Return of the Rogue by Donna Fletcher Page A

that tingled her fingertips. Was the heat from her or from him?
    I like the scent of you .
    She thought he hadn’t noticed, and had begun to wonder if she was wasting time scenting herself. But he had noticed, and he liked it.
    Her shock didn’t chase the smile, which lingered. It came from too deep inside her to dismiss easily, and had been a long time in coming. She couldn’t recall when she had smiled with such pleasure before.
    “What are you doing here? You were ordered to remain in the keep.”
    The familiar harsh voice chased her smile away in an instant, and sent fear racing through her. But she was quick with an explanation, keeping her distance as she walked past her stepfather. “I wished to bid my husband a safe and successful battle,” she told him.
    “Finally you do something right,” Calum said, though it sounded more like an accusation.
    “I must see to my chores,” Honora said, hurrying her steps to get away from Calum before he could say or ask anything more, or before he found a reason to raise his hand to her.
    “See that you do,” he shouted as she left the stable.
    Normally, she would worry over her stepfather’s accusations or actions, but today was different. Today she thought about her husband, especially in the early afternoon when the rain began to fall gently and she sat in the sewing room stitching a shirt for him.
    It was then his words grew strong in her head.
    Good, then I will not worry over you .
    Her husband worried over her. Her mother had been the last person to truly worry over her, and she’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone care. Her husband might only have worried over her because she was his wife, of course, and that was his duty, but he did worry, and that made her feel cared for and, in a way, loved.
    Not that she was foolish enough to believe Cavan loved her. She did not. But she knew that he was an honorable man who did the honorable thing, which was to care for his wife whether he chose her or not.
    And for that alone she cared for him.

Chapter 8
    C avan dragged a wounded Lachlan off the battlefield and secured him behind the protection of a large boulder.
    “Move and so help me God, I will finish you off myself.”
    His brother snickered. “Not likely.”
    Cavan shoved a protesting Lachlan back against the boulder. “Your leg took a severe blow.”
    “I can still fight.”
    “The hell you can.” Cavan grabbed Lachlan’s sword and stood. “Fair warning, brother, move, and I promise you, you will be sorry.”
    “My big brother warning me?” Lachlan laughed with a grimace.
    “Your big brother promising you.” Cavan squeezed his shoulder.
    Lachlan laughed. “Go win the battle; I’ll be waiting for you.”
    Cavan reentered the battle with an eye on Artair. His father had warned them all to return safely, and with him leading the battle, it was his responsibility to do as his father commanded.
    He had lost one brother, he would not lose another.
    Cavan fought like a man enraged, and when the battle was done, stood on the battlefield gripping his blood-soaked sword, his warriors staring wide-eyed at him. He had taken down more barbarians than all his warriors combined, and it wasn’t admiration he saw in their faces, but pure fear.
    “Cavan!”
    He turned to look at his brother Artair.
    “Lachlan needs help.”
    Cavan carried Lachlan into the keep, Artair following behind. Addie came running, Tavish preceding her, and servants hurried to assist. Lachlan was laid on a table before the hearth, his garments dampened by the rain that had turned heavy just as they entered the keep.
    Lachlan was barely conscious. Family hovered around him, Addie examining the wound and shaking her head.
    “It is deep.”
    Cavan spewed oaths beneath his breath. He should have protected Lachlan, he told himself. He should have been there to deflect the sword. It was his responsibility; he was the oldest brother.
    “This wound is bad, very bad,” Addie said, brushing