. “Ye are beautiful.”
“Please . . . don’t.”
“Elle.” He liked everything about her, yet really didn’t know her. Unless . . . He groaned.
“Darach?”
“I’m sorry, lass. I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He released her and made his way to the door. “I will keep watch outside while ye bathe and dress.”
“Did I say something to offend you?”
“Nay.”
“I have no fresh clothes to wear.”
“A maid will bring yer trunk. And when ye’re ready, I will escort ye to the great hall to break yer fast.”
He didn’t give Elle a chance to say anything. He needed to get away before he made promises he couldn’t keep, and before she crawled into his arms again and shed those bittersweet tears that made him want to destroy anyone or anything that dared break her bloody Norse heart.