Page 37 of Captured By the Highland Devil
“Thank ye,” Paige replied.
She headed back to the healing hall to find Ruben sitting up, his elbows on his knees. With the way he was facing her, she could see the edge.
Raised scars intersected with the others not just on his back, but also the backs of his arms. Her horrified gaze followed each trail, unable to move as she took in the sight.
God—how he must have suffered.
There wasn’t an inch of his back that was left unmutilated. Tears began to build under her eyes and she wanted to cry at the thought of all the pain he’d gone through. Somehow, she managed to swallow down the urge to make any sound.
“I have yer water,” she said quietly.
He sat up and wordlessly took the chalice with ice and the jug of water from her. He sipped slowly and Paige took the opportunity to look at his back.
Maisie was right; his back was littered with scars, small and large and she guessed, recent and some much older. If she thought of him as the warmonger, she thought him to be, the scars coupled well with his reputation.
But now, knowing he had sacrificed himself to save others had her thoughts swaying to pity. How had he withstood it? It had to have been many whippings to have made the huge, raised scars.From the back of his neck to his waist, there was barely any spot left untouched.
He tensed. “Take yer pity and throw it to the dogs, lass. I daenae need yer pity.”
Ashamed, Paige ducked her head. “Maisie told me how ye switched one of the prisoners for ye when the Northeners invaded. I—I dinnae believe ye would do such a thing.”
He scoffed. “Aye, because I am such a beast.”
Paige sighed, “I daenae think of ye that way anymore.”
His brow ticked up, while profound skepticism rested in his eyes. “And what lead to this sudden change, pray tell?”
“Me maither is pressin’ on me to more acceptin’ of the situation we’re in, that I should nae keep pushin’ aversion and hate between us if I want to live a peaceful life.” Paige said.
“And with the inconsistent recounts of with the war and all the secrets, I feel that I should give ye some doubt.”
Ruben straightened, his gaze still. “I will tell ye what ye need to ken—” Her heart leaped. “— but I daenae think ye’re ready for the truth now.”
Shattered, Paige took small comfort in him promised to tell her the truth, then said. “I’d appreciate that.”
Pushing off from the bed, Ruben made for the door, but Paige stopped him, “Ye should be restin’.”
“I will be,” he said, striding though the door. “In me chambers.”
Ruben rolled over and yawned. Despite the drapes keeping his bed chamber mostly dark, he instinctively knew it was the middle of the night.
The howling gale outside was so strong that he heard the branches of the trees being viciously whipped back and forth. Slipping from the bed, he went to a window to tighten the shutter, when the wind yanked the pane out.
“Damn it,” he swore and yanked the pane back in.
The teeming rain was being swept sideways with such force that it was almost horizontal. The storm seemed to have been sent from hell, but Ruben was not disturbed; he’d weathered more of those storms that he cared to admit.
Padding to the joint washing room, he went to rinse his mouth do he could take the last of the painkilling brew. As he filled a cup, through the adjoining door, he heard whimpering. It took all he could not to roll his eyes.
“The lass is scared of storms,” he sighed, “Why am I nae surprised?”
After finishing rinsing his mouth, he moved from the room and into her, pausing only as the doorway to see if she was asleep. She was curled up on her side, a mound of blankets atop her, while she shivered.
“I’ve got ye.” Ruben said as he slid both arms under her back and knees. “Hold on.”
The lass looked up but was too weak with relief to protest at being hefted up his muscular body like a sack of grain.
Without hesitation, he tucked her into his side, holding her to his chest as he carried her to his chambers. She made not a sound; no protests came forth as they walked.
