by Mary Wine
It would not have mattered if it were uncomfortable or not. She doubted anything short of true pain would have kept her eyes open. While the mind was willing, her body demanded rest. She would not return to the hall and appeal to her captors for a bed to rest in. She wasn’t helpless. She’d see to her own needs by using her wits. There was always a way to endure.
Always.
***
Connor Lindsey was pure Scots. Torin enjoyed the way the man didn’t let the night stop him from going where he was needed. The neighboring laird paused as the gate was hoisted to allow him entrance, but his stallion danced in a circle while the heavy gate was moving upward. The moment it was high enough, he lay down across the neck of the beast and charged forward, with his retainers on his heels, not waiting for it to be high enough for him to remain sitting upright in the saddle.
Aye, that was a man of action right enough.
“Torin, ye sorry excuse for a friend! What’s this I hear about ye having fun and no’ waiting for me to share it with ye?”
Connor was off his horse and up the stairs in the same amount of time that it took for him to speak.
“The king is dead. Murdered.”
His friend sobered instantly, all traces of teasing leaving his face. His features may have been fair, with light hair and eyes the same color as the loch when the sun shone on it, but there was nothing light about the look that took control of the man. Torin took the last step and stood on even footing with him.
“I’d hoped that rumor would play out to be false.”
“White Hill is still smoldering.”
Connor cursed. “Then it’s true, and the McBoyd are plotting with that traitor Atholl.”
There was distaste in the man’s tone, the same bitterness that Torin had tasted throughout the journey home. Behind Connor, his retainers’ expressions tightened. They wore different colors than his own men did, but at the moment they were all Scotsmen. Something that would cease to be, if they allowed Atholl to tear the country apart for his own gain.
“Come, my friend, we’ve matters to discuss.”
Connor Lindsey grunted and followed him into the tower. The hearth fire was burning low, but a flick of his fingers sent the women to building it back up. The hall was still full, a sense of joy in the air, but the conversation dwindled away until the pop and crackle from the fire became dominant. Connor sat down at the high table along with his captains while Torin did the same.
It was time to talk strategy.
Five
The church bells rang at dawn.
Shannon sat up quickly and gasped when her back protested. Her muscles were tight and sore. Pain snaked through her when she raised a hand to rub at her eyes. She was not used to riding so many hours, but there was nothing to be done about the agony. Sitting still would only see her hurting longer. Better to get moving and work the torment out of her flesh.
Light filtered into the room now, illuminating the edges of the wooden shutters. Reaching up, she unlatched them and opened them wide. The water of the loch sparkled with the newly risen sun, the rays of light dancing off the ripples. Shannon stared at the distant shore, trying to judge the distance. It would be too far to swim.
Of course it would be. The towers would not be safe if the loch might be crossed. The surface wasn’t smooth, hinting at powerful currents that were most likely stronger than she thought.
Yet Torin had braved them…
Her cheeks heated, and it had naught to do with the morning sun. Her memory was crystal clear, offering up an image of Torin standing so confidently last evening. Her attention moved to the boulder that he’d stood on. In the morning light, it was just another smooth stone, one of hundreds that she could see on the surrounding mountains.
The church bells began ringing again, this time in a steady rhythm meant to call the inhabitants to morning service. Her blush burned hotter as the sound mingled with the memory of what she’d spied last night. Suddenly she understood why the church preached against good Christians wandering during the dark hours. The night truly was filled with temptations to sin. Something about the darkness had indeed made her bolder, more passionate than she had suspected she was.
Her attention strayed to the boulder once more, and this time she noticed that it was only thirty feet from the shore. Beyond it lay a large expanse of choppy water that would claim her life if she attempted to swim it. The boulder Torin had stood on was the farthest one out, telling her that the loch deepened past it as well.
She heard footsteps in the corridor now. They didn’t stop but continued on toward the front of the tower. The bells continued to beckon, and she followed the sound without really thinking about her actions. Every morning she went to service, just as every member of the clan did. Such obedience was instilled in every child from the moment that their mothers recovered from birth. Old and young alike gave deference to the church.
The eating hall was empty when she reached it. Crossing the large area was much simpler today. The double doors that led to the yard were open, and she reached them without protest from anyone. Below her, she could see the last of the McLeren making their way toward the church that sat off to the right side of the gate. It had a steeple that the bell hung in. The few people in sight were hurrying toward the open doors, their hands reaching out quickly to dip into the holy water waiting near the door. She could hear the monks beginning to sing the first verses of the morning Mass.
But she froze on the top step, a tingle shooting down her nape. Raising her head, she looked up onto the curtain wall and found several men watching her. These were burly retainers, their chests covered in mail tunics. On their heads they wore helmets that were secured into place by sturdy leather straps beneath their chins. They stared at her, and she recalled all too clearly the way their laird had ordered that she remain within the tower.
Did the beast mean to deny her the Mass?
She looked back at the church and the distance between the tower and its doors. No one stood between her and the sanctuary. Why had she not thought of it before? The church would shelter her. Even a Highlander laird would not challenge the authority of the priest.
Of course, that meant she would have to become a nun. Nothing was free in this earthly life. Not even from the church. If she sought shelter in the church, she would be expected to pledge herself as a bride of Christ, making her dowry the possession of the church. It didn’t matter that her father had not given her his blessing to become a nun; the church would hound him until he consented and gave her dowry to them.
She nibbled on her lower lip, indecision tearing at her thoughts. Part of her enjoyed the idea of knowing her father would be pressed into submission just as he had so often done to her and everyone around him. Laird McBoyd would have to kneel in obedience to the church or face being excommunicated.
It was unkind of her to wish her father ill, or anyone for that matter. She needed heaven’s goodwill now more than ever; turning spiteful was sure to see the angels and saints turning deaf ears to her prayers.
That should have been reason enough to turn her against the idea of becoming a nun, but it was the vision of Torin standing on that boulder that clouded her thinking. Just a few hundred feet across the yard and her honor might remain unsullied forever, but she’d never know what it felt like to run her fingers over the firm flesh of a man. Never get close enough to smell the clean scent of his skin again.
It was a truth that she’d make a poor nun, one who was less than dedicated. That in itself would not be uncommon. A third-born daughter was always promised to the church. Her father had avoided the demands of giving a portion of his wealth over so far, but with two sons, the priests were watching her new stepmother to see if the woman produced any more daughters.
Pain snaked through her lip as she bit it too hard. She was not debating the loss of the possibility of touching Torin McLeren, only
the loss of the possibility of ever having a husband. He was not a man to whom she would be yielding anything such as her touches. The man was her captor, and he’d earned every bit of scorn that went along with that term. She would find a way to banish what she had seen from her thoughts.
“You’ll be needing to step back into the tower now, lass, as I warned ye to stay inside these walls.”
Shannon turned in a flurry of her robes, one shoulder pressing tightly against the door frame she stood in out of a need to know that no one might sneak up behind her. She knew his voice instantly, and it raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. But the sensation was not confined to just her nape; it rippled down her body, touching off an awareness of the man that was too intimate for her comfort.
Torin McLeren eyed her from beneath lowered eyebrows. He gripped his belt, the fingers of his hands looking larger than normal to her. Maybe it was the purple background color of his plaid that drew her attention so strangely, or the way his kilt seemed to suit him. He wore only a shirt, with one edge of that plaid pulled over his right shoulder and crossing his chest. It was folded neatly, showing the signs of having been pressed. His household staff took excellent care of their laird if they ironed his kilt.
Better to think of the efficiency of his staff than accept that his hands drew her interest.
“You mean to deny me the Mass?”
He stepped forward until he was sharing the doorway with her. Another shiver raced down her spine in response. The certain knowledge of what he looked like beneath his clothing sent a blush burning across her cheeks. It seemed impossible to ignore how much he pleased her, at least in the matters of the flesh.
Which was sinful and bound to lead her astray.
“I told ye that ye may not leave the tower.” He moved closer, positioning his body between her and the steps that led down to the ground. “My word will be honored, or I’ll set a guard on ye.”
“Ye’re doing a grand duty of that right now.”
His lips twitched, the corners rising ever so slightly before he pressed them back into a hard line. His dark eyes flickered with something that confused her, his gaze settling on her burning cheek for a moment.
With a startled gasp, Shannon turned away from him, stepping back into the hall because it was the only path open to her. But a soft chuckle sent her spinning back to lock eyes with him. She drew in a deep breath, because the man was wearing a grin now, and it transformed his face into a charming vision that must be kin to Lucifer. A temptation that drew innocents to fall from grace with fascination.
“Ye’d make a poor nun, Shannon.”
Just because she’d thought the same thing, didn’t mean that she was going to allow him to tell her something so personal. She tossed her head and felt her chin rising to meet the arrogance staring at her.
“Ye do nae know a bit about me. It is a fact that I’m a faithful woman. I may take very well to the life of a nun.”
His attention dropped to her blush again. His lips thinned once more from the grin they had risen into, a hard line that lacked the cold determination she’d come to expect to find on his face. This was something different; it looked almost like hunger.
“You won’t.” His tone was deep and rich with arrogance. “I do nae question yer devotion, but I cannae ignore the fact that yer eyes enjoy the sight of me. Ye’d be a discontented bride of Christ because yer bed would be a cold one.”
Shannon sucked in a harsh breath. The man was brash indeed. “I do nae enjoy the sight of ye.” It was a lie, boldly spoken, and it sailed right out of her mouth on the wings of her pride. “And ye are overly bold to say something such as that out loud.”
His lips twitched again, rising into a smug curve that mocked her. Male pride lit his eyes, and she felt something inside her rising to meet it. His teeth appeared as his lips split.
“Even if it is the truth?”
Each word was spoken like a challenge. Her chin lowered, but she looked at the floor for a moment because she didn’t want him to see the agreement shimmering in her eyes. She did like to look upon him, with nothing man-made to inhibit the view. A hot flicker of need snaked through her, twisting her belly; denying it would be another lie, and one she knew he’d read right on her face.
A warm touch startled her away from her thoughts. Torin reached out and stroked her cheek while she was foolish enough to have her attention on the ground. She jumped, stumbling over her own feet, which seemed too clumsy to recall just where she needed them placed to keep her balanced.
Torin caught her.
One of those large hands darted across the space between them to clasp her upper arm and steady her.
“Yer hands—”
“Do nae belong on ye?” His grip tightened. Just a fraction, but the look that flickered in his midnight eyes told her he did it to make sure that she understood that he would not be bent by her will.
“Yer memory is sound, McLeren, even if yer understanding of Christian values is not.”
“We’re nae in church, lass.”
“But I am the last woman ye should be touching.”
He blew out a breath that she heard because the hall was so quiet. No one was near, and that heightened her awareness of him. Her heart beat faster because she knew they were alone. Every sense became sharper, making her keenly aware of details that she normally didn’t notice. The way his lips curved or the manner in which his eyes darkened when he looked into hers.
And she could not deny that she was enjoying having his attention upon her.
“Maybe I need to show ye that my touch does nae have to be that of a barbarian. You were correct when ye told me to seek out yer father. My quarrel is not with ye, Shannon.”
His voice deepened, and his grip on her arm loosened, becoming almost as gentle as the touch he’d lain against her cheek. She was keenly aware of it. The skin on her face still felt warm where he’d touched her. And on her arm, the layers of her robes did little to protect her from noticing how warm he was.
“Does that mean I am free to leave?”
“No, it means that I am left wondering what exactly is between us, since it is no’ a quarrel.”
Excitement leaped up inside her, shaming her with how quickly it heated her belly.
“I prefer the quarrel, for you are nae to my liking. I have never fancied a Highlander.”
He grunted softly, her barbed words finding their mark. Fury danced across his eyes, and a moment later he tugged her forward. She stumbled past him and ended up in the corner with the stone wall at her back. Her captor took one long step and caged her there with his huge body, both of his hands flattening on the wall behind her.
“Be careful what ye demand of me, lass. I am a Highlander, and part of me will be happy to prove ye truthful in what ye say I am.”
Her heart froze and then jerked hard beneath her breast. Her lungs began working faster to keep pace, and that drew his scent into her once more. This time her body responded with another twist of excitement running through her belly. The heat stained her cheeks, flowing lower and lower until it encased the tender globes of her breasts. The delicate skin tingled with a longing that shocked her but also added to the growing excitement pooling in her belly.
“But that is no’ the way I’d like things to be between us.” His gaze touched on the mark her father had left on her face. “What is it you long to return to, lass?” The emotion that crossed his eyes was one of distaste, and that was something that no amount of talking might have convinced her of. There was sincerity in his eyes that she witnessed only because she was so close.
His hand lifted and gently touched the healing bruise. She shivered, jerking her head away from his fingers, only to feel them sliding along her cheek once more. Slowly, gently, but there was nothing soft about the man. His hands were covered in smooth skin, but other than that he was as hard as she had
witnessed last night.
Which made his tender touch too sweet to ignore.
“I want to return to what I know, my kin. It is where I belong.” There was firm determination in her tone.
“What ye have known appears to be a hard life best left behind.”
Shannon discovered that she liked his words far too much. She reached up and pushed his hand away from her cheek.
“No one chooses who their parents are. It’s my duty to return to my father.”
His gaze settled on her bruised face again.
“As it is mine to keep you from doing that.”
She gasped but saw his determination to do exactly as he said burning in his midnight eyes.
“You are being unreasonable, acting like a barbarian, keeping me here against my will.” She had to force each word out, past protesting lips that did not want him to give her leave to depart. It was insanity, but she craved more of his touch, which was why she had to escape before she lost the will to resist.
“Yer father should have found you a man worthy of yer spirit. The right sort of man would give ye a place to utilize all the passion brewing inside ye, and it would not be by insulting him with that sharp tongue of yers.”
“I’ve no’ ever met the man he sent me toward. It’s unchristian to think ill of a stranger.”
Torin chuckled, the sound deep and very male. “As ye noticed, lass, I’m nae feeling very Christian at the moment. But more of the barbarian ye accused me of being.”
“Bringing me here as yer captive was barbaric.”
“Hmm… but as ye noticed, I am a Highlander, and we steal women from time to time.” His eyes darkened dangerously. “Especially when their kin is nae worthy of them.”
His fingers slid down until they touched her lips, one single fingertip teasing her lower lip. Insanity shot through her. It stole her breath and every logical thought from her mind. There was suddenly nothing save the twisting of excitement in her belly and the way her lips enjoyed being touched. Never once had she noticed how sensitive they were. She was suddenly frightened by how much sensation roared through her, uncertain if she would recover from it.