Текст книги "My notorious highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Two

"The lady has no interest in talking to you alone," Jessie told Torrin through the gates. Besides, she wished to go back inside before the storm hit.

Torrin merely gave her that enigmatic hint of a smile again. He then switched his attention to MacBain and gave him a warning look. "Give us some privacy."

MacBain narrowed his eyes. "I think not, MacLeod."

"Would you like shelter during the coming storm? Or do you prefer staying out here?"

MacBain surveyed the turbulent sky. "Very well, then. Let us see if you can sweet talk her into allowing us entrance. But I doubt it." MacBain and his men moved twenty feet away.

"Could I have a moment to talk to her, Aiden?" Torrin asked her brother, his tone respectful.

"Are you in agreement with this, sister?"

"Aye. I'll be fine." She didn't want Torrin to know she feared him.

Aiden stepped back a good distance, but continued to watch them. Not that he could beat Torrin off her if he decided to reach through the iron bars and grab her. 'Twas likely that Aiden, with his slight frame, weighed only half as much as Torrin did with his warrior strength.

"How long have you been friends with MacBain?" Jessie asked, making sure she stayed more than an arm's length away from the gate. But he had long arms that were thick with muscle.

Torrin frowned, looking more ominous than the dark, cloudy sky above. "I'm not friends with the daft man. They came upon us while we were traveling. Once I heard where he was headed and why, I suggested we ride together. I came to protect you."

Jessie forced an ironic smile. "I have no need for your protection." Besides, that would be like a wolf protecting a herd of sheep. After all was said and done, he'd feast on a few of them.

"Nevertheless… I consider Dirk a friend. He is not here to protect you from this knave, so I felt it my responsibility."

"How could it possibly be your responsibility? We've barely spoken."

He allowed an amused look combined with a look of determination. "I intend to speak to you far more, m'lady," he said in a lowered voice.

The feverish chills covering her, head to toe, had little to do with the whipping wind and far more to do with his intimate tone. "Why?"

He raised a brow. "I think we both ken the answer to that."

Aye, she knew he'd asked Dirk for her hand in marriage last winter. "I'm not marrying anyone. Not MacBain, and certainly not you."

His smirking, confident smile made her grind her teeth. Could naught dissuade him from his ridiculous objective?

"Are you thinking I would marry a man with a paramour and children in the village?"

Torrin frowned, his amusement vanishing. "Who are you speaking of? MacBain?"

"Nay. You."

"I don't ken who has been spreading rumors, but I have no paramour in the village and certainly no children that I'm aware of."

Ha. Of course he would deny it. But her sister-in-law, Isobel, had told her this and the information had come from Torrin's own brother. He'd said Torrin was in love with the village lass.

"Who told you this?" he demanded.

"It matters not." She didn't want to get Isobel into trouble. It wasn't her fault if his outlaw brother had lied. "What is he planning?" She nodded toward MacBain.

Torrin eyed her a moment longer, making it obvious he didn't want to drop the subject of the rumors. "MacBain thinks he can convince you to marry him, a legal and binding marriage this time." Torrin shrugged. "But he has far more interest in your dowry. He is the least trustworthy man I've ever met."

Hmph. He was one to talk. "I would imagine you also have a great interest in my dowry." Torrin had to know that Dirk had added the hundred-and-fifty acres that Chief MacKenzie had given him, which joined his own. Everyone knew he was keen on acquiring that land for crops.

Torrin's dark green eyes were troubled. "'Tis not my main interest."

"Of course not," she said doubtfully.

"I would like for us to get to know each other better, Lady Jessie." His voice was sober and his eyes hopeful.

'Twas true she was not well acquainted with him, but the most significant thing she knew about him was that he'd killed her foster brother, Lyall Keith, eight years past. She'd watched the whole horrific incident take place from her hidden vantage point in the old oak. She'd been sixteen summers at the time and had nightmares for months afterward—nightmares that featured Torrin, hunting her down and killing her, the only witness to his crime. She hadn't known who he was and, without a clue to his name or clan, the Keiths could not seek retribution. What would Torrin do if he knew she'd witnessed his dark deed? She would put him and his clan in danger. He might then be more interested in killing her than marrying her.

Lightning flashed behind her, over the sea, and thunder rumbled.

"A storm is approaching," Torrin said.

"I can see that, but why would I want to allow you and MacBain within these gates?"

"MacBain isn't trustworthy, but I don't believe he means you or your clan harm. My men and I certainly mean you no harm." Torrin lowered his voice. "In fact, we'll act as guards. I've secretly assigned one of my men to each of his to keep a very close eye on them."

"What makes you think I trust you and your men any more than I trust the MacBains?"

He shrugged. "I ken trust has to be earned. And that's what I'm here to do—earn your trust." His expression was so sincere, she found herself wanting to believe him, but she knew too much about him.

"You have an uphill battle ahead of you."

"'Twill not be the first time." The determination in his eyes made her stomach ache and her pulse rate increase.

She switched her gaze to MacBain. Even though he was annoying, he didn't knock her out of kilter half as much as Torrin. "I don't want that bastard anywhere near me."

"He thinks you still carry a torch for him." Torrin sounded amused.

"Ha."

"Do you?"

Against her will, her gaze was pulled back to Torrin and his expression of dark humor. Why did he find her so entertaining? "Of course not. He's a scoundrel who has no inkling how to be faithful to one woman."

"Prove it to him, then, and mayhap he will leave you alone."

"What do you mean?" The fearsome wind off the sea blew her hair into her face and she pushed it behind her ear.

"Prove you think he is lower than a worm, that you despise him, and he will no doubt leave in a hurry." Torrin glanced up at the sky. "But to deny him Highland hospitality, especially during a storm, would bring you down to his level. You don't want to sully the MacKay name by being unfriendly to an ally, do you?"

She rolled her eyes. "How can the most notorious Highlander in these parts ask me that?"

"Notorious?" Torrin's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Aye. Who else would I be talking about?"

"Very well. I ken I have a reputation because of the battles I've fought, but that has naught to do with hospitality."

As far as she was concerned, his reputation had everything to do with the heinous deed he'd performed with cold calculation. Aye, she was certain it had been him, though they'd both been much younger.

"If you appear angry with him, he'll get the impression that you are still smitten with him. But if you seem bored with him, 'twill be clear you've forgotten him. 'Haps he will leave tomorrow. Who knows?"

She could only hope. "Will you convince him to leave tomorrow?"

"I'll do my best."

She prayed Torrin would leave at the same time. Aye, he was too disconcerting by far.

"Very well, but everyone must leave their weapons in the guard house," she said.

Torrin nodded. "Wise move." He winked.

Heat flashed over her like the approaching lightning… along with annoyance at herself that she would feel any sort of attraction to him. The longer she glared at him, the more pronounced his grin. He then turned to MacBain. "The lady has agreed we might enter, but we must disarm ourselves."

MacBain strode forward, his glare switching from Torrin to her, but he didn't immediately remove his weapons. His men scowled and muttered amongst themselves.

Loud thunder boomed out over the sea.

"Search them and make certain they are not armed, save for the knives they need to eat with," she instructed the nearby MacKay guards. "Your men may stay in the barracks this night," she told MacBain. "I'm certain you'll want to be on your way in the morn."

Gregor said naught, but his smug grin told her what he was thinking. He was going to try to win back her hand. 'Twould never happen.

The MacKay guards disarmed the men of both clans outside the gates, then allowed them entrance.

Her gaze darted to Torrin as he handed over his dirk and sword in the leather baldric. She hadn't remembered how tall he was, several inches taller than Gregor, who was about an inch shorter than Jessie. She'd always thought that was one reason he'd not been happy with her. He had to look up at her and likely felt like less of a man. She almost smiled.

She headed back toward the castle's entrance just as the first cold drops of rain spattered her hair and clothing.

Torrin fell into step beside her. "You look very pleased with yourself, m'lady."

"Nay. Why should I be, when two men I didn't want to see have shown up at the gates?"

With a hint of a smile, he sent her an amused glance beneath his dark lashes. If not for his past and what she knew about him, she could see herself being incredibly drawn to him. But obviously he was not who he appeared to be. 'Haps he had a benevolent side and a monstrous side. Or maybe all the benevolence was an act.

When they entered the great hall, Jessie motioned Torrin and Gregor to the high table. "Please make yourselves comfortable and your supper will be served."

She had been almost finished with her meal earlier, when she'd been interrupted. But even if she hadn't been, she had no appetite now. She directed the servants to bring their visitors food and drink. Most of the men, aside from Torrin and Gregor, would sleep in the barracks on the opposite side of the bailey. She headed up the stairs in search of the chambermaids. She would have them prepare two bedchambers for the chiefs in a separate wing from where her own chamber was located. She could only hope they would behave themselves and remain in their rooms the whole of the night.

Gregor MacBain was like a thorn in her arse. She wished she'd never met the man at the Keith's residence. He'd seemed interested in her from that first meeting when she was nineteen summers, and she'd thought him a handsome man. Later, after she returned home to Dunnakeil, he'd sought her out and talked to her father about arranging a trial marriage. Her father preferred they have a legal and binding marriage, but MacBain wouldn't hear of it. He much preferred a trial marriage because he needed an heir first and foremost. For that reason, he needed to know if she could conceive before the legal marriage took place.

Her father had gone along with it because MacBain was a chief and baron with impressive holdings to the south. Jessie had not known MacBain, except for the amicable façade he put forth. Being of marriageable age, she knew she would have to marry someone. She wanted a family, after all. MacBain had been her best prospect at the time, and she'd hoped they could grow to love one another.

In the end, she hadn't conceived, or maybe he simply hadn't tried hard enough. They'd shared a bed for three months during their time together, but she didn't know if that had been enough. Embarrassed that she hadn't conceived and feeling like a failure, she'd told people they'd only shared a bed three times.

MacBain had seen and fallen in love with another woman. Or more likely, it was lust. She didn't think the man was capable of deep emotion. But she hadn't known about the other woman for months. MacBain had met with her secretly.

Unfortunately, by that time, Jessie had found herself smitten with MacBain, and his rejection and desertion hurt her deeply. Realizing how naïve she'd been to trust him, she couldn't wait to wash her hands of the fickle man and go home.

'Twas obvious he was back now only for her dowry. She would've known that even if Torrin hadn't told her. MacBain had his heir, but now he wanted funds and more land. He would have to acquire them elsewhere for she would never agree to marry him, and Dirk wouldn't force her to. Dirk was an understanding brother who took her wishes into consideration. After all, he hadn't ordered her to marry Torrin, thank the saints. As far as she knew, Dirk already had an alliance with Torrin, and there was no need to arrange a marriage to solidify it.

Now, she saw that Torrin was just as persistent as MacBain, but she knew him to be twice as dangerous.

***

Sitting at the high table, Torrin glanced around the great hall at his men and MacBain's, but he didn't see Jessie. Where had she gone? He'd hoped she would eat supper with them, but mayhap she'd already eaten. It appeared most of the MacKay clan was finished as well, while they drank ale and talked to the newcomers.

Since Torrin had spoken to Lady Jessie at the gates—the most he'd ever talked to her—he was even more eager to spend time with her. He had not imagined the keen attraction between them. 'Twas real, and he didn't think it was one-sided either. Given her adorable blushes, darkened eyes, and fidgeting hands, he suspected he made her uneasy. He'd wanted to take her hands in his, kiss her knuckles and soothe her.

Thank the saints he'd convinced her to allow them entrance to Dunnakeil. Thunder exploded overhead and lightning flashed outside the arrow slit windows.

Aiden and other musicians played music to entertain them while they ate. At the moment, he was playing a lamenting bagpipe ballad about lost love. It reminded Torrin of when he'd been a lad, eating supper in the great hall of Munrick; their piper had often played the same tune. 'Twas a bittersweet memory, for Torrin had loved spending time with his brother and cousins, but he'd always been on edge, expecting his father to strike him down at any moment. The only time he'd escaped the frequent beatings was during the four years he'd fostered with the Stewarts. If not for that reprieve, he didn't know what he would've done. He might have turned out like his vindictive brother.

Torrin had heard Aiden play before and was just as impressed this time as he had been in the past at the lad's talent with any instrument he touched.

Torrin kept an eye on Gregor MacBain beside him. The man had already guzzled several goblets of wine, then he pulled out a whisky flask and downed a long swallow.

He caught Torrin watching him and gave a mock smile. "I would offer you some, MacLeod, but I only have a wee dram left."

"I have no hankering for whisky at the moment." He had to keep a clear head and protect Jessie from this scoundrel. No telling what he would do once the drink took hold of him.

"Where in blazes did Lady Jessie get to?" MacBain asked. "I want to dance with the lass."

"I have no inkling," Torrin muttered, then took another bite of the tender venison they'd been served. Although he'd love to see Jessie himself, 'twas probably best that she'd made herself scarce if the imbecile sitting beside him was going to harass her. He doubted Jessie would want to dance with MacBain.

"I'll not let her shun me. I'm going to find her." He pushed back his chair.

Damnation. Grinding his teeth, Torrin did the same and trailed after MacBain as he headed toward a narrow stairwell leading up. Torrin wanted to finish his meal, the best he'd had in weeks. MacBain staggered and grabbed onto the rope which served as a stair rail. This couldn't be good. He dragged himself up the stone turnpike stairway. Torrin followed, and although he wasn't trying to hide from MacBain, the man already appeared too sotted to realize he was trailing behind him.

"Lady Jessie!" MacBain bellowed at the top of the steps. "I have a gift for you, my bonnie lass!"

Coming up behind him, Torrin saw that Jessie stood in the corridor talking with a maid. The maid hastened away. Jessie placed her hands upon her hips. "Your room is almost ready, MacBain. But you must be patient."

He stumbled forward. "Nay, 'tis not that. I brought you something special." Awkwardly, he dug into his sporran.

Jessie's annoyed gaze darted to Torrin. A lightning flash through the narrow window lit her hair to flaming red and her eyes to bright sky-blue. Her vivid beauty snatched his breath and ignited excitement within him. How he wished this buffoon, MacBain, was not here. He'd do everything in his power to convince Jessie to allow him a kiss.

Her attention switched to MacBain who held up a pendant, dangling it from his fingers.

"This is for you, m'lady." He bowed, then offered the pendant to her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I cannot accept any gifts from you."

"What? Are you mad, woman? 'Tis real gold and rubies."

"I'm not interested."

"You're still mad at me," he whined.

Torrin rolled his eyes. Had the man no pride?

"A thoussssand apologies," MacBain slurred. "Hope you can forgive me my past misdeeds."

"I forgive you, but I still cannot accept any gifts," she said, as if bored. "Please go back down to the great hall until your chamber is prepared."

Torrin grinned, glad she'd refused the pendant. Clearly, she was a woman who could not be swayed by expensive gifts, and he admired her for it. He was starting to like her more with every moment he was in her presence.

MacBain let out an exasperated breath and unsteadily dropped the pendant back into his sporran while he wavered back and forth. "S-save it for later then. I'll change your mind, Jessss-ie. Just you wait and see."

"Nay, I think not."

"You protest too much. Come dance, bonnie lass." He staggered toward her.

"I'm too busy to dance, and too tired besides."

"Nonsense. Dancing will make you feel better." He grasped her hand.

She snatched it away. "Go downstairs to the great hall," she ordered through clenched teeth.

Torrin wanted to intervene and kick MacBain's arse back down the stairs, but considering what a strong woman Jessie was, she would likely want to take care of this problem herself. She had to make MacBain understand she had no interest in him, but considering how daft he was, 'twould no doubt take a while to get it through his thick skull.

"Only if you come with me." MacBain grabbed for her hand again, but she drew back and he teetered into the wall.

Torrin took a step forward, ready to seize the bastard if he became more aggressive.

"You're drunk, MacBain. Go into the guest room and sleep it off." Her face red, Jessie pointed at an open doorway.

"Nay. This is no time to sleep. 'Tis time for dancin'… and lovin'."

"You're mad," she muttered, disgust obvious in her low tone.

Torrin shook his head at how ridiculous the man was. "MacBain, leave the lady alone."

MacBain spun around and swayed, but caught himself just before he toppled sideways. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough. Come. Let's go downstairs. You're being a nuisance," he said in a reasonable tone.

"'Tis nay your concern, MacLeod! Leave us be."

"I'll not allow you to accost Lady Jessie."

"I'm not accost-ing anyone," he slurred. "This lady is my wife."

"Wrong!" Jessie said, blue fire in her eyes with the lightning flash. "Go with MacLeod or I will have the guards toss you out into the storm."

"Och. You would treat me in such a way, m'lady?" MacBain whined.

"Indeed," she said firmly.

Torrin rolled his eyes. He'd never seen such a pathetic drunk.

MacBain sent her a glare, then Torrin, before wobbling along the corridor the way he'd come. Torrin followed him, then glanced back at Jessie. She was staring at him, or rather at his plaid-covered arse. Her gaze lifted, connecting with his. Her fiery blush was evident, even in the low candlelight of the corridor. She quickly turned and disappeared into the nearest chamber.

A thrill coursing through him, he grinned. Mayhap there was more hope than he'd realized. He was fair certain she had been eying his physique.

***

Later that night, an urgent voice broke into Torrin's restless sleep. "M'laird."

He opened his eyes to find Luag, the guard he'd posted in the corridor, with his head stuck inside the door and a lantern in his hand. Torrin sat up. "Aye?"

"MacBain left his room."

"Damnation." Torrin leapt up from the bed, still fully clothed for just this reason. "Where did he go?"

"That direction." Luag pointed toward the stairwell.

Torrin rushed after him. If the knave had it in his head to find Jessie's bedchamber, he would break his leg. Hopefully, he was only going in search of a garderobe after his excessive drinking.

A MacKay guard stood at the bottom of the steps.

"Which way did MacBain go?"

He pointed across the great hall to another stairwell that led up.

Torrin hurried up the steps and found another corridor and MacBain, carrying a lantern. He knocked at a door. Rage lit Torrin's veins on fire. Was that Jessie's bedchamber? If so, how had MacBain learned where it was? No one guarded this corridor at all.

"Hell," Torrin said under his breath. Why would she not have someone guarding her door with all these visitors about?

MacBain tried the door latch, and Torrin was ready to break the whoreson's neck. The door didn't budge, thank the saints. Jessie had barred it.

MacBain knocked lightly.

With no storm to cover the sounds of his footsteps this time, Torrin slipped from his hiding place and crept up behind the man.

"Who is it?" Jessie asked from the other side of the thick oak door.

"What are you doing, MacBain?" Torrin said over his shoulder.

The man jumped and turned at the same time, bumping hard against the door. "What the devil are you doing following me?" he growled. At least he seemed almost sober now.

"Protecting the lady," Torrin said, keeping his voice low. "What are you doing?"

"None of your concern. Leave," he commanded through clenched teeth.

Torrin shook his head, giving MacBain his most menacing look.

"Don't open the door, Lady Jessie," Torrin warned her. "MacBain was trying to pay you a midnight visit."

She yanked the door open and her glare in the dim light pierced each of them. "Go, MacBain. I don't wish to see you, day or night."

The man's narrowed gaze remained on Torrin, then abruptly he tried to barrel his way past Jessie, into her room. Torrin caught him by his shoulder-length hair and yanked him back. The man struck out but missed. Releasing him, Torrin punched him in the nose and sent him sprawling to the wooden floor with a loud crash. MacBain growled and muttered curses as he held his bleeding nose.

"Bar the door, Lady Jessie," Torrin warned with a quick glance at her. She wore a plaid blanket wrapped around her with only a sliver of her white smock visible at the top of her chest. He quickly switched his gaze away from the appealing sight, lest he become distracted. "I'll take care of this blackguard."

"I thank you." The door slammed and the bar clunked into place.

Torrin shook his head, glaring down at the imbecilic man. "Are you daft?"

MacBain drew his blood-covered hand away from his crushed nose. "You bastard, I thought you a friend and ally or I would never have allowed you to come here with me."

Annoyance twisted through Torrin. "You didn't allow me to do anything. I was on my way here before I ever met you."

"So you say."

"I consider the MacKays friends and allies. I'll not let you harm one of them, certainly not a lady."

"I'm not planning to harm her. Do you ken naught about seduction, man?"

Torrin snorted. "If you consider that seduction, your skills are greatly lacking."

MacBain merely glared and shoved himself to his feet. Muttering insults and curses, he stumbled away, holding his broken nose.

Torrin glanced back at Jessie's door, glad she was safe this time. But knowing how sneaky MacBain was, he'd have to be ever vigilant.

***

Jessie opened the door a crack and peered through. She watched Torrin stride confidently toward the stairwell, marveling at his height, broad shoulders and lean waist. Of course, he was an impressive warrior, but what amazed her most was his protective nature. She would've never guessed it based on what she'd seen in the past.

Although she considered herself a courageous woman, she would never be brave enough to confront him about killing her foster brother. But now she wouldn't be able to rest until she knew the truth. What reason would Torrin have had to kill Lyall Keith?

Silently, she closed the door and barred it, thankful that Torrin had stopped MacBain from taking advantage of her. Not that she would've let the rogue get away with anything. But she'd hate to stab the man while he was trying to crawl between her sheets. Knocking him on the head would've been another option, but she preferred the broken nose Torrin had given him. She grinned.

What was she going to do about Torrin? She paced to the fireplace and added more peat to the coals. What if he decided to stay for days or weeks? She hoped he would stay at least until MacBain left. She appreciated him putting a stop to MacBain's plans.

After removing the blanket she'd wrapped around herself and spreading it over the bed, she slid under the covers, thinking how Torrin disturbed her on so many levels. When she'd first met him last winter, face to face, she'd been near speechless. Immediately, she knew that he was the one who'd executed Lyall. She would recognize Torrin's face anywhere—handsome as the devil and just as wicked.

Not only was he a frightening and lethal warrior, an image from her worst nightmarish memories, but she also felt herself strangely drawn to his sinfully attractive presence. How could she be drawn to someone she knew to be a killer?

Since then, she'd gone over and over what she'd seen that day eight years ago. Had she misunderstood it, misinterpreted it? Although she'd only been sixteen summers, she remembered the day clearly for 'twas the most terrifying, traumatizing day of her life.

When she'd heard the men approaching on foot, yelling curses and threats, she'd climbed the old oak and hidden among the branches and leaves. Knowing her bright red hair might betray her, she'd covered her head with her plaid arisaid.

The eight MacLeods—although she hadn't known who they were at the time—had chased her foster brother and his best friend across the hilly cattle pasture. They wore various weaves of dull plaids, which would help conceal them among the heather and bracken if they were deer stalking. But clearly they were not deer stalking; they were out for her foster brother's blood. They all carried broadswords, dirks, and targes.

Once Lyall stopped and faced his pursuers, Torrin and one other man had been the only two to approach Lyall and his friend. They were even in number and about the same age, early twenties, but 'twas obvious at first glance the MacLeods were larger and more skilled. Torrin was angry, growling low words that Jessie couldn't understand from thirty or forty feet away. Lyall had denied whatever it was Torrin accused him of. Obviously terrified of the taller man, Lyall had tried to run but Torrin hadn't let him. Don't force me to stab you in the back, Torrin had yelled. Pick up your sword, face me and fight like a man!

Fumbling, Lyall picked up the weapon while Torrin waited. Without warning, he charged Torrin, the sword aimed at his stomach and Jessie thought he actually might best him. But at the last second, Torrin used his own weapon to knock away the tip of Lyall's blade.

Lyall leapt back. Their blades clashed twice more, then, in two quick motions, Torrin knocked the sword from Lyall's hand and slit his throat. Moments later, his friend suffered the same fate at the hand of Torrin's second.

Holding her breath, Jessie had clamped a hand over her mouth and remained frozen in place. Not only was she terrified of being discovered, hiding in that tree, but also seeing her foster brother slain… she had never seen anything so gruesome. She could do naught to help him. She only had a small sgian dubh with her, and if she'd charged onto the field, she would've been butchered in a trice beside her foster brother. Those men wouldn't have left a live witness.

The strangers had quickly disappeared, leaving their victims' dead bodies lying where they'd fallen on the blood-soaked ground. Once Jessie, frozen in fear, could move again, she'd run back to the castle and told her foster father what had happened. She hadn't known at the time that the MacLeods were the culprits, because they'd worn no identifying clothing or plant badges. The Keiths could not exact the revenge they craved. And no one knew the motive for the strangers attacking. Would Torrin tell her if she asked? Or would her life be in danger if he knew what she'd witnessed?