Wed to a Highland Warrior by Donna Fletcher Page A

people. What they wanted to hear. What they needed to know. Her grandmum had told her that she would be condemned more than revered. And that life would prove difficult for her unless . . . she was lucky enough to have someone understand and love her for who she was.
    She could not help but wonder if Trey could be that man.
    “Sometimes more than others,” she answered. She thought he would kiss her then, he leaned in close. But a noise startled them both, and they jumped apart.
    Trey’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and he cast a cautious glance around.
    “Animals at play,” she said.
    “You know this?”
    She pointed to two squirrels scrambling along the branch of a tree.
    He shook his head and stood. “We have wasted enough time.”
    Was that what he thought of their time together—wasted? She knew before the thought was finished that it was not what he meant. He was concerned for her. It showed in his eyes and his touch. He reached out and took her hand as he always did, as if by simply holding on to her, he could keep her safe.
    Bliss wasn’t so sure. As much as she wanted to believe their time together would be over soon, and she could go home as planned, she didn’t see it that way. What was it that would keep them together, at least for a time? And why did she try so hard to deny it?
    He stood, reached down, and grabbed her around the waist, but before he lifted her gently to her feet, he asked, “How is your arm?”
    “It heals well,” she assured him. The little healing she had done on it had helped greatly.
    He lifted her, settling her in front of him, his hands remaining at her waist. “We need to be on our way.”
    She was growing much too accustomed to his touch. His hands were always there to help her, and she found herself relying on him. It seemed strange, yet so right.
    “Aye, I agree,” she said. “A storm will break soon enough.”
    “There isn’t a cloud in the sky.” He smiled, though as they took a few steps, the first gray cloud raced overhead, and others soon followed.
    Bliss shivered, not from a chill but the portent of the darkening sky.
    T rey kept close watch on Bliss as they made their way along a well-traveled path. He had thought to travel the woods rather than a worn path, but with the terrain rough and her wound so fresh, he felt in the end it would only slow them down.
    He also wanted to reach her friend’s before the storm broke, and so the well-traveled road was a quicker route. Or perhaps it was he who needed the familiar road, feeling in unfamiliar territory with Bliss.
    She was different in many ways and yet so familiar in others. When he had kissed her . . . his groin had tightened, a common enough reaction, and yet he had thought only on the kiss, nothing beyond that. It had been—he almost laughed aloud, for the kiss had been magical just like Bliss herself.
    But how to deal with magic? Women could be complicated creatures on their own; add magic, and what then? There was much besides the kiss to consider, and the only way he could conceive of making sense of it was to pursue it. And he truly did look forward to the pursuit.
    The weather did not favor them, rain starting to fall when they were not far from their destination. By the time they arrived at her friend’s cottage, they were nearly soaked through.
    A sharp crack of thunder heralded them through the door, and they both stood silent after first glance. The cottage was empty.
    Trey went to the fireplace and after examining the half-burnt log and ashes, said, “This has been cold for some time.” He grabbed kindling from the nearby basket and soon had a fire going.
    Bliss moved close to the hearth, rainwater dripping from her cloak and down her face from her wet hair. She held her hands out to the heat, her eyes fixed on the leaping flames.
    Trey remained silent though deep in thought. Had her friend died because of their delay? If not, where could she have gone? Bliss would surely blame