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croft.”
    â€œYou don’t believe I can,” she said, seeing the doubt.
    â€œYou can at the cost of pain and more swelling.”
    â€œBut it will bring us closer to your home, my new home, and that is where I long to be.”
    â€œI cannot fault you there,” Reeve admitted. “I long to be home myself.”
    â€œYou miss your family?”
    â€œAye, I do,” he admitted, tucking the hem of her cloak around her feet and stretching his legs out where he sat beside her. “Mercy, Duncan’s wife, is expecting their first babe in the summer, and the family can’t wait for the wee one to be born.”
    â€œHow wonderful,” she said, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice. She loved children and had hoped to have many. Rory and she had talked about having a large family. He had joked about starting his own clan, and she had been willing to oblige him. They had been so young and so in love. There seemed to be nothing to stand in their way . . . nothing except death.
    â€œAre any of your other brothers married?” Tara asked, not wanting to focus on sorrowful memories.
    â€œNone but Duncan,” he said.
    â€œAnd none in love?”
    Reeve hesitated a moment. “Trey lost the woman he loved, killed by our enemies.”
    â€œHow terrible for him,” she said, too familiar with the pain of loss.
    â€œIt was,” Reeve agreed. “The family didn’t think he would ever heal. I sometimes wonder if he has, or if he has just found a way to cope with it.”
    The hiss of the flames drew their attention, and the succulent scent of the roasting rabbit reminded them of how hungry they were. Soon they were enjoying the meal, and soon after that, Reeve was dousing the fire with handfuls of dirt and kicking the last of the charred wood apart.
    â€œAre you sure of this?” he asked.
    Tara nodded. Pain or not it had to be done.
    They set off, and she didn’t know how she kept pace with Reeve, but she managed. Her ankle pained unmercifully until finally it settled into a dull rhythmic throb that, in a strange way, became bearable, or was it that she ignored it as best she could.
    Reeve endlessly asked if she was all right, and she endlessly informed him that she was fine. But after a few hours, the throbbing increased, and she began to ask him how long it would be before they reached the croft.
    Finally, Reeve stopped abruptly and turned, reaching for her.
    She swerved out of his reach. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI intend to carry you.”
    â€œYou most certainly will not.”
    â€œThere’s no time to argue,” he said. “And since you have repeatedly asked how far we have to go, your ankle must be paining you. I hadn’t expected you to last this long.”
    â€œI can manage,” she insisted adamantly, expecting him to argue.
    He stretched out his hand to her. “Let me help you.”
    This time when he stepped forward, she didn’t stop him from scooping her up. Even with the weight off it, her ankle continued to throb. But that wasn’t what drew her attention. A chorus of chaotic warnings shouted in her head how dangerous it was to be in his arms.
    Why then did his embrace feel so utterly wonderful? The brute strength of his arms, the ease with which he carried her, the determination on his handsome face, they all made it seem so right.
    Without thinking, she laid her head on his shoulder, tucking the top of her head beneath his chin and snuggling comfortably against him.
    â€œThere’s another abandoned farm a short distance away. We’ll stop there for the night.”
    Her head shot up.
    â€œDon’t bother to argue,” he said, cutting off her protest. “You can’t walk on this ankle, and the more you try, the worse it will get and the longer it will take us to reach home.”
    It annoyed her that he made sense, and so she returned her head to his shoulder without