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room. What should she do? What was expected of her? Did she sit up, acknowledge him, welcome him?
    Honora wanted to cry out in frustration, but instead remained silent and waited. When Cavan did not make himself known, she grew curious and inched herself up slowly in the bed. She stared with confusion at her husband, who she now could see was sleeping on the floor in front of the fire, a single blanket over him, his arm a pillow.
    Relief rushed over her, though she quelled it fast enough when she realized their vows would not be sealed tonight, which meant their marriage was not valid. Why would he deny himself his husbandly rights? Did he not find her attractive? Did he think to somehow rid himself of her?
    Honora lay back down and pulled the cover up to her chin. What would happen if her father found out? If anyone found out? Surely she would be to blame.
    She shivered. Her wedding day had turned disastrous and her wedding night had become a nightmare she would have never imagined possible. She felt ashamed, as she knew her father would if he learned that her husband rejected her. She had no idea what she should do.
    Perhaps the morning would offer new insights. She would rise early and see to her husband’s breakfast and her duties. If he saw what a respectful wife she was, perhaps then he would want her.
    A yawn interrupted her worries, and before she could dwell any longer on them, her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.
    She woke with a slow stretch and a smile for the sunshine that fell across her face, then jumped up, realizing it was well past sunrise. When she looked to the hearth, she gasped.
    Her husband was gone.

Chapter 5
    C avan walked the moor alone, some areas so thick with heather that they cast a purple glow in the early morning light. He needed time to consolidate his thoughts and deal with his anger. He had thought his arrival home would heal his many wounds, but not so; he seemed to have worsened. He didn’t feel fit to be with his family, let alone a wife.
    He came to a spot on the moor where he had often come, a place of solitude and beauty for it had a view of the sea and the angry waves that continuously pounded the cliff as if demanding it get out of the way.
    He empathized with the senseless battering for that was how he had felt while imprisoned. His anger would futilely clash with the barbarians and he’d be left like the pounding waves against the jagged cliff, getting nowhere, still imprisoned, still suffering, still longing to return home.
    Now that he was home, he felt as if he no longer belonged, had no right to be here, especially since his brother Ronan was still among the barbarians.The idea that Ronan continued to suffer while he was finally free angered him beyond words. He wanted his brother home with family; maybe then he himself would feel that he once again belonged.
    Unfortunately, Artair and Lachlan objected to his plan to search for Ronan. They had informed him last night that search parties were continually sent out in hopes of finding their brother and that Artair or Lachlan, sometimes both of them, would go and investigate claims that Ronan was spotted in a particular area. All that could be done was being done and had been done for him and Ronan, they told Cavan, from the first day of capture.
    Cavan had exchanged heated words with his brothers last night, and his father had spoken to him after sending his disgruntled brothers away. His father’s tone was gentle yet firm, letting him know he understood that his capture at the hands of the barbarians could not have been easy, but he had survived and escaped, and if he had, then why not Ronan?
    Tavish Sinclare had confidence in both his sons and expected that Ronan would also one day return home; of that he had no doubt. He said as much. He also said that did not mean the search would not continue, but told Cavan he had to understand that Artair and Lachlan were doing their best and felt just as strongly about Ronan’s