Текст книги "My notorious highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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Chapter Four

Looking out an open upstairs window, Jessie couldn't help but glare at the spectacle below her in the bailey—grown men acting like stags during the autumn rut. Instead of locking antlers, Torrin and MacBain charged each other with dull swords. At least the weapons were said to be dull, so the men wouldn't kill each other accidentally. Although she had authorized this training session, she was starting to regret it, because at times it looked far too real.

With a fearsome grimace and a loud growl, MacBain rushed Torrin, who easily evaded his blade.

"What's going on here?" a deep voice yelled through the portcullis.

Who was that? At first she thought it might be some of the MacKays returning from their long journey. But, nay, she didn't recognize the dark-haired man revealed by the late afternoon sunshine.

Everyone stopped and stared. Torrin stepped back several paces but kept MacBain within his sights.

"Iain Stewart, is that you?" Torrin called.

"Of course." The man drew close to the iron bars, his smile evident.

"What the devil are you doing here?"

"Ran off and left me while I was passed out, aye? Some friend you are. I couldn't resist hunting you down and watching you make a damned fool of yourself." He chuckled.

Torrin glanced around, looking a bit chagrinned, his eyes meeting Jessie's for a couple of moments, then he headed for the portcullis. Until he'd glanced up at her, she hadn't realized he knew she was watching.

Who was Iain Stewart, and what had he meant about Torrin making a damned fool of himself? Courting her?

"I hope this skirmish here isn't serious, but if 'tis, I've arrived just in time," Iain said.

"'Tis called practice," Torrin said, then turned to face her again. "Will you allow this knave entrance, m'lady? Although he is a scoundrel of the worst order, I claim him as a foster brother and a friend… sometimes."

"Who is he?"

"Iain Stewart, heir to the chiefdom of Stewart and Barony of Appin."

"Aye, if he allows Erskine to disarm him," she said. He didn't seem like the type who would cause trouble, but she could take no chances with so many different clans visiting, and MacBain being contrary.

Torrin gave a courtly bow, then faced his friend again. "You heard the lady. Give up your weapons."

"Gladly. But I want in on this practice session. Looked like you were losing. And by the way, I have four men with me." He motioned them forward.

"They must all disarm themselves," Torrin said.

More men? 'Twas a good thing their storeroom shelves had been stocked full not long ago.

While the newcomers were removing their weapons, Jessie noticed MacBain whispering to a couple of his men. What was he cooking up? His dark, malicious expression changed to a forced friendly one when Torrin introduced Iain Stewart to him.

"Been at this for days, have you?" Iain asked, eying MacBain with his swollen nose and black and blue eyes.

MacBain clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but made no comment.

"Don't tell me you two are vying for the same lady's hand." Iain grinned, turning to Torrin.

"Not exactly."

Iain laughed.

"Enough talk, MacLeod," MacBain said. "Let's get on with the practice."

Everyone stepped back, leaving Torrin and MacBain in the center of the circle. MacBain launched himself at Torrin instantly. Torrin scrambled to deflect the blade slashing toward his chest.

Jessie held her breath. Though she didn't trust Torrin, neither did she wish to see him hurt or killed.

The practice was quickly shifting from a mock battle to a real one. Should she order them to stop? Would they even listen to her? What if someone ended up dead before this was over?

Jessie raced down the steps, across the great hall, and out into the bailey. She pushed her way through the crowd of male spectators. The two men were in the heat of battle, their blades smashing and clanging. No matter that the weapons were dull; they could still kill. Someone grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Halt!" she yelled.

Torrin paused, his gaze darting to her. MacBain swung his blade again. Torrin leapt out of the way at the last second, but MacBain continued his assault.

"MacBain! That's enough," she ordered.

But he wasn't listening. His face was a red mask of rage.

"Keep her back," Torrin said.

Erskine held onto one of her arms. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but you must stay back. You'll be hurt."

"Make them stop," she demanded, terrified beyond all reason that Torrin would be killed or hurt badly. But Erskine ignored her just as the other men did. If Dirk were here, he'd order them to cease their battle. What if one of them died while she was acting as lady of the castle? Was it not her responsibility to keep the peace and make sure everyone was safe?

In the next second, a sword flew into the air and Torrin caught the hilt of it. To her surprise, he stood before the slack-jawed MacBain and held up a sword in each hand.

"I win," Torrin said in a dry tone.

Several men laughed and a raucous cheer went up. Not from the MacBains of course; they merely glared, some of them red-faced. His look of shock fading, MacBain glowered at Torrin and those celebrating his victory.

Relief surged through her, and Erskine released her. She wasn't celebrating anyone's victory; she was simply glad no one had been killed. She disliked the way men competed, and she especially hated them fighting over her. Though no one said that was what this mock battle was about, she knew it was. Each of them wanted to look superior to the other. The more powerful stallion.

They were ridiculous. She turned and strode back into the great hall.

***

"What the devil have you gotten yourself into, Torrin?" Iain asked in a low voice, as the rest of the chuckling men disbursed in the bailey, leaving them alone to talk. Torrin glanced about for Jessie, but didn't see her, though she had been there minutes ago, demanding that they halt their practice. He was fair certain that she'd been afraid he was going to get hurt. He grinned. That meant she cared a wee bit.

Iain snorted. "Saints, you're madder than a stag in rut."

"I have no need for your lowly opinion on it."

"Who is this MacBain, and why is he so irate with you? I'm certain the bastard was trying to kill you."

"You guessed the right of it. He's trying to win back Lady Jessie's hand, and I'm always getting in his way." Torrin smiled. "You see, they were handfasted for a year and a day, three years past, but he sent her away. Now, he's back for another go, but Lady Jessie wants naught to do with him."

"Canny lady."

"Indeed."

"And beautiful."

"Keep your eyes off her," Torrin warned in a mock severe tone.

"Ha! I couldn't help but look. She stormed through the crowd like a goddess of fire, demanding that you stop the fight."

Satisfaction curled through Torrin. "Aye, clearly afraid I'd be injured."

Iain shook his head. "So, she is smitten with you already, is she?"

"Not quite, but I'm gaining ground."

"Well, you have naught to worry about from me. I would never try to steal your lady."

"I ken it well."

"Why did you hasten out of Lairg so quickly while I was sleeping off the drink?"

"Well, you had that lovely milkmaid with you, and I figured you had better things to do than watch me court a lady."

"Nay, I do not. I sent Mary back to her cows. I'm certain this will be grand entertainment, especially since both your offers of marriage to Lady Jessie have been refused."

Torrin narrowed his eyes. "Laugh at my misery if you will, but I'm determined in this. She will agree to marry me before this is over."

Iain grinned. "I've never seen you so smitten with a lass."

"Nay, you haven't."

"Well, when do I get to meet her?"

***

Jessie stood near the stairwell to the kitchen, overseeing the male servants setting up the tables, as everyone gathered into the great hall for supper. Torrin and his newly arrived friend entered from the bailey and strode toward her. Torrin's friend was only an inch or two shorter than him and built like a trained warrior, although she remembered Torrin had said he was Iain Stewart, heir to the Stewart chiefdom. He wore a belted plaid of a weave she'd never seen before.

Torrin's intense green gaze lit on her. "Iain, I'd like for you to meet Lady Jessie MacKay."

"'Tis an honor to meet you, sir." Jessie curtsied.

"The pleasure is all mine." Iain grinned, his dark blue eyes gleaming with humor. He kissed her hand. "I beg of you, m'lady, please do not break this man's heart." He slapped Torrin on the shoulder. "He's been in a lovesick stupor for months."

She sucked in a surprised breath, heat racing over her, head to toe. Lovesick? Surely he exaggerated.

"Bastard," Torrin said under his breath.

Iain snorted with laughter.

"Might I escort you to the high table, Lady Jessie," Torrin asked, offering his elbow. "'Twill be best if you sit far away from Iain."

She took his arm, hoping her fiery blush would subside soon, but her fingers pressing into the hard muscles of Torrin's arm, just above his elbow, ignited another type of heat within her. She was not yet accustomed to touching him, and she found that every time she did, her body reacted in disturbing ways.

"You would deprive me of this lovely lady's company?" Iain protested behind them as they proceeded to the dais.

She was not used to so many men's attention or the compliments they doled out, especially in the last three years. The disaster with MacBain had made her shy away from men. But now, she found she liked the attention, though it made her uncomfortable.

Torrin pulled out a chair for Jessie, then took the one beside her.

"You cannot get rid of me that easily," Iain said, sitting beside Torrin.

"Sometimes he reminds me of a leech," Torrin murmured aside to her.

She gave a slight smile but grew uncomfortable beneath his perceptive gaze. "I thank you for preventing any bloodshed today. I think MacBain went mad for a few minutes."

"Indeed, he was possessed of a battle rage." Torrin shrugged. "Truth is… he wants rid of me in the worst way so he can get to you, but I intend to protect you from the knave."

She didn't truly want Torrin acting as her shield, but she was grateful to him. Still, she could've handled MacBain on her own. "I feared the practice would get out of hand." She glanced down at the low table where MacBain sat with his men—unusual, for he usually sat at the high table as was his right by rank. He gave Torrin an evil look which concerned her greatly.

Supper was served. All the men were especially boisterous with their outlandish stories mixed with plenty of drink. Two men, a MacKay and a MacLeod, acted out the skirmish that had happened earlier, except they used the wee lads' wooden swords and added a more dramatic and entertaining finale. Laughter abounded.

Jessie was too worried to laugh. MacBain and his men remained sullen and kept to themselves at the end of one table. They often had their heads together, no doubt planning some sort of revenge against Torrin.

"You're quiet," Torrin said beside her.

"Are you not concerned that MacBain might stab you in the back when you least expect it? You embarrassed him, and he's likely to seek revenge."

"I'm ever vigilant, and I have good bodyguards." He glanced at the two men standing behind him.

That was all well and good, but 'twas doubtful he could have two bodyguards with him every moment. And what if MacBain and his men attacked at a time when Torrin was outnumbered?

"I'm truly flattered and honored that you're so worried about my safety, m'lady," Torrin said.

Warmth spread over her. "I simply don't want any bloodshed here at Dunnakeil."

Lifting a brow, he gave her a charming, lopsided grin, obviously seeing through her lie.

She focused on eating and pretended to ignore him, but her awareness of him grew more acute with each passing moment, just as the struggle within her grew more annoying. Of a certainty, he was attractive, but was he a good man or a malicious man?

Jessie excused herself and slipped away to the kitchen. Aside from Torrin making her tense, the great hall was too loud, and now Aiden was playing his pipes, which sometimes screeched at her nerves. She simply craved calmness and quiet, the splash of the sea's waves and the wind rustling through the grasses.

While the men were eating tarts, drinking ale, and listening to Aiden's music, she slipped out the kitchen door, through the postern gate, then hurried down to the golden sand beach. One of her knees was black and blue from her fall the day before, but walking did not pain her.

How much longer would the MacBains and the MacLeods remain at Dunnakeil? She was sick of them vying for her attention. She had been as cold as possible to MacBain, but naught dissuaded him. Short of insulting him and telling him to leave, she had little recourse.

As for Torrin, she could not decide how she felt about him. Every time his green gaze caught hers, something mysterious passed between them. His eyes and faint, enigmatic smiles told her he was a sensual devil. Sometimes she imagined what his lips might feel like on hers. One part of her hated such musings, while another was fascinated by the idea.

She stopped and gazed out over Balnakeil Bay. The sunset was a blend of yellow and orange with wee traces of red at the edges. Incredibly beautiful. She smiled, then imagined Torrin standing beside her, admiring it. She shook her head, ousting that daft thought from her mind. He created too many conflicting feelings within her. She didn't understand him. On the one hand, he seemed like a good man, honest, protective, but on the other, she knew what she'd seen all those years ago. It was him who'd chased Lyall and killed him. Of course, Lyall had a sword, but 'twould have been clear to anyone he didn't have a chance against the taller and stronger MacLeod, who'd had no mercy on him, even after he'd disarmed him.

Every time she remembered what she saw, horrid, gruesome feelings overtook her… which did not now fit with the Torrin she had gotten to know over the past few days.

On the beach, she strode toward the cliffs and headland, trying to walk off the tension and confusion. Faraid Head, where Dirk had almost been murdered many years ago, was two miles out. She never walked that far; the high cliffs made her dizzy. The beach here at Balnakeil Bay was far more pleasant. She also loved the beach at Sango Bay with its huge boulders jutting from the sand and would sometimes walk the two miles there to spend a few hours when no one would miss her. With so many guests about now, that was impossible to do.

A thump sounded behind her in the dunes. She turned, seeing naught but the long green beach grasses blowing in the wind. The waves crashing and sliding onto shore with the incoming tide covered most sounds. Sea birds were always about, screeching. The thumping sound could've been a red stag stamping his huge foot. Sometimes she saw them or their tracks on the beach.

How she missed her sweet old deerhound at times like this. Ossian had died just over a month ago. He had been her constant companion, especially anytime she went outside. In truth, she missed him all the time for he'd been a good friend since she'd returned from the Keiths years ago. Certainly more trustworthy than any potential husband she'd ever met.

Few people here at Dunnakeil knew she'd been betrothed when she'd been staying with the Keiths the summer she was eighteen. Of course, her father had approved and signed the documents, but when the groom had run off the night before the wedding, hardly anyone spoke of it afterward.

Was something wrong with her? Was that why men deserted her? Nay. They were all daft sheep. She had no use for any of them. To her, a husband would be like a noose around her neck. Strangling. And then he would kick the block from beneath her feet, leaving her hanging while he ran after some other woman.

She continued forward, past her brother's galleys, their polished wooden hulls gleaming in the golden light of sunset. Where were Dirk, Isobel, Keegan, and the rest of their party now? She had truly not wanted to travel south with them, mainly because she knew they were going to stop at Torrin's keep. But now he was here, which was worse, and he didn't seem inclined to leave anytime soon.

Every time she looked into his eyes, things whirled around inside her like mad. Not just fear, but also attraction. Aye, she'd been highly aware from the evening she met him that she found him physically appealing. But that couldn't change what she'd seen him do all those years ago. Had he murdered anyone else since then?

Running footsteps approached, thumping across the sand. Her heart vaulting into her throat, she yanked her dirk from the scabbard at her waist and turned. Four men charged her, surrounding her. MacBain's men.

"Stay back!" She forcefully slashed her weapon at the closest one. He jumped back, but two more rushed her from the left. She stabbed the blade at one of them, but missed when he leapt out of the way. The other grabbed her arms from behind.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Still having some movement, she spun the dirk in her hand and jabbed her weapon backward into his gut.

He howled into her ear and shoved her away. "The bitch stabbed me! Grab her dagger!"

She kicked the man in front of her in the groin, sending him sprawling backward and slashed at the next man to approach. She cut his sleeve and he scuttled away.

"Where is that cowardly MacBain?" she yelled. Was he so afraid of her he would send in all his men and remain hidden himself?

Surprising her, another man grasped her knife hand in a strong grip, twisted it behind her back and squeezed her wrist. Pain shot through her arm. She swung her leg around behind, hoping to hook it behind his knee and knock him off his feet, but she missed.

"Bastard! Unhand me!" Grinding her teeth in determination, she held onto her dirk. But the pain in her arm became overwhelming. "Nay!" She could hold the weapon no longer and it dropped to the sand. She screamed and yelled, hoping to alert the MacKay guards posted on the ramparts.

"Calm down, sweet Jessie." 'Twas Gregor MacBain's unnerving voice. He came around from the right and stopped in front of her. One of his men still held her restrained.

"You bastard! What do you want from me?" she growled.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I but want to marry you so we may have a lifetime of happiness." He gave her a broad smile which was clearly false.

"Do you think this is going to cause me to want to marry you? Nay, just the opposite."

"A lot of men kidnap their future wives. It has a long history of success in the Highlands," he said, his grin now smug.

"Not here. All you want is my dowry, and the land my brother will give you. You don't care one whit about me."

"Now, you ken that is not true, m'lady. I care a great deal about you," he said in a placating tone.

She knew he was lying, for he'd only shown up again after he'd gotten wind of her increased dowry. Why had Dirk done that? Did he want her married off so badly to whoever was greediest? That was the same reason Torrin had come. He was land-hungry, too. Although 'haps not as much as MacBain.

"Come quietly and no one will be harmed." MacBain glanced over his shoulder, toward the castle. "Bring her to the horses," he told the man restraining her.

MacBain led them between the sand dunes, the high grasses providing extra cover from anyone who might be watching from the castle's battlements.

She screamed again as loud as possible. "Help! Help me!"

"Be quiet," MacBain said through clenched teeth. "You leave me no choice." He dragged a handkerchief from inside his doublet.

"Nay!" She shoved her knee upward into his groin.

"Umph!" He doubled over clutching at his stones which she had hopefully smashed into dust.

She tried to twist from the other man's grip, but his hands only tightened on her wrists.

Raising up, MacBain slapped her hard across the face. "You witch! Don't you ever do that to me again."

Pain sliced through her cheek. One thing he could be certain of—if he forced her to marry him, she would soon be a widow, for she would kill him.

"Edward! Help him hold her," he commanded.

MacBain's two men held her firmly in place while MacBain tied the gag through her mouth. Ugh! It tasted salty with his sweat. Gagging and coughing, she bent forward, hoping she didn't actually vomit.

"Bring her this way," MacBain said.

She pretended to comply for a couple of minutes. When she felt her captor's hands loosen a tiny bit around her wrists, she elbowed him in the stomach and yanked her arms. One of her wrists slipped from his grip. She wrenched away from him and ran through the dunes, her feet digging into the soft sand.

"Capture her!" MacBain ordered.

Tugging off the disgusting gag and throwing it, she raced through the grasses and gorse bushes, thorns tearing at her clothing and skin, leaving burning scratches. Her right foot sank deep into the sand. She stumbled and fell to her knees.

Blast!

"Ha!" One of the men on her heels grasped her arisaid from the back. "Got you, lass."

She slid her hand to her ankle and pulled the small sgian dubh hidden there from the sheath. She turned and stabbed his shoulder.

"Ow! Bitch!"

Two more men joined him, tackling her to the ground, almost crushing her beneath their combined weight. One yanked the knife from her hand.

"Get off me!"

"Don't force us to hurt you," MacBain warned, standing somewhere over her while the others held her face-down, the sand cutting into her cheek. She wanted to hurt him. Badly.

"Release me! I refuse to marry you. You cannot force me."

"Aye, indeed, I can." He chuckled. "I only need tell the minister we were in a trial marriage which was consummated. You ken how they hate those trial marriages and want them made legal and binding in the eyes of God as soon as possible."

"That makes no difference." She kicked at one of the men. "No minister would agree that this sort of abuse is allowed."

"I'm not abusing you. Only disciplining my disobedient wife. You're the one hurting yourself by fighting us. Tie her hands and her ankles and carry her to the horses."

"What the hell are you doing?" a deep and forceful male voice demanded.

Who was that? From her position on the ground, Jessie turned her head and looked up at Torrin, standing among the grasses, sword drawn, Iain Stewart beside him.

Two of the MacBain men drew swords. Considering how well-armed they were, all of them had clearly obtained their swords as they'd exited the portcullis at Dunnakeil.

"You stay out of this, MacLeod!" MacBain ordered.

"Nay," he said with deadly calm. "Release her or suffer the consequences."

MacBain laughed. "You only brought Stewart with you. You're outnumbered."

"I knew you were a whoreson the moment I saw you," Iain said.

Two of MacBain's men launched into action, engaging Torrin and Iain in swordplay.

When both of MacBain's men fell, her captors fled.

"Where the devil are you going?" MacBain yelled.

"I'll get them!" Iain chased after the two cowards.

With her hands and feet tied, Jessie could do naught but roll upon the ground like a worm.

Torrin charged MacBain and their swords clanged, sparks popping in the gloaming. MacBain yelped, but she couldn't see if he'd been cut. Torrin was the aggressor, driving MacBain back, but he ran to her other side.

How she wished she could get her wrists untied, or the bindings cut.

Blades clanged multiple times. Someone cried out. A sword flew over her head, and she glanced back to see what had happened. MacBain fell to the sand and Torrin stood over him, the tip of the sword at his throat. A sudden fear seized her and she felt transported eight years into the past. 'Twas like seeing Torrin's sword just before he'd slit the throat of her foster brother.

"Don't murder him!" Jessie yelled.

Torrin sent a quick, dark glance her way then focused on MacBain again. "Should I listen to the lady? Or rid the world of some vermin?"

MacBain held his hands over his head. "I'll go and… and leave Lady Jessie alone," he proclaimed in a desperate voice.

"In truth?" Torrin asked. "Or is this just another lie?"

"I speak the truth. If you let me live, you nor Lady Jessie will ever see me again."

"If we do see you again, I'll take that as leave to kill you. Get up. We're going back to the castle."

"What about my men?" He motioned to the two lying on the ground.

"You'll have to tell the rest of your cowardly men to come back and fetch them… if Iain let them live."

More of the MacLeods burst through the bushes and grasses, their breathing elevated. "Sorry we didn't arrive sooner, Chief."

"'Tis all under control," Torrin said. "Gordon and Sim, go find Iain and MacBain's two men. They went that way. Luag, see to those lying on the ground."

They did their chief's bidding. One of the MacBain men lying on the ground stirred and groaned. Luag announced that the other was dead.

"Struan, tie MacBain's hands behind his back and take him to the dungeon." Torrin motioned to Gregor, then cut the strips of cloth binding Jessie's wrists and ankles.

"I thank you," she said, sitting up. She was so grateful for his help, she wanted to embrace him, but she controlled the urge.

"Are you hurt?" He took her hands and drew her to her feet.

"Naught but a few bruises and scratches."

"Aye, you have a dark bruise. Did someone hit you?" He surprised her by touching her face.

She started to draw away, but the hot, tingly feel of his fingers sliding over her cheek halted her action. "'Tis naught." She feared if she told him MacBain had struck her, Torrin would kill the man before they reached the castle. "I'll survive."

When he lowered his hand, she was shocked at how much she missed the warmth of his touch.

Even in the dimness of gloaming, she found it difficult to meet his intense and intimate gaze. She so appreciated his help at this moment she couldn't express it or even comprehend it.

"I was on the ramparts when I heard you scream," he said. "I was praying it wasn't you, but I suspected MacBain was up to no good."

She nodded. "I was merely taking a walk on the beach when his men grabbed me."

"'Tis not safe for you to walk on the beach or anywhere alone now."

"Mo chreach," she muttered under her breath for she loved the outdoors and nature. Walking on the beach was one of the few pleasures left to her. And she refused to allow MacBain to take that away from her.

"My men will escort them off MacKay lands tomorrow, but who knows if he will return? I believe not a word he says."

"Nor do I." Her dirk came to mind and she glanced about, but then remembered she'd dropped it on the beach. Had one of the MacBains picked it up? Her sgian dubh should be nearby. Since it was a dark metal, 'twas too dark to see it easily now.

"What is it?" Torrin asked.

"I lost my dirk and my sgian dubh."

"I'll help you find them tomorrow."

The MacLeods disarmed the MacBains and bundled all the weapons in a large piece of canvas. 'Haps her knives were among them. If not, she'd have to search the dunes and the beach in the morn, with Torrin's help.

He offered his arm.

"I'll manage on my own," she said, dismissing his offer of help through the dunes, grasses and bushes. It wasn't that she didn't want to touch him—she certainly did. But she was already anxious and on-edge, and he would only make her more so. She was too aware of him and his lean, iron-hard strength. Every time she was near him, her heart pounded harder and her hands grew jittery. What was wrong with her?

They made their way back to the castle, Jessie trying not to touch Torrin or bump into him. But she felt his attention on her. As they walked single file through the bushes, he glanced back at her several times. Making sure she was safe? His attentive protectiveness confused and perplexed her. Was he truly such a good man? Or was he pretending so she'd let down her guard? She didn't see how he could be a good man after the ruthless way he'd killed Lyall Keith. Though he had let Gregor MacBain live when she'd asked it of him.

As they entered the bailey, she saw by the light of the torches that her clothing was ripped from the thorns and her skirts and sleeves filthy with sand. Her face was also likely dirty. Placing her hand against it, she felt the grit of sand and tried to brush it away.

Concerned clansmen and women inquired whether she was injured, as did Iain, Aiden, Uncle Conall, and several others.

"Nay. I thank you but I am well," she assured them.

Once in the great hall, Torrin asked her, "Could I speak to you in private?"

Och, nay. What now? She did not wish to spend any more time alone with him. Already her nerves were frayed, and it had less to do with the kidnapping attempt than with her rescuer. "Might I change clothes first? I'm filthy."

"Aye, of course." He didn't appear any worse for wear and certainly not as if he'd been in a skirmish. He bowed, then she hastened toward the stairs.

Once Jessie had given herself a sponge bath and her maid, Dolina, had helped her dress in clean clothing and straightened her hair, she descended the steps again.

What on earth could Torrin wish to speak to her about in private? They had been alone, for the most part, on their way back to the castle. Why hadn't he talked to her then? This must be something more important.

When she entered the great hall, he rose from the bench where he'd been sitting, talking to his friend, and approached her. His penetrating gaze swept over her quickly, then came to rest on her eyes. "You look lovely, and except for that bruise, not like you were attacked less than an hour ago."

Her face and chest heated. "I thank you."

"Is there a private place we might talk?"

"Aye, the library," she said, taking a lit candle from a nearby table and leading the way into her brother's official meeting room, off to the side of the great hall. She lit the candelabra on the table while he closed the door.

She faced him, realizing she should offer him a seat, but she didn't feel like sitting herself. And if he was going to talk about marriage again, she wanted to be able to make a quick escape.