Torrian (The Highland Clan Book 2) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Torrian watched as Loki wove his own special brand of magic, but this time with a co-conspirator, Kenzie. He heard voices from inside the cottage, but no words were audible. Oh, how he longed to see her.

The door opened and Dugald stepped out, addressing one of his guards before heading back inside. He dropped the bar in place loud enough to echo across the area.

Torrian ran his hand down his face. Somehow, seeing Dugald in front of him made it worse. He’d kill the whoreson with his bare hands. The only thing that kept him from running inside that very moment was the knowledge that Heather was in that bastard’s hands. He could do nothing that would endanger her.

“Ow!” Torrian heard the guard on the opposite side of the field slap his face. “Ian, what the hell did you throw at me? That hurt.”

The guard closest to Torrian turned to face the fool. “I did not throw aught. Stop your crying and pay attention.”

They settled again at their posts, their eyes fixed on the surrounding area. Another loud bellow sounded from a different guard. “Hell. What in blazes was that, Ian? Are you throwing stones or something? You hit me in my forehead. I’ll beat the shite out of you if you do it again.”

“What?” Ian said, sounding both defensive and confused. “I did not throw aught.”

Another shout followed. “Ow.” The fourth guard’s hand went to the back of his head. “Ian, you son of a bitch. Do that again and I’ll kill you.”

Torrian held his laughter in check. Loki and Kenzie were having their fun. Still, he was fast losing his patience, and he wished they would speed things up. His wee wife was inside that cottage with an addled fool.

As if they’d heard his thoughts, several stones launched at the same time, hitting all four guards enough for them to start hurling insults at Ian. All three charged the beleaguered guard.

Loki jumped out of the tree and landed on one of the guards, cutting his throat in an instant. Kenzie threw another rock that hit the second guard in the temple, knocking him out. Now the numbers were in their favor. Torrian lunged for Ian, the closest to him, dodging two of his thrusts before delivering a jarring blow to the man’s midsection, enough to fell him so Loki could finish it.

Jake took care of the fourth guard as a lass’s screams rent the air.

Heather.

Torrian raced to the door and did his best to kick it open, but it was well barred. Loki joined him and between the two of them, they broke the door down. Once inside, Torrian’s eyes immediately shot to Heather—she had crumpled to the floor, and her bodice was ripped in two.

Dugald turned to him, his eyes in a fury.

“Back, Loki,” Torrian growled.

Loki moved out of the small cottage, standing in the doorway but giving Torrian the space he needed to fight his battle. Torrian’s heart thudded in his chest—was Heather alive?—but he needed to finish this. As Dugald dove for his sword, Torrian swung his weapon in a side arc, connecting with flesh. The wound was not deep enough to end it.

Dugald winced, but he managed to grab the hilt of his sword. Whipping his head around to look at Torrian, he gave him an evil grin and said, “So you’d like a piece of her, too? ‘Tis true, Ramsay? I’ll share with you.”

Torrian’s gaze locked on Dugald’s sword arm. His sire and uncles had always taught him to assess his enemies before acting. He doubted his adversary was much of a swordsman since his grip on his weapon was not strong. That one moment of hesitation cost him a quick nick to his right leg, but he’d gained much from it—the knowledge of Dugald’s weakness. The fool was also now gloating as if he had a chance at beating him.

“That lass is now my wife, and daring to touch my wife was the last mistake you will ever make.” His voice came out in a near whisper. He spun around and turned his sword at an odd angle, connecting with Dugald’s hand on the hilt of the weapon. The man’s sword went flying into the wall.

Dugald’s surprise showed for an instant, but then he smiled. “She was good, too.”

Torrian tossed his sword to the floor and took two steps toward Dugald before he kicked his foot out, catching the whoreson in his ballocks. “That’s for a man who rapes wee lassies.”

Dugald groaned and bent at his waist, clutching his injury.

“And this is from her husband. You’ll never touch her again.” As soon as Dugald’s head dropped down, Torrian swung both fists under the man’s chin, forcing his head to snap back with a crack. He collided with the stone wall, but before he fell to the ground, Torrian punched him square in the face.

Torrian stood heaving over the body until he was certain Dugald was dead. Loki and Jake rushed into the cottage. “Breathe a word of what you heard and you’ll have to deal with me,” he said in a harsh whisper. He did not want anyone else to know the truth about Nellie’s sire. The knowledge would go to the grave with him.

Torrian rushed over to Heather, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands shaking with fear. Cradling her in his arms, he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

“I did not hear aught,” Loki said. “Did you, Jake?”

“Nay, I heard not a word.” Jake replied. “I just watched my cousin kill a man with his bare hands for daring to touch his wife. ‘Twas all I saw.”

Torrian trusted his cousins to stay silent. He held his wee wife in his arms, hoping she would move, but she did not. He kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead. “Heather, please wake up. Dugald is dead, and he’ll never bother you or Nellie again. Please? I promise I’ll protect you forever.”

Wee Kenzie crept into the hut, but he said naught. He merely watched them with wide eyes. Loki clasped the lad’s shoulder.

“Da, look at her bruises,” Kenzie whispered.

Torrian rubbed Heather’s arms.

“She breathes?” Jake asked.

“Aye, she’s a strong lass. She’ll come back to me.” No other possibility was acceptable. Torrian rocked her in his arms.

A few moments later, Heather’s eyes fluttered open. Her hand reached up to cup Torrian’s face. “Oh, Torrian. You came for me. Is Dugald gone?”

Torrian had never experienced such profound relief in his life. He kissed her on the lips and said, “He’ll never bother you again.”

After taking a moment to thank God above for protecting Heather, he gave his cousins his instructions—telling Kenzie to get his horse and Jake and Loki to handle the Buchans.

He carried her outside to his horse, whispering his love into her ears. He had to keep moving, or he was afraid a tear would show on his cheeks, the first time in many, many years.

It was over, and he and his wife were free at last. He was determined no one would ever keep them apart again.

***

After a full day of cleaning up dead bodies and washing the blood from their stones, the Ramsay clan ate a hearty meal and then settled around the large hearth in the main hall. Torrian wrapped a plaid around Heather and carried her from a bench at the trestle table to a chair before the fire. After seeing her so vulnerable, he would do aught to protect her.

“Husband, I am better. You mustn’t fuss over me.”

Nellie came over and rested her head in her mama’s lap. “Mama, I love you. I’m glad you’re better.”

Heather ran her fingers through her daughter’s fine locks and said, “I love you, too. If you’d like, you may sleep in the lassies’ chamber tonight.”

She gave her mother a doubtful look. “But I must take care of you, just like I’ve practiced with Jennet and Brigid.”

“Nellie, you need not worry about your mama,” Brenna said, smiling at her. “I’ve checked her and she’ll be fine. You can sleep with the lassies.”

“Are you sure, Mama?”

“Aye, give me a kiss and you may join your friends.”

Her face lit up as she leaned in to give her mother a kiss. She raced toward the stairs, but then turned around and ran over to Torrian so she could plant a kiss on his cheek.

Torrian said, “My thanks, Nellie.”

She leaned toward him and whispered, “May I call you Papa? I’ve never had a papa before.”

Torrian glanced at Heather first, and when he caught her slight nod, he said, “That would make me verra happy, lass.”

“Good eve to you, Papa.” She grinned and spun around, racing up the stairs again.

“Wait. Nellie?”

She pivoted back to face him. “Aye, Papa?”

“I have something for you.” He headed to the corner of the hall and said, “Why do you not take one of the pups to your chamber tonight? Wee Bretta likes you.”

The excitement on her face told him he’d made the right decision. He didn’t want Nellie to start missing her mother in the middle of the night. “May I, Mama?”

Nellie’s face lit up with joy when Heather nodded, and the girl and the pup scampered upstairs together, though Bretta stumbled a couple of times on the steps.

“Are we all settled now?” Uncle Logan asked, as Gwyneth settled onto his lap.

“Aye,” Quade answered. “Why?”

“Because I want the whole story,” Logan replied.

Quade answered, “You know what happened, Dugald is dead, Ranulf was captured and taken back to the king in chains. I expect he will hang for his part in going against the king’s will. According to my sources, they were told if they attacked us, the king would consider it an act of treason. ‘Twas probably why Glenn did not participate, so naught will come to him. Davina will survive, I’m sure.”

Logan replied, “‘Tis not what I meant.”

“Then what?” Quade asked. “You were in the middle of the battle. What questions do you have?”

“I want to hear about Kenzie and Loki and the slingers.”

Kenzie jumped up and hopped from one leg to the other. “You should have seen the first hit I made. I got him square on the side of his head, and…”

Torrian reached for Heather’s hand and helped her to stand, then tiptoed lightly toward the staircase.

“…and then Loki hit the big lout in the forehead.” Kenzie threw his head back and broke into peals of laughter, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. “‘Twas so funny when he yelled at Ian.” He swiped one eye and said, “and then…and then I slung another and hit the dim-witted one in the back of the head and then they all started yelling at Ian…all crying because they had been hit…All these big guards whining about wee stones.” He bounced around the room, sharing his exuberance with everyone. Before long, they were all laughing with him.

Torrian and Heather were halfway up the staircase when a booming voice called out, “Halt!”

As Torrian turned around, standing in front of Heather so she could lean against him, Logan strode over to the base of the staircase and said, “Where are you two going?”

“Truly, Uncle Logan,” Loki chortled, “you ask them such a foolish question on their wedding day?”

Logan’s brow lifted. “With all the excitement, I had forgotten.”

Torrian added, “Aye, ‘tis our wedding night, Uncle. May we not slip away in peace? ‘Twas a difficult day for us.”

Brodie bolted out of his chair. “Nay, ‘tis time for the bedding ceremony.” Quade got up to stand next to Brodie, a sly grin on his face.

Heather squeezed tight against Torrian’s back. He could feel her trembling start. After all she’d been through today, he was not about to allow this ridiculous custom to take place.

Logan glanced from his brother to Brodie, apparently deciding what he wished to do.

Then Jake, Loki, and Jamie pushed the elders aside and took their place at the base of the staircase, facing the hall with the stance of warriors. “You’ll not get past us, Uncles,” Loki said. He peered over his shoulder at Torrian and said, “No worries, cousin, we’ll stand guard for you this night.”

The three crossed their arms at the same time, so Torrian gathered his wee wife up in his arms and carried her into his chamber. He carried her across the threshold and closed and barred the door behind him. “The rest of the night is ours, love.”

***

Logan, Quade, and Brodie still stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at the three Grant lads with confused expressions on their faces. They’d never expected this day to come, but here it was. They’d talked about it, even joked about it many times, but not a one of them ever believed it would come to pass.

The bairns ruled.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A fortnight later

The hooded figure crept down the staircase, stepping carefully into the dark passageway. The guard met her and said, “All the way to the end.”

She crept past cell after cell, ignoring the couple of men who made lewd comments to her, until she reached the last one on the right.

“This is the one you were searching for, my lady. Ranulf MacNiven, scheduled to hang at high noon on the morrow.”

Davina Buchan tossed her hood back once the guard left. The man had his back to her, but she could tell he was awake, so she decided to speak her mind. “Ranulf, I shall never forgive you for what you’ve done. I know I swore to love you forever, and you promised to do the same, but because of you, I’ve lost my dearest brother. How could you? Why did you insist on returning to the Ramsays after we were instructed not to? Just because of that foolish idea of yours?”

She paced back and forth in front of his cell, not caring to look at him, but she had to speak her mind. After all, she’d loved him once.

“Ranulf, ‘struth is we could have been happy together, but you always wished for more, you thought you could rule the Highlands. If you would have just been satisfied with our love. If you had only known when to stop, I would still have my darling Dugald. Do you hear me, Ranulf? Do you? Answer me!”

She stopped her pacing to stare at him, her hands on her ample hips. “It does not matter. You had my love and you lost it. I hate you. Do you hear me, Ranulf?”

She stomped her foot. “You’re ignoring me. I hate you!”

He rotated slowly and when he finally faced her, a twisted smirk greeted her. Davina gasped and raced back down the passageway, so frightened she did not know what to do. Tearing up the steps, she gasped for air, and when she reached the outside she halted, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. She glanced behind her, but no one was there.

Nothing could have scared her more than that moment.

The man in the cell was not Ranulf.