Claimed by the Highland Warrior. Michelle Willingham

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      Her father had been right. They needed to get far away from Ballaloch. Only at Glen Arrin, among Bram’s family, would they be safe.

      When the sun had begun to descend, she asked Bram, ‘Where do you want to stop for the night?’ Though she wasn’t quite ready to sleep, she was growing hungry.

      Nothing. It was as if she’d spoken to empty air.

      ‘Bram?’ she prompted again. He didn’t turn, didn’t move, except to keep his gaze fixated upon the road ahead. It was then that she noticed his hands were shaking. Though his posture remained perfectly upright, something wasn’t right.

      His eyes were unseeing, as if he were caught within a dream. Was he even aware of anything?

      ‘What is it?’

      Bram didn’t speak, so she pulled against the reins, ordering the horse to stop. He didn’t seem to notice that they were no longer moving. His brown eyes were vacant and she reached out to take his hands in hers. His flesh was icy cold.

      ‘Tell me,’ she whispered, suddenly frightened. The sky was darkening, the wind shifting around them. Bram appeared lost in a world of his own thoughts and she suspected he didn’t hear her at all.

      She reached out to touch his cheek, hoping that the gesture would awaken him from the spell he was under. Gently, she slid her fingertips down his skin to his throat. When her touch grazed against his scar, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Madness brewed in his eyes and he stared hard at her, as though she were an enemy trying to slay him.

      The pain made her gasp and she closed her eyes, wondering how in God’s name she would break through to him. Though he’d lost a great deal of strength, she didn’t doubt he could snap her wrist in half.

      ‘Bram, it’s Nairna,’ she insisted. ‘Look at me. It’s your—’ she let out a shuddering breath ‘—your wife,’ she managed. ‘Please let go of my wrist.’

      When he didn’t, she fought back against the harsh pain. ‘You’re hurting me, Bram.’

      Agonising minutes stretched on while she spoke quietly to him, praying that he would somehow see her.

      And then, abruptly, he let go. He blinked at her, his eyes suddenly narrowing. When he saw her clutching at her wrist and her reddened skin, he let out a tortured breath.

      ‘What did I do to you, Nairna?’

      She shook her head, not knowing what to say. Her heart shook within her chest and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he breathed, trying to examine her hand, but she kept it far away from him. ‘I was dreaming. I must have fallen asleep.’

      ‘Your eyes were open,’ she insisted.

      He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his face sink into his hands. His fingers were still trembling, she realised. A deep fear sank inside her, for she didn’t know whether or not Bram was telling the truth. It might have been a waking dream, or it might have been madness. She didn’t know.

      ‘Let’s stop here for the night,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll get some rest and start again in the morning.’

      ‘Nairna.’ He lifted his head and she saw the regret etched on his face. ‘Never in a thousand years would I knowingly hurt you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

      She moved away from him, stepping down from the wagon. Her thoughts were in such turmoil right now that she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she nodded and walked towards the stream, holding her bruised wrist.

      Bram let her go, never taking his eyes from his wife. He watched as she knelt by the stream, bathing her wrist in the cool water. It felt as though someone had taken a knife and carved out his soul.

      He’d done this to her. He’d let the nightmares bend him into the shape of a man he didn’t know. She must have said something to him, possibly touched him. And he’d had no control over the visions that plagued him.

      The encounter with the English soldiers had conjured up a darkness he didn’t want to face. Seeing their armour, hearing their threats against Nairna, had brought back the past few years. Although they were no different from the countless soldiers he’d seen before, seeing them had been like pouring oil over the flames of his memory.

      Because of it, he’d hurt Nairna, the innocent wife whom he’d wanted to protect. There were not enough words to apologise for what he’d done and she wouldn’t understand what had happened anyway.

      The years of torment had changed him, so that he no longer slept like a normal man. He remained awake for long hours, until exhaustion caught him without warning. Never did he sleep at night and never when he craved rest.

      One moment, he would be standing; the next he’d have no memory of how time had passed or what had happened to him. More than once, he’d blacked out in the midst of working on one of the damned stone walls. He’d awakened to the pain of a lash striking across his back, a whip that only ceased when he returned to his labour.

       You’re not there anymore, he reminded himself. It’s in the past.

      But Callum was still there. And no one could shelter his brother from the English torturers.

      He got down from the wagon and unhitched the horse, leading it to the water. His wife remained where she was, though he didn’t miss the guarded fear in her eyes. Seeing it only intensified his self-hatred.

      As the horse drank, he stared into the water, angry with himself for what he’d done. He needed to say something to her, or, better, do something to make amends. Words weren’t enough.

      The soft shush of her skirts against the grass told him that she’d come up behind him. ‘Are you all right, Bram?’

      He nodded. ‘Is your wrist still hurting?’

      ‘A little.’ But in her voice he heard the tremor of worry.

      He reached up to take her wrist. Gently, he caressed the skin, furious with himself.

      ‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly. And in her green eyes he saw that she wasn’t going to turn her back on him because of a moment of darkness. Her quiet reassurance was a forgiveness he’d never expected.

      He stared at her wrist, then reached down to the hem of his tunic and rent the fabric, tearing off a long thin strip.

      Nairna stared at Bram, uncertain of why he was damaging his tunic. ‘What are you doing?’

      He took her wrist and fumbled with the strip of cloth, wrapping it around her bruise like a bandage. His hands were trembling, but he kept winding the cloth until it covered her skin. It was loose and awkward, but she voiced no criticism. It was his way of trying to atone for his actions. Her heart stumbled, for she knew he’d never meant to hurt her.

      ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she murmured. When he reached for her other wrist, she stopped him. ‘I know you weren’t aware of what happened. I shouldn’t have touched your scar.’

      For a long moment, he held on to her hand, СКАЧАТЬ