My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5)

by Sinclair, Vonda

  Torrin's gaze lit on her again with penetrating realization. "That's why you've been terrified of me the entire time. You thought I murdered your innocent foster brother."

  She nodded.

  "What do you think now?" he asked.

  "I'm not certain."

  "Do you believe me?"

  Jessie gazed deeply into his eyes as if looking into his soul, and Torrin loved the sensation of it. Her blue eyes were much softer now, and damned if he didn't want to grab her and kiss her. But he must not. He'd had no inkling that anyone, aside from his own clansmen, had been witness to what he felt was justice being served. Certainly, he couldn't have simply let his sister's murderer go unpunished and free to kill others. And it wasn't just the murder, but also the vicious rape and torturous beating he'd given her. No woman should ever be treated in such a way, certainly not his innocent young sister.

  "How old was she?" Jessie asked.

  "Allina was seventeen summers. Very beautiful. All the lads were smitten with her." His eyes burned and he shook his head. "She was incredibly kind, loving, and helpful to everyone. She didn't deserve such a horrid end. I'll never understand why." Even his abusive father would not lay a hand on her.

  Jessie bit her lip. The tears glistening in her eyes struck him on a deep level. She was a compassionate person, and she understood how he felt. He'd never wanted to hold her as badly as he did right now. But he couldn't. 'Twas too soon. She must trust him first.

  "I cannot fathom Fate, or why God would allow such suffering and injustice," he said.

  "None of us do," she whispered. "But I can understand why you did it. I know if someone were to murder Aiden or Dirk, I'd want to kill them, too. I'm not saying I would but…"

  He nodded. Though he often saw her as a warrior princess, he now knew she was too compassionate to kill anyone, unless forced to, and he loved that about her. "For men, 'tis often different, especially for those of us who have been in battles," he said. "Usually 'tis a case of kill or be killed, you ken? Those are the choices."

  "Indeed."

  "I hope you won't hold it against me any longer."

  She shook her head, but he still saw the uncertainty in her eyes. 'Twould take time to build trust, especially after what she'd believed about him. He could be patient and prove he was truthful and honorable. And he would start with how he dealt with his new enemy.

  "I thought we would hold the MacBains in the dungeon until the morn, and then my men will escort them off MacKay lands. Do you agree?" he asked.

  "Aye, of course. I never want to see Gregor MacBain again."

  Those words thrilled him, but Torrin suppressed a grin. "I'm glad to hear it. I'll tell my men." He moved toward the door.

  "Some of the MacKays may want to go with them tomorrow."

  "That would be good."

  Leaving the room, Torrin felt victorious—jubilant, even. Finally, he knew what was keeping Jessie from him. He hadn't even minded confessing. He was a warrior, a soldier, and as such he sometimes had to kill enemies. 'Twas the nature of it. He wasn't proud of it, but he also wasn't ashamed. Often, he had to do things he didn't want to, but he did them for the sake of his family and clan.

  Most of all, he was happy that Jessie understood, that she could imagine the agony he'd gone through seeing his sister so horribly beaten and dying right before his eyes. Jessie was a caring, intelligent woman—one he was starting to cherish even more than ever before. It wasn't just a physical attraction anymore. Sometimes, when he looked into her beautiful blue eyes, he could hardly breathe. He feared she was capturing his heart.

  ***

  MacBain ground his teeth as he was escorted from the dungeon by one of the MacLeods, his stomach growling because he'd refused to eat the moldy old bread they'd been given to break their fast. Torrin stood in the courtyard, waiting, tall and conceited as if he thought himself a prince. MacBain would see him suffer for all he'd done. And now 'twas obvious to him Torrin MacLeod was after Jessie. Well, he was not going to get her, no matter what MacBain had to do.

  "Don't give them their weapons until they're off MacKay land," Torrin said, sending a cocky glare his way.

  "Whoreson," MacBain muttered under his breath, but too low for anyone to hear. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. He also knew when to strike out in revenge. 'Twould be soon.

  Two of the MacLeods nodded and mounted up. Ten heavily armed MacKays were also waiting in the courtyard. When the guard behind MacBain unlocked the manacles binding his hands, he swung up onto his horse and walked it toward the portcullis.

  Where was Jessie this morn? He glanced toward the entrance to the great hall but saw no sign of her. If she wouldn't marry him, then he would make certain she never married anyone.

  ***

  Jessie rushed into the great hall and skidded to an abrupt halt. She'd slept late and the tables were full to overflowing with those breaking their fast. Torrin sat at the high table with Aiden, Iain and several others. With his gaze locked on her, Torrin arose and pulled out the chair beside him.

  When she realized how badly she wanted to sit there, heat rushed over her. Still unsure whether or not she trusted him, she cautiously made her way forward. She had gotten little sleep the night before as she'd thought about what Torrin had revealed to her, and what she remembered from eight years ago. She prayed he had told the truth, but there was no way to know for sure.

  "A good morn to you, m'lady," Torrin said with a slight bow.

  "Good morn." She sat, still feeling overheated.

  Iain, sitting on Torrin's opposite side, also greeted her.

  "How are you feeling? That bruise on your face is darker," Torrin said.

  "'Tis naught. I'm only a bit sore from the scuffle."

  "I found your dirk and sgian dubh this morn," Torrin said. "I'll give them to you after the meal."

  "Oh, I thank you. Were they damaged?"

  "Nay, they're in good repair and sharp as razors."

  She smiled and a servant placed a wooden bowl of thick oat porridge before her. It held a generous chunk of melting butter and honey, just the way she liked it. With a wooden spoon, she stirred it and asked, "What of the MacBains?"

  "Just after daybreak, two of my men and ten MacKays headed out with them."

  "Was there any conflict?"

  "Nay. All were well-behaved. Since they're outnumbered and unarmed, I'm thinking they'll be as sweet as wee lassies until they reach the MacKay border."

  She wondered at his analogy and found it amusing. "Not all wee lassies are sweet."

  Torrin snickered. "Surely, you cannot mean yourself."

  "I've been told I was a hellion at seven summers."

  He grinned. "I can well imagine that… considering what a hellion you are now."

  Her mouth dropped open and he laughed, his eyes darkening in an enticing way.

  Iain leaned forward, frowning. "Do you not ken 'tis not polite to laugh at a lady?"

  Torrin got his amusement under control… barely, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I doubt that a hellion would like a polite man."

  Heat washed over her and she imagined her face turning as red as her hair. She ate and tried to ignore him. 'Twas impossible, of course, but she could pretend.

  Torrin leaned closer. "Pray pardon, Lady Jessie. But I do love the way you carry plenty of weapons about."

  Ha. He probably detested it, for it meant if he tried anything, she could well defend herself. She'd best change the subject before the conversation embarrassed her any further. "Do you think MacBain will return?"

  Torrin sobered. "'Tis possible, so we must be ready. And because of this, I think it best that I stay until Dirk and his company of men return."

  Iain leaned forward. "I'll stay too, m'lady. You'll need me to protect you from this rogue."

  Torrin snorted. "You're daft. I've been naught but a gentleman."

  "Well… I thank you both for staying to help us. I fear we've angered MacBain greatly and he may seek revenge."<
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  "'Tis true."

  The longer Jessie sat beside Torrin, the more aware of him she became. His manly scent of leather, the great outdoors, and the familiar mint soap made here at the castle near entranced her. Somehow, he made the soap smell different and more compelling. His height, the broadness of his shoulders and his overall presence also distracted her from her meal. She could've been eating sand and would not have known the difference.

  Her hands jittery, she devoured the porridge as quickly as possible and arose from the table.

  "You cannot be finished already," Torrin said.

  "Aye, I always eat a light breakfast. Pray pardon, but I must see if the kitchen servants are keeping on task."

  She hastened away and down the stairs. In the stone-vaulted kitchen, she glanced around, seeing that everyone was completing their duties, just as they always did. The heat of the kitchen fires was intolerable on her already overheated skin. She exited the doorway into the walled kitchen garden and deeply inhaled the cool breeze off the sea.

  She did not understand her reaction to Torrin this morn. She felt as if she'd been in an oven. Of a certainty, she had always been drawn to him against her will. But now that she no longer believed him a murderer, she found him far more appealing. 'Twas as if an invisible barricade had been knocked down. The sensation of sitting next to him had been too intense. She knew not how she would react if he touched her.

  His cocky, confident smile and teasing manner tempted her more than she could believe. He could make her smile and blush without any effort at all. Closing her eyes, she remembered and relished everything about him.

  "M'lady?"

  She jumped and her eyes popped open to find Torrin standing beside her in the doorway. His enticing scent surrounded her.

  "Saints! You startled me." And now she was overheating again, even though the morning air was cool.

  "I have your weapons." He held up the dirk in one hand and the sgian dubh in the other.

  "Oh. I thank you." How daft she was to be so unhinged by his presence that she'd forgotten all about her beloved knives. She took them, her fingers brushing against his. The extreme warmth of his skin compelled her to glance up. He watched her with great interest from beneath lowered lashes.

  The smoothness of his skin told her he had shaved that morn, and she found herself wanting to stroke her fingers along his jaw line. But her hands were full of weapons. She focused on those and slid the dirk into the sheath that hung from her belt. Next, she bent and, lifting her skirts a wee bit, placed the smaller sgian dubh into the sheath strapped above her ankle.

  She straightened, appreciating the slight weight of the blades. They gave her more confidence. "That feels better."

  Torrin gave a slight, lopsided grin. "Never heard of another woman who loves weapons as much as you do."

  She shrugged. "I suppose I'm odd."

  "Nay, fascinating and unique."

  A blast of heat rushed over her and she lowered her gaze from his scorching one. "Well, I thank you… and I must get back to work."

  But he did not move from the doorway so that she might pass. "Surely, you don't still fear me," he murmured.

  "Of course not." Nay, 'twas not fear that seized her now, but some foreign sensation she had rarely, if ever, felt before. She did not know the name of it or why it should take hold of her when she was near Torrin. Her hands became unsteady, her heart thudded, and her stomach flipped and fluttered like a crazed bird.

  With his dark and observant eyes, he appeared to be trying to read her thoughts. She refused to hold his gaze for more than a couple of seconds; she didn't want him to know her true thoughts. She didn't understand them herself and needed time to think everything through.

  "If you would excuse me, Laird MacLeod."

  "Please call me Torrin."

  Again her gaze darted to his challenging one, then away. Of a certainty, she knew he wanted to be on an intimate, first name basis, but she was not sure she wanted to be. Not because he was a murderer, but because he was a man like any other. A man who wished to marry her for her dowry. The only men she trusted were those in her clan.

  "Very well," she said.

  "Look at me, Lady Jessie," he whispered, placing his fingers beneath her chin and lifting it gently.

  Her first instinct was to jump back away from him, but his warm touch captivated her as did his dark, bewitching gaze.

  She tried to hide her reaction and that deep down something that flared to the surface whenever he was near. Instead of removing his hand, he slid his fingers along her jaw line and leaned closer. Her breath stopped and her pulse pounded in her ears.

  From six inches away, he searched her eyes. After a moment, he frowned thoughtfully, then drew back, dropping his hand. "I don't want you to fear me."

  She didn't fear him, but that didn't mean she wanted him to kiss her. Did it? A kiss from him would no doubt be the most sinful thing she'd yet experienced. But she couldn't indulge. What if he turned out exactly like MacBain? What if she trusted him, fell for him, and then he tired of her? Abandoned her? She could not handle that kind of rejection again.

  "Pray pardon." She pushed past him and into the kitchen, but did not remain there. She needed time alone to think.

  ***

  Torrin watched Jessie disappear into the castle. He wanted to follow her and make her see that he was trustworthy. Saints! He'd come so close to kissing her, but at the last moment, the fear and alarm in her gaze had stopped him. 'Twas the last thing he wanted to see.

  At times, he thought he glimpsed desire in her eyes, or at least a hint of interest. But then something would happen to scare her. She must come to him willingly. He didn't want to force anything upon her, certainly not a kiss.

  Besides, he didn't want just a kiss from her; he wanted so much more. A lifetime. Sometimes, when he looked into her eyes, he could see it all, a wonderful future for them. But perhaps 'twas only his active imagination.

  He was further disappointed when she didn't appear in the great hall during the midday meal. He didn't go into the kitchen again, searching for her. Clearly, she was avoiding him, and 'haps he should give her some time. Maybe he'd frightened her more than he'd realized that morn.

  An hour after the meal, from the ramparts, Torrin spied Jessie sitting on the beach in the sand, her red hair as bright as a flame in the early afternoon sunshine, although most of her was hidden by a large clump of grass. He wasn't overly concerned about her safety, since MacBain and his men were on their way south under heavy guard.

  But when Jessie hung her head and wiped at her eyes, he frowned. Was she crying? What the devil?

  He made his way down multiple sets of winding stone steps and outside to the beach. Quickly, he strode toward her.

  Indeed, when she glanced up at him, her face was wet with tears and her eyes were red.

  "Lady Jessie, has something happened?" He dropped to his knees in the soft sand beside her.

  "Och." She dried her eyes with a handkerchief, then wiped her nose. "Nay. 'Tis naught for you to be concerned about."

  She refused to meet his eyes, but she looked incredibly sad. Was she already in love with someone and that was why she had no interest in him?

  "You miss… someone?" If there was another man, he had to know.

  She stared down and bit her lip, obviously trying to stop her tears. But it didn't work. She again cried quietly into her handkerchief.

  He wanted to put an arm around her and comfort her, but he didn't think she would appreciate that. Instead, he sat beside her on the warm sand and sucked in a deep breath of the salty sea air. If her heart was broken because a lover had left her, he wanted to be the one who was there for her.

  "My dog died last month," she said. "He just got old. His name was Ossian, and he was a deerhound. He always went for walks on the beach with me and… everywhere."

  "Och. I'm so sorry, lass." Although he was sad she'd lost a beloved pet, he was glad she was not crying over a lost love. E
ven more now, he yearned to put his arm around her and draw her close, but he feared that would be too much too soon. So he kept his hands to himself.

  "I know I'm daft, getting so upset over losing a dog, but he was my best friend these last eight years."

  "'Tis not daft at all. 'Tis indeed heartbreaking to lose a close friend or family member, whether human or beast. I had a dog I loved more than anything when I was a lad, and when I lost him, it almost killed me."

  "I'm sorry to hear it."

  "I didn't want anyone to know how hurt and sad I was over losing him. I feared they'd see me as weak. I'd walk along the loch or up a hill to be alone so I could cry my heart out." 'Twas true, and this was the first time he'd told anyone.

  "'Tis good to know that men cry, too."

  "Aye, we do; we just don't want anyone to ken it."

  She nodded and drew spirals in the sand with a stick. The sea breeze whipped at her hair. He did naught but enjoy the simple moment in her presence. 'Twas a comfortable silence that stretched out between them. He felt closer to her at that moment than ever before. But he also wanted to take away her sadness and see her smile. He wasn't even ashamed to make a fool of himself to do it.

  "Although I'm not too furry, I could be your new deerhound. I could go with you for walks on the beach and protect you."

  She gave a short, tear-filled chuckle. "You're mad."

  "You could tell me all your troubles, and I would simply watch you with my big sad eyes."

  She glanced at him. "You don't have big sad eyes."

  "I wouldn't even mind if you scratched me behind the ears or rubbed my belly."

  She half-heartedly threw the stick at him and tried to hide her smile. "You are horrid."

  "'Tis true, but I made you smile." When she didn't respond, he said, "I could go back and get my bow and a few arrows, then we could walk along the beach that way." He pointed toward the right. "And I could teach you archery. If I don't behave myself, you can shoot me or use one of your hidden blades on me."

  She sent a confused frown his way. "Why are you so determined to teach me how to shoot a bow?"

  He shrugged. "I think you would be good at it. You're tall; you have long arms. You remind me of a warrior princess."