She noticed the open folio on the desk and was about to close it when her eye caught a recent entry that happened to be for the receipt she’d just stacked on top.
She frowned and reread the note, just to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake. Her eyes went back to the ledger. Nay, it was entered wrong. The one hundred quarters of barley had been entered as five hundred.
A quick perusal of a handful of other receipts turned up another transcription error—instead of ten silver ducats, the amount received had been entered as sixteen.
Tor was fortunate that MacDougall had not taken him up on his offer to review the books—they were a mess.
She chewed on her lip, trying to decide what to do. Whoever was responsible would be in danger of losing his position if she revealed her discovery. She didn’t want to get Brother John in trouble—he’d been so overworked and tired lately, it was no wonder he made a few mistakes. Nor did she want to give the seneschal more reason not to like her.
All of a sudden, a kernel of an idea formed. She sat down behind the table, pulled the ledger toward her, and studied it a little closer. The same gift that had enabled her to learn languages early also seemed to apply to numbers. She could do most calculations, even complicated ones, in her head. Father Stephen had said he’d seen the same thing only once before. Adding the columns on the right in her head, she found errors in calculations as well.
This was it! She’d found the way to help. It wouldn’t take her long at all—a few days, perhaps a week—to have all these accounts organized and sorted. It was the perfect way not only to tell her husband about her unusual skills but show him how she could help at the same time. He didn’t need to be alone.
Excitement bubbled inside her. Wouldn’t he be surprised? Her efforts before to prove her usefulness had largely been in vain, but this was something important—something he could not ignore. This would have to impress him.
She couldn’t wait to see his face. First the surprise, then gratitude, and then maybe even pride. Her heart beat a little faster. Would he finally see her not as the cowardly girl who’d tricked him into marriage, but as the woman who could stand by his side? A confidante? She could be a part of his life, not just in the bedroom.
An image of her father flashed in her mind. She’d thought to impress him, too…
Nonsense. She pushed the errant thought away. Tor was nothing like her father. Nothing. He was honorable to the core, fair, and even when angered always in control. He might have a blunt tongue, but he would never lift a hand to her. He’d been furious to discover her in the tree and more so when she’d foolishly taunted him about Lachlan MacRuairi. She’d wanted to make him jealous like she was. If his reaction was any indication, it had worked. Yet no matter how angry, he would never hurt her physically.
It wasn’t cruelty that prevented him from seeing her but blindness. She just needed to open his eyes a little.
Course set, Christina left the solar with a decided spring in her step. She couldn’t wait to get started, but she would have to wait until late at night if she didn’t want to be discovered. A raucous roar went up in the Great Hall behind her.
Her heart jumped. Tor must be back!
She hurried her step, coming around the back entry to the Hall from the corridor, and stopped in her tracks, utterly paralyzed.
Horror washed over her in a cold, sickening blast. Her stomach knifed, bile rising up in the back of her throat.
A soft sound emerged from her strangled throat, like that of a wounded animal.
Standing at the dais with his back toward her was her husband—locked in a passionate embrace with a tall, blond-haired woman.
Christina stood there motionless—numb—unable to move.
The kiss went on and on, growing wilder as the crowd egged them on with their cheering and hollering. Stop. Please stop. Her heart twisted tighter and tighter. Tears blurred her eyes.
How could he do this to her? And how could his clansmen encourage it? She thought they’d begun to like her.
Her throat closed and her chest burned. She felt a crack from deep inside that started to splinter like ice on a frozen pond. She trembled, knowing she was about to shatter.
Her husband and Lady Janet broke apart, laughing, and Christina stilled.
Something was wrong…different. He didn’t stand like a king surveying his kingdom and he was wearing far more ornate clothing than she’d ever seen him wear before. The easy, relaxed stance, the unfamiliar clothing, the hair streaked with too much gold. His shoulders were just as wide but the well-muscled build was leaner, not quite as heavily muscled.
She blinked. Was it only wishful thinking? Nay. She knew it in her heart. The man standing at the dais was not her husband.
When he slid his hand around the woman’s waist and turned to address the crowd, she knew it for certain. The profile was eerily similar, but the jaw was not quite as formidable and his nose didn’t have the slight crook at the bridge. He also had a thin scar down his right cheek and smile lines around his eyes that Tor did not.
And if she had any doubt, it was gone when the woman came into view. It wasn’t Lady Janet, but a young woman probably not much older than herself. She was pretty—with slim, delicate features and big, laughing green eyes—not in the stately, serene beauty of Lady Janet, but in a carefree, lively fashion. A wildflower in spring, not a rose in winter.
The girl caught sight of Christina and smiled. Tugging on the man’s arm, she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear and he turned in Christina’s direction.
Seeing the broad smile spread across a face so similar to her husband’s took her breath away. He should look like this…happy.
The man strode toward her. He stopped and bowed so gallantly she had to smile. “My lady, forgive me, I did not see you arrive.” He gave her a roguish grin and took her hand to lead her to the table. “I fear I got a wee bit carried away introducing my bride to the clan. I’m Torquil, and you must be Lady Christina.” He shook his head ruefully. “My brother is certainly full of surprises.”
Her lips quirked. “He certainly is. You’re twins.”
He arched a well-formed brow, the wry expression looking so much like his brother’s it took her aback. “He didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head.
His gaze filled with concern. “I’m sorry, what you saw…it must have been something of a shock.” She nodded—that was an understatement. By then they’d reached the table. “My lady, I wish to present my wife, Lady Margaret.”
The girl rushed forward and clasped her hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. May I call you Christina? And you must call me Meg. I just know we are going to be great friends, married to brothers—twin brothers, that is. We shall have so much to talk about”—she gave her husband a sly look—“and compare.”
Christina could only nod and return her smile, feeling as if she’d just been caught up in a whirlwind.
“Naughty wench.” Torquil dragged his young bride back into his arms and feigned outrage. “Mind your tongue or I’ll have to put it to other uses.”
Meg’s eyes twinkled. “What other uses did you have in mind?”
He reached his finger down and stroked the side of her face with such love and adoration in his gaze that it made Christina’s heart squeeze with longing. Bending down, he whispered in her ear. Whatever he said caused his pretty bride to blush to her roots, but there was no mistaking the look of sensual anticipation in her gaze.
What do you want from me?
Tor’s strangely intense question, uttered right before he’d kissed her, had haunted her. But now she knew the answer: This was what she wanted.
Perhaps she should be happy with what she had. Tor had done so much for her. He’d rescued her from a horrible situation and given her his name, a home, and most importantly a sense of safety and security. He’d given her passion, and she knew that eventually he’d give her children. He’d protect her with his life—as he would any of his clan
smen—because he would think it his duty to do so. He treated her if not with tenderness then at least with consideration. After what had happened in the woods, she knew that no matter how hard she pushed him, he would never strike her. He was in control, commanding, honorable, steadfast, and solid as a rock—by any measure a warrior and a leader to admire.
All this, yet it wasn’t enough. Not when she looked at the couple now seated beside her. What did she want from him? She wanted everything. She wanted tender looks, fierce kisses, loving smiles, and long nights together beside the hearth. She wanted laughter and companionship, intimacy and a man who valued her—not as a pretty plaything, but as a person.
She wanted his heart.
For he already held hers in the palm of his big iron fist.
I love him. The truth was so obvious that she wondered how she hadn’t realized it before. She loved his solid strength, his confidence, his decisiveness, his innate fairness, and even his gruff manner. She knew she could always count on him. He was an important chief, heralded as the greatest warrior of his age, but he always treated her with respect, listening to her opinions.
And if she’d had any doubt, the utter devastation she’d felt upon witnessing that kiss took it away. From the moment he’d rescued her from ravishment at Finlaggan to the kiss they’d shared in the forest, he’d claimed a piece of her heart. Now it was his.
If he wanted it.
—
It was late when Tor strode through the sea-gate. His gaze fastened immediately on the man standing in the courtyard, waiting for him. The prodigal had returned.
Colyne had brought word earlier from his henchman Murdoch of their arrival. Tor would have come right away, but he’d been helping the guard ready for the journey. Tomorrow they would leave for the Cuillen Mountains to begin the last—and most intense—phase of training. What some called Perdition. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration. But nothing brought a team together like shared suffering.
Tor had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Torquil watched him approach uncertainly, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Tor drew back his fist and slammed it into his brother’s jaw. Torquil’s head snapped back, and he let out a pained grunt.
God’s blood, that felt good!
Massaging his jaw with his hand, Torquil eyed him warily, as if expecting another blow. Tor hadn’t decided yet.
“It’s good to see you, too, Chief.”
“Chief? Convenient for you to remember now,” Tor said icily. Rain pelted him in the face. “Is there a reason you are standing outside and not in the Hall?”
Torquil looked uncomfortable. “I’d ask for a moment alone first, if you don’t mind.”
He did, but his brother seemed unusually earnest. “Leave us,” Tor said to the other guardsmen. When they’d retreated, he said, “Now, explain.”
Torquil gave him an uncertain look, trying to gauge his mood. He should have known better. Tor gave nothing away. Finally, his brother shrugged. “I knew you’d be angry.”
An understatement, and Torquil bloody well knew it. “And you thought I’d be less angry standing outside in the rain?”
Torquil squared his shoulders and met his gaze, steel to steel. “I didn’t want to upset her. Good thing, after that greeting.” He rubbed his bruised jaw for effect.
It took Tor a moment to realize what he meant. “So I’m out here freezing my bollocks off so your abducted bride doesn’t have her tender feelings hurt?” he asked incredulously. His brother had gone daft.
The muscle in Torquil’s jaw jumped. He locked his jaw and nodded. “The lass is not to blame for what happened. It is I alone who deserve your wrath, so do what you will, but I’ll not have my wife forced to witness it—or to get the wrong first impression of you.”
Tor’s gaze narrowed. “And what impression is that?”
A wry smile lifted his brother’s mouth. “You can be a little terrifying on the rare occasions you lose your temper.”
Not all that rare since he’d met Christine, Tor thought. He arched a brow. “Only a little?”
Torquil grinned. “Meg doesn’t know you like I do. She might think you truly mean to lop off my head or other parts she’s grown particularly fond of.”
“She’d be right.” Tor had already had a report from Murdoch, his captain and henchman, but he would hear his brother’s explanation before deciding his fate. “Give me one good reason why I should not put you in irons and toss you into the dungeon right now. You knew exactly what kind of trouble this marriage could bring down upon all our heads and still you defied me.” He took a step closer, clenching his fists at his side, his fury rising. Torquil might find this amusing, but what he’d done could have jeopardized years of struggle and forced them into war. “How could you do something so damned foolish? So damned irresponsible? Do you have any idea what I had to agree to, to prevent Nicolson from attacking?”
Torquil met his fierce onslaught without flinching. “You left me no choice. I hoped you’d understand that now.”
Tor frowned. “What in Hades are you talking about?”
“I heard the circumstances of your marriage and thought you’d understand. I had to have Meg. She is mine. No matter what the consequences.”
News traveled fast. Tor’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “No lass is worth sacrificing your duty to your clan. What you heard was false. My marriage was the price of peace for yours.”
At his brother’s puzzled looked, briefly Tor explained what had happened at Finlaggan and the terms of the devil’s bargain he’d struck with MacDonald. As his tanaiste—at least for now—Torquil had a right to know the danger they were in, even if he was largely responsible for it.
Notwithstanding Tor’s anger and their very different natures, the bond between the brothers had always been strong. Torquil knew him better than anyone, and sometimes better than Tor wanted him to. Tor could feel his brother’s penetrating gaze studying him carefully as he finished the story.
Torquil shook his head in disbelief. “She tricked you, and yet you still agreed to marry her?” Tor did not answer, knowing it sounded unfathomable. “You’re sure there is no other reason?”
“The marriage and agreeing to train Bruce’s secret guard was the price to secure MacDonald’s help to stave off Nicolson.” Tor’s mouth turned grim. “Though I’m not sure it was worth it, if it gains us MacDougall’s enmity.” He told his brother about the sheriff’s recent “visit.” “Whether he believed that I was besotted, I don’t know—nor at this point does it matter. My marriage to a Fraser was enough to make Edward and his new lackey start asking questions.”
“But you knew this could happen,” Torquil pointed out.
He shrugged. “Aye. It was a possibility.”
“Yet you still married her.” Torquil shook his head again, sending icy droplets of water spraying from his hair. “Are you sure there is no other reason?” he persisted.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. It matched Tor’s expression. “What other reason could there be?”
“I’ve met the lass. She’s lovely. There is no shame in admitting you wanted her.”
Tor eyed his brother coldly through the dark haze of mist and rain. “Just because you’ve acted like an idiot over a lass, don’t start attributing your foolishness to everyone else.”
His brother eyed him shrewdly. “Your wife is in love with you.”
Tor stilled, his heart taking a strange jump. “What are you talking about?”
Torquil explained how Christina had walked into the Great Hall when he was locked in an embrace with his new bride. “I didn’t see her right away, but near enough afterward to see the stricken look on her face. She was devastated. It’s exactly how I would have felt had I seen what she did.”
Tor swore and dragged his hand through his now sopping hair. He could well imagine what she’d thought. But love? He hoped his brother was wrong. It would only
cause her pain.
“Why did you not tell her we were twins?” Torquil asked. But before Tor could respond, he held up his hand to stop him. “Forget I asked. You don’t tell anyone anything. Flora even had to come to me to find out our saint’s day.”
Tor frowned, not realizing that his first wife had cared about such things. “You have not exactly been my favorite topic of conversation. Hard for you to imagine, I know.”
An arrogant grin spread over his brother’s face. “Lord knows that gorgeous bride of yours is probably tired of your fierce charm. Perhaps we should play that game we used to when we were young—”
Tor had him in a chokehold before he could finish, taking Torquil completely by surprise. He would have to thank Boyd for the move later. He looked into his brother’s eyes. “Touch her and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Torquil nodded, and Tor released him.
“Damn, it was only a jest.” Massaging his neck, Torquil stared at him in the darkness, a knowing look on his face—a look that reminded Tor of MacSorley. “A rather strong reaction, wouldn’t you say, for a wife you didn’t want? I think the lass has gotten under your skin. It’s bloody well about time, if you ask me.” He read Tor’s anger. “I just hope you realize it before it’s too late. Lasses need a little warmth and tenderness.”
His hell-raising brother had been married for a couple of months and now he was the damned expert? Tor didn’t know what his brother thought he knew, but he didn’t know a damned thing. “Shut the hell up, Torquil, or you’ll see the dungeon sooner than you think.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
Tor let him wait—and worry—a moment before answering. He should be punished—and he would be—but right now he needed his brother for something more important. His uneasiness had only grown since John MacDougall’s unexpected appearance on Skye. Something wasn’t right, and he wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Nay, it means your punishment will be delayed. I have a mission for you first.”
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