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?
As they broke their fast, MacBain glared at Torrin MacLeod, sitting further along the high table in the great hall of Dunnakeil Castle. Although he didn't remember much from the night before, MacBain did remember the moment MacLeod had smashed his fist into his nose. Pain had slammed through his head and he'd ended up on the floor, half addled. His head still pained him this morn and his nose ached something fierce.
He'd not yet decided what he would do to MacLeod, but he would exact his revenge. The bastard had a ruthless reputation far and wide. Last year, he'd subdued two other, smaller clans and forced their allegiance to him. Would he do the same thing to the
MacKays
next? If only he'd brought more men with him, they could easily defeat the
MacLeods
. He'd have to warn the
MacKays
that Torrin MacLeod was here to subdue them and take over their lands. Much easier to do while their chief was away.
One thing concerned him even more than MacLeod's reputation—the way he was watching Lady Jessie. Every time she walked through the great hall, MacLeod's gaze followed her with great interest, even lust. The bastard had pretended he barely knew who she was. But now 'twas obvious that MacLeod wanted her, too. He wasn't getting her! That was a certainty.
When MacLeod wasn't watching Jessie, he was eying MacBain in a highly suspicious manner.
Aye, you'd best not turn your back on me, you roguish whoreson.
MacBain would simply have to stay until Dirk MacKay returned so they could work out a marriage contract. Even if it took weeks or months, he wouldn't mind. That would give Lady Jessie time to become smitten with him again. But with MacLeod in the way, that might be more difficult. He had to get rid of the lecher somehow.
***
"Have you seen Lady Jessie?" Torrin quietly asked one of the servants, then glanced back over the great hall. No one seemed to be paying him any mind. MacBain had gone outside moments ago.
"Last I saw her, she was headed up the stairwell,
m'laird
." The maid curtseyed.
"I thank you." Torrin climbed the stairs, wondering how Jessie had slipped past him. She had made herself scarce at breakfast and had not joined the others at high table, or any table. She must have grabbed a few bites in the kitchen.
MacBain's
nose was crooked and red, and his eyes turning purplish-blue from the blow Torrin had gifted him with the night before. The other men had teased and ribbed MacBain because they knew Torrin had done the damage and why. Apparently, MacBain had told one of the men the night before and word had spread.
MacBain had done naught but glare while they broke their fast. Torrin had watched him closely, anticipating retaliation. Men had killed for far less.
Now, as Torrin walked down a narrow corridor and up another staircase, he wondered where Jessie was. If she was in her bedchamber, he wouldn't disturb her, but he did wish to speak to her. Clearly, she was avoiding him, though he was unsure why. He'd done naught to anger her. After last night, it should be clear that he wished to help her and protect her. How could she fault him for that?
After searching the deserted top floor, he headed back down the spiral stair, only to come face to face with Jessie. She let out a squeal and jumped backward, tossing the blankets she carried and flinging out her arms.
Torrin caught her just in time. His hands around her waist, he tugged her back before she could fall.
"
'Tis
only me, Lady Jessie," he said in a calming voice and drew her to the safety of the level floor and away from the stair.
She released hard breaths, her hand pressed to her chest. "You scared the life out of me. What are you doing sneaking about up here?"
"I wasn't sneaking about. I was looking for you."
"Why?" Pulling back, she eyed him suspiciously.
"You didn't join us at breakfast." That was one reason, anyway. But mainly, he simply wanted to see her and talk to her.
"I was too busy, looking after the kitchen servants and what-not. Was Aiden not a good host?"
"Aye, of course. But he's not as bonnie as you." Torrin smiled.
Jessie's face flamed redder than her hair, then she knelt and stacked the plaid blankets. He picked up the one beside him and handed it to her as they stood.
"I thank you," she said, eyeing him.
"Why do you fear me?" he asked in a low tone so as to not frighten her further.
"I don't," she said firmly, defiance in her blue gaze. "I don't fear any man. I have more than one blade on my person at all times."
His gaze dropped to the foot-long Highland dirk he'd already seen, sheathed and attached to her belt.
'Twas
the same size as his own and he had no doubt she knew how to wield it. Where else did she have knives hidden on her delectable, lithe body? When he imagined searching them out, his own body heated. "I hope you won't use them on me."
She lifted a brow in warning. "That remains to be seen."
Fierce arousal curled through him, surprising him. Since when did a dangerous woman excite him? Truth was he'd never known a woman like her. Now, he feared he would have fantasies about her holding him at knife-point and having her way with him. He ground his teeth to keep from grinning at that image.
Coming back to his senses, he asked, "What have I done to you that is so terrible?"
She narrowed her eyes and studied him for a long moment. "Naught. I'm simply not interested in any sort of marriage arrangement. Isn't that why you're here? Seeking a wife?"
Disconcerting heat rushed over him, and he cleared his throat. "I admire you for getting right to the crux of the matter," he said dryly. No other woman would speak to him with such boldness, and 'haps that was one reason he was intensely drawn to her. She had more courage than a lot of men he knew. "And, aye, indeed I'd hoped to get to know you, and allow you to get to know me."
"There is no point." She stepped around him and strode down the corridor.
Her tall, slender body and strong but graceful stride gave him hot chills. And that hair… red waves and braids halfway down her back. He yearned to see that hair spread across his pillow. She would be his wife; he could easily visualize it. Had been visualizing it for seven months. But how to convince her?
Mayhap they had something in common. She'd said she carried blades. Had she been trained in the art of warfare?
She disappeared inside a chamber… and screamed.
Torrin bolted toward the chamber, then slid sideways as he tried to stop at the doorway. "What the devil?" He saw naught in evidence that would frighten her. "Why did you scream?"
"I didn't scream," she said in a defensive tone.
He frowned, wondering if she had a streak of madness.
"I merely… cried out very briefly."
Aha. She would not want to display any weakness or vulnerability around him. "Why?" he asked, forcing himself not to smile as he sauntered further into the room.
"A pigeon was in here. The glass in the window is broken and the shutter is open." She motioned toward it. "The bird startled me, then flew back out. That is all."
"I see."
She headed across the room. "You don't need to slay any dragons for me, Chief MacLeod."
He grinned. "Nor break any scoundrels' noses?"
"Nay. None of those either." She deposited the blankets in a chest on the floor in the corner.
He paced to the window and gazed out over
Balnakeil
Bay, the cool sea breeze whipping at his hair through the broken glass. The water reflected the blue sky. Cliffs jutted out on either side of the bay and a sandy beach lay below where gentle waves splashed and slid onto shore.
"The weather is much different than it was last winter when I was here." He turned to look at her. "The view from here is beautiful." Although the scenery of the bay was lovely, it couldn't compare to her.
"Aye, indeed." Her attention was focused on pushing the trunk against the wall.
"Have you lived here at Dunnakeil your whole life?" Until last winter, he'd never visited
Durness
. Although he'd met Dirk and his father when they'd traveled south many years ago.
"Nay, I fostered with… another clan from the time I was seven summers until I was sixteen."
Jessie's stomach knotted for she'd almost forgotten who she was talking to. She'd come close to blurting out that she'd fostered with the
Keiths
. She could never let down her guard with Torrin, even though he was easy to talk to. While he seemed an honorable gentleman on the surface, she knew that deep down he was deadly.
"I fostered as well, but only for four years."
Fostering was a common practice among Highlanders. She knew the purpose was to form a network of clan alliances. Strange that their paths had only crossed one time prior to last winter.
She eyed Torrin and the thick chestnut hair lying on his broad shoulders. The way he steadily watched her with those perceptive evergreen eyes made her heart thump hard and her insides flutter. Was it fear or something else? A mixture of several conflicting emotions?
What in blazes was she doing alone in a bedchamber with him anyway? Although he didn't carry a sword or dirk at the moment, because she'd had all the visitors disarmed, he did retain his
sgian
dubh
. And the small blade could be just as lethal as a large one. But strangely, although she knew she should fear him, she didn't. Each time she came face to face with him, she felt less afraid. Was she mad? She'd seen what he was capable of.
"I'd best check on the servants and see how midday meal is coming along." She headed toward the door.
"Do you enjoy archery?" he blurted.
She halted and turned back to him, wondering at his odd question. His green eyes gleamed with interest… in her. This awareness sent heat rushing over her.
"I've only tried it once," she said.
"So you only like the blades?"
She shrugged. "Why do you ask?"
"I could teach you how to shoot a bow."
That would be a wonderful skill to learn, but she knew 'twas only his ploy to get her alone and spend time with her. To allow her to
get to know him
. So she would want to marry him? Nay. Besides, she trusted him less than any man she'd ever met, other than MacBain. She shook her head. "
'Tis
unnecessary."
"It matters not. It might be fun."
She knew not what fun was anymore, though at one time she had enjoyed many pursuits. "People would watch, and I'm certain I'd be horrible at it."
"Nay, we'll slip away whilst no one is looking. You'll have no audience."
So, he was not ashamed to admit he wished to get her alone. She narrowed her eyes. "I don't think that would be wise, either."
"Bring a guard or two. Aye, bring two guards and a maid, for a chaperone. We'll have them turn their backs while you shoot at the target."
She could not figure him out. Was he a cold-blooded killer or a gallant bent on courting her? "I don't think 'tis a good idea."
His expression darkened. "We're alone here in this room and I'm not attacking you."
That was true, but mayhap he was trying to lower her guard.
"You don't trust me," he stated firmly. "Why? Do you think I'm like my brother, Nolan?"
Her heartbeat sped up. She'd not expected him to confront her about how she felt about him. And she certainly couldn't tell him why she didn't trust him. To do so could endanger her life. The
Keiths
would still seek revenge against him if they learned of what he'd done eight years ago.
Lyall
was to have been the next chief. And his father still burned with the need for retaliation and justice.