by Eliza Knight
Jenny thought back to those moments in the ruins where he’d held her close, worshiping her mouth—how the world had melted, how the redcoats had been the furthest thing from her mind. How when she’d finally been able to sleep it had been deep, a kind of rest she’d not reached in years. When she’d woken and seen Toran close by, she’d been filled not with heart palpitations and panic like she normally was but with a sense of calm and purpose.
“Ye may be right, Mama.”
“Invite him.”
* * *
Toran waited until Simon left the barracks before sneaking back inside. He’d waited too long already to seek out information. Kneeling beside his cousin’s cot, he first lifted the thin mattress, feeling underneath and then along the seam for loose threads. Finding nothing there, he sifted through his satchel and his clothes and still came up empty-handed.
He felt along the floorboards for a loose board and finally found what he was looking for near the head of the bed. Toran popped the floorboard loose and felt around inside the dark space, his fingers brushing against a leather-bound book. Toran pulled it out and sifted through the pages—a diary logging everything that Simon and the rest of the clan did during the day. Then his focus narrowed on how many notes in particular were logged about Toran’s actions. The man was bloody spying on him, not that it was truly a surprise.
Toran shook out the diary, looking for loose pages or letters but finding none. He searched the hole again, finding it empty. Just the log. There was no evidence to indicate that Simon had shared this information with anyone, but Toran wouldn’t put it past him. He’d known from the start that Simon was a foul egg.
Had the Fox and his horde secretly switched sides once more? Simon wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize himself in a house full of rebels—but he would sell Toran out the moment he found the right chance. And given their past, Jenny might believe him, pushing Toran away and forcing him right into Simon’s trap.
Well, Toran had one thing on his side—Simon didn’t know he knew.
* * *
The invitation to dine in the great hall came from Isla, who found him on watch atop the wall, though she swore it was Jenny who’d asked him to come. Toran had been prepared for another long night standing watch up on the wall, hoping the chill night air might douse some of the heat he felt when he thought of her.
He’d been a bloody fool to kiss her.
But it had felt so damn good. Having learned that the men he’d never meant to die had lived was such a palpable relief off his shoulders, he felt drunk with it. The lass’s lips were sweet as honey, soft as silk, and her boldness and enthusiasm had not disappointed him. Ever since he’d met her, he’d wondered at the passion that boiled beneath the surface of her brisk demeanor. And good gods, had she shown him.
It didn’t seem to matter to either one of them that Dirk, Mac, and Archie had been sleeping only a few feet away. It was a mistake he was certain to hear about once the men had him alone, for if they’d woken, even just to roll over in their sleep, there was no way in hell they hadn’t heard their soft murmurs or Jenny’s gasps of pleasure when he’d pressed his mouth to hers. The sound fairly echoed in his ears even now.
He’d been on the verge of asking her about his mother, to get answers once and for all. So he could force away the confusing thoughts plaguing his mind. So he could know that wanting Jenny wasn’t a betrayal of his mother, himself, and his clan.
Toran had never been a man afflicted by nerves, rarely worried over what a lass thought, and the fact that he couldn’t seem to get beyond all of that now was like a kick to the ballocks. How had she so skillfully slipped beneath his defenses?
He entered the great hall, scanning the room for the woman in question.
She stood by the hearth beside her mother, Isla, and several other women. She was dressed in a plaid gown, this one a touch more formal, low-cut across the bosom and with no shawl draped over her shoulders, and he was able to take in the sight of her silky flesh, her skin sprinkled with a faint dusting of freckles, like spice sprinkled on cream. Her hair was swept back in a loose knot, light-golden tendrils curled and falling delicately around her.
The men seemed to be standing on the perimeter of the room, not approaching, but Toran ignored that subtle cue, walking straight up to the circle of women and giving a slight bow.
“My lady,” he said first to her mother, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. Then he reached for Jenny’s hand too, and she stared at his outstretched arm as though he had a trap on the end of it instead of fingers. Finally she took his hand, and he kissed hers too.
“Such a gentleman,” Isla teased, and he passed her a wry smile.
“I must thank ye for the invitation to dine. The idea of walking the walls tonight is much less appealing.”
He spotted Dirk eyeing him from a dozen paces away, his brow furrowed and an irritated downturn to his lips. That man obviously wished Toran was still on watch, twenty feet above. The look was not unlike the glower he’d gotten from Simon when he’d left the barracks, though Simon wished him twenty feet under.
“We are glad ye decided to join us,” Lady Mackintosh said. “And I must offer ye my gratitude for keeping Jenny safe last night.” She seemed on the verge of saying something else but then bit back whatever it was.
“’Twas my duty to see to her safety, but alas, it was she who kept us all from collecting dragoon lead.”
Lady Mackintosh blanched slightly at his words.
“We are alive and well.” He beamed a smile, winking at the older woman in hopes of distracting her from the scare he’d inadvertently given her.
“And I am glad for it. Ye are most welcome to our table, sir. Would ye escort my daughter to her place?” She beckoned Dirk forward. “And I shall take the arm of my sweet nephew.”
Toran glanced down at Jenny, holding out his elbow for her to loop her arm through. She hesitated a moment and then hurried to oblige when her mother started to say something.
As they walked toward the table, he bent his head toward hers, enough to keep their conversation confidential but not enough to be inappropriate. “Did the invitation truly come from ye, Mistress J?”
He watched her smile, her eyes fixed straight ahead. How very much he wanted her to look upon him, to see that light and fire reflected in their depths. He settled instead for finding a pattern in the freckles of her skin, swearing he could connect the dots on her shoulder into the shape of a musket.
“I suppose it did, though the idea was entirely my mother’s.”
Toran let his gaze slide from her shoulders along to her neck, eyeing the dip at the base of her throat. He wanted to touch it, to lick it. “Ye wound me.”
Jenny’s cheeks flushed the barest hint of pink. “I didna wish to take ye away from the task ye seemed so excited to maintain.”
“My watch on the wall?”
“Aye.” She touched the spot on her neck where he’d been staring.
“To tell ye the truth, I’d much rather watch ye.”
They reached the table, and he pulled out her chair for her, tucking her into place, letting his fingers brush just lightly enough on her shoulder to feel the silken skin but not to gain her attention. Still, he could swear he heard her slight inhale. He started to move down the trestle tables to eat with the men when she called him back.
“Where are ye going?”
“To sit with the men.”
“My mother wishes for ye to sit here with us.”
“And ye? What do ye want?” The question was loaded, and he could see the intensity of it weighing on her. He leaned his head down closer and whispered, “Tell me.”
“Perhaps that is a question best left until after the meal. I shall require a walk and an escort.” The words were said so softly, he could barely make them out.
Toran raised a brow. “Is that a request,
my lady?”
“Aye, if ye’re no’ otherwise engaged.”
He slid into the chair beside her. “I am free. Ye may do with me whatever your heart desires.” His gaze dipped to her lips, and color touched her cheeks.
“Ye’re verra generous,” she said with a flash of emerald eyes meeting his. “Perhaps my desire will be to lighten ye of your coin purse or your favorite weapon.”
“I must protest, but if ye desired them overmuch, I suppose I could part with both. Though I’d like visitation with my weapon of choice every now and then.”
She let out a soft laugh, a sound that gained the attention of several of those around the table. The sound was beautiful, a tickle to his ear that made him want to encourage it over and over, to give her that measure of happiness. Jenny was not a lass who laughed often, at least not in the few weeks he’d known her. She was serious, dedicated to the many people counting on her. He was curious some days to know how the hell she was still standing.
The servants appeared with food, serving them all portions of poached salmon drizzled in whisky sauce, and stewed vegetables, accompanied by thick bread, steaming hot, and pots of golden butter.
Hungry, most of them ate quickly. Toran couldn’t help but notice, however, that Jenny barely ate at all.
“Are ye feeling unwell?” he asked.
“Nay, why?”
“Ye’ve barely touched your food. Do ye no’ like salmon?”
She stared down at her plate as though she’d only just noticed. “I’m no’ verra hungry, I suppose.”
“Would ye like to walk now?” He was willing to miss the rest of his meal in order to take a walk with her. Hell, he’d miss a week’s worth of meals or more if she’d let him kiss her again. A lifetime if she told him she wasn’t guilty… “Though we may start tongues wagging.”
“They can wag all they like.” She turned to her mother. “Would ye excuse us, Mama? I need some air.”
Her mother’s expression was blank as she nodded and waved them away before turning to engage Isla in conversation.
Toran stood, offering Jenny his arm again, but she walked away ahead of him. On second thought, that was for the best. Everyone was already watching them leave the great hall. No need to start rumors about how intimate that joint leave-taking might be regarded.
Outside the sun had not yet set, though the sky was a dusky shade of blue. The moon had already risen, a silver crescent fighting for light with the fading sun. On the walls that surrounded them men stood at their posts, staring out over the moors and the loch beyond.
He followed a pace behind Jenny, acting truly as her guard rather than her escort. They rounded the courtyard and the side of the castle, passing by the outbuildings and then beyond them to the gardens and orchards full of vegetables, herbs, and nut and fruit trees.
Jenny paused on a path and turned to face him. She had that haughty expression, the one she wore when she was bossing him around. “Are ye coming, Fraser? Or will I have to wait all day for ye?” She raised a brow, teasing him.
“I was content to watch ye walking, Mistress.” He let his gaze travel over her body rather rakishly as he came closer, only to have her swat at him playfully.
“Ye’re a rogue. And when we’re alone, ye dinna need to call me that. I like it when ye say my name.”
“And I like it when ye say mine.”
She smiled at him and turned to continue walking, waiting for him to step in beside her before she moved forward.
They traversed in silence several moments before she spoke. “I told my mother about what I’ve been doing—about the cause. I was so nervous that she would try to force me to stop that I never considered she’d support me.”
“That is good news.”
“Aye.” She smiled sadly and plucked a pear from a tree as they passed, rolling it between her palms. “My mother has been through so much. I dinna say that to take away from anyone else’s pain, for we’ve all been through much, I know. We’ve lost so many already, and the battle has yet to truly begin.”
Toran’s gut tightened. The words were on the tip of his tongue. What happened to my mother?
Instead he said, “Why do ye believe in the Stuart crown?”
She jerked her gaze toward him, shock at his question in the widening of her eyes.
“I mean nothing by my inquiry, Jenny. I but wonder where your heart lies.”
“My grandfather and my father fought in the first rebellion. They both lost their lives for the cause. Too much precious blood has been shed to turn back, all because pretenders wish to hold onto the crown. Ye know this. I know this. How many more Scottish lives will we lose before we win? I canna bear to see my children or my children’s children having to fight off redcoats when they only wish to live a happy, peaceful life.”
He heard her words, heard her mention of children. So she might someday want children? A sudden desire to bring those children into the world with her stirred in his gut. “Ye fight for a brighter Scottish future.”
“Aye. I fight for our people.” She paused her steps, bit into the pear, and then passed him the fruit.
Toran took it from her, happy to have his lips on something that had touched hers.
“What about ye?” she asked. “Why do ye believe Prince Charles should regain his throne?”
The toughest question of them all.
“I didna always, ye were right about that.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Seeing my people die.” Toran didn’t tell her when or whose death it had been that had set that stage. “Seeing the spirit of those who lead others.” He didn’t tell her she’d played a part in that. “Camdyn and Isla mean everything to me. I canna imagine them living in a world such as this. I canna imagine them suffering what our mother suffered.” His voice trailed off. Now—now he needed to say something.
The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill off, but then she looked up at him with those wide blue eyes, her lips parted, and all he could think of was pressing his mouth to hers. Forgetting about everything else and just being with her. She made him feel alive the way no one, and nothing else, ever had.
Toran cleared his throat, passed back the pear. “I’m no’ proud of some things I’ve done. Choices I’ve made.”
“We have all done things we regret.” She bit into the fruit, licking the juice from her lower lip.
“Aye, but I fear my secrets will haunt me even in death.”
“Then ye’ll have to make up for them now.”
“I dinna believe I can.”
She patted him on the chest, offering him the last bite. “Ye’re already doing it.”
Jenny’s eyes were locked on his, and he had the distinct impression that she knew all about his past and could see right into his soul. It was not the first time he’d looked at her and imagined she could see him for who he really was. And she wasn’t running. That was the most fascinating part.
Without thinking, he tossed the pear core aside and dipped his head toward hers, capturing her mouth. When she didn’t pull away, he grasped her waist in his hands and tugged her flush against him. One more kiss before it all ended…
She kissed him back as eagerly as he kissed her, arms coming up around his neck, the taste of pear on her tongue. Toran explored every part of her mouth. He stroked down her back to her waist, remembering how it had felt to have her plump breasts pressed to his chest and longing to touch them. His hands spanned her middle, thumbs only a few inches away from the lushness of her breasts. He only had to move a fraction of an inch per breath and then he’d be there.
“Oh, Toran,” she whispered against his lips. “Ye make me feel like I’m floating.”
He chuckled, sliding his hands back around to her spine to keep her close. “Ye make me feel the same way, lass.”
She tucked an e
rrant lock of hair behind her ear, her wistfulness changing to sadness. She put a hand to her chest. “We canna ever be more than this.”
“Right now.” He found himself speaking the very phrase running in his mind.
“Toran…” Her eyes were pleading, and he couldn’t decide whether she wanted him to beg to have her or to simply give in and let the moment pass.
“I dinna like to consign myself to a fate I canna know,” he said instead.
Jenny smiled. “Dinna let your rebel leader hear that, else she may think ye unreliable on the battlefield.”
“I am her servant.”
“Ye are her soldier.”
“Aye.” Toran brushed his lips tenderly across hers once more, not taking it any deeper, though he desperately wanted to.
“We should get back,” she whispered. “We’ve still much to do.”
Reluctantly, he let her go, following her back to the castle, kicking himself for abandoning his line of questioning once more. When they were within a dozen feet of the rear entrance, Jenny stopped, pressing her hand to his arm before jerking it away again as though she had been singed. “Please, Toran, dinna kiss me again.”
What the devil? He didn’t bother to hide his shock. “That will be a hard promise to keep, but one I shall if that is your wish.” Why did it feel like a hundred stones were pressing against his chest?
She licked her lips, her eyes cast down, and then she finally raised them to meet his. “When it is over.”
When it is over. He rolled her statement over in his mind.
“Let us have something to look forward to.”
He understood then. She would be willing to kiss him once the prince was on the throne, when he’d proven himself loyal to the Stuart line and worthy of her affection. Would he be able to?
“Is that a promise, lass?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
“Aye. I vow it.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “I vow to kiss the hell out of ye when all this is over.”
She smiled. “I shall hold ye to it.” And then she turned and raced into the castle, leaving him feeling a little stunned at the promise he’d just made to the woman who should have been his enemy.