Torrian (The Highland Clan Book 2) (6 page)

Torrian hesitated, but then chose honesty. “My grandmama believed in allowing her bairns to choose their partners. My aunts and uncles married for love, and they are all quite happy. There’s a good chance you and I will suit, but I wish to get to know you a wee bit more before carrying on with the arrangement.”

Fury flashed in her eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Of course, whatever you say, my lord.”

She was trying to play the demure lass, but Torrian was quite sure it was feigned. What was her game? He recalled what Heather had said just before he’d left about people pretending to be what they’re not. Davina of Buchan could be an example of just that type of person.

Ranulf MacNiven spoke up, drawing Torrian’s attention away from Davina. “Tell me more about the Grants. Surely, they must be weakening. I agree with the Buchan. Alex Grant is quite old.”

“Aye, he is older,” Logan said, “but he still works daily in the lists. His size has not changed. He delights in challenging his three sons and his brothers and their sons. Swordplay is their entertainment. His nephew, Loki, is just a wee bit shy of his height and was given the lairdship of the old Comming land. He’s forming a reputation for himself as the strongest swordsman in the land, second only to the Grant. I was there when he fought Blackett.”

“Being a good swordsman does not mean you are the best leader,” MacNiven pointed out.

“Loki Grant also managed to get himself free of manacles when he was chained in Blackett’s dungeon,” Logan continued, “
and
he walked past all of the man’s guards with his knife to Blackett’s throat. None of them dared to go against him. He’s almost as tall and easily as broad as Alex Grant. Do not doubt him.”

“With the right number of warriors, anyone can be defeated,” MacNiven said.

Torrian pursed his lips in thought. A moment later, he said, “You sound as though you plan to go on the offense. Who exactly is it you wish to defeat?”

MacNiven covered quickly. “Nay, not me. Do not be ridiculous. I’m happy leading my clan.”

Torrian had a difficult time believing Ranulf MacNiven. He sounded more like a man intent on getting as much information as possible on the people he planned to attack. He’d backed off too quickly for Torrian to accept his explanation. He doubted he would be happy leading his clan for long. He made a mental note to speak to his uncle later about the MacNiven. Was he top of their list of those suspected of stirring up trouble?

Davina leaned against Torrian again, this time rubbing her breast against his arm. “Must we talk of fighting? Is there not something else I can interest you in, my lord?”

Torrian stared back at Davina. Aye, she was a beauty, her long dark hair hanging loosely in waves over her shoulders, her brown eyes glittering with something that looked a lot like mischief. And he knew her breasts were full since she’d not only shown him, but given him the feel of one as well.

Torrian found himself thinking more and more about blonde hair and blue eyes—or to be exact, one blue and one green.

***

Heather had finally decided that Nellie had healed enough for them to return to their cave. Certain that Torrian would be betrothed when they returned, she thought it best for them to leave. The Ramsays had been very generous, and she did not wish to take advantage of their kindness.

Outside the Ramsay stables, Heather mounted the horse and then reached down to take Nellie from Gwyneth’s raised arms. Gwyneth’s daughters Brigid and Sorcha were riding together, as were Jennet and Bethia, Brenna and Quade’s two daughters. The wee ones were not allowed to ride on their own, though Gwyneth preferred to ride alone in case she needed to use her bow and arrow. Her daughters had strict instructions to run into the forest if aught happened. Three Ramsay guards led the way, and five followed them.

“You are verra kind to travel with us, my lady,” Heather said to Gwyneth as they left the gates.

“Please, do not call me any kind of lady. Do you not see what I’m wearing?” She glanced down at her tunic and leggings, at the warm plaid wrapped around her. “Call me Gwyneth.”

Heather laughed. “Many thanks for the new tunic and leggings, Gwyneth. You are more than generous.”

“And now I can look just like my mama in my new tunic,” Nellie added brightly. Both were now dressed in matching green tunics and brown leggings—a vast improvement over their ragged clothes. She patted her mother’s arm as they cantered through the meadow, and once again, Heather allowed herself to bask in the relief that she was hale.

Heather had stayed two more days at the Ramsay keep to make sure Nellie was well, but it was time to move on. They could not still be there when Torrian returned from the Buchans. It had been a big mistake to kiss that man—not because it did not feel right, but because it did…and she wanted much, much more of it.

She knew they could never marry. Torrian was to be laird someday, so he must wed someone of equal station, a lass of noble blood. The Buchan lass would probably suit him perfectly. Mayhap the stories she’d heard about her were false. Heather knew that the only way to forget him and heal would be to leave the castle and return to her solitary life. She was not in any position to make any claims on the heir to a chieftain.

Clearly noticing her change in temperament, Gwyneth said, “You seem disappointed to be leaving the castle. You are welcome to stay, but I’m sure you know that.”

“Aye.” Heather’s stared up at the gray sky, trying not to think of what could have been. “You all have been wonderful. Torrian and Lady Brenna both asked us to stay, but ‘tis best for us to return to our home. We love the outdoors and summer is upon us. I prefer the time when the bluebells and heather decorate the fields with color. ‘Tis my favorite time of year.”

Nellie peered up at her mother with her big eyes. “But Mama, may I not keep my new friends? I like having friends.”

Gwyneth slowed her horse so she could draw closer to Heather and Nellie. “Of course, Jennet and Brigid will always be your friends. You may come visit whenever you would like, and the lassies and I often travel through the woods to practice hunting and archery.”

“Then mayhap you would come visit us sometime. We would love to see you,” Heather added, hoping to placate her daughter. She understood how much her newfound friends meant to her. Their present circumstances were definitely lonely at times. Heather had to admit that she’d enjoyed the company of the Ramsays and was grateful to find other kind people.

“May we, Mama? Please?” Brigid pleaded.

“Aye, we’d like to visit again, Aunt Gwyneth.” Wee Jennet sat tall in her horse in front of her elder sister.

“Of course, you may,” Gwyneth said. “We’ll visit again.”

They increased their speed since they were at the beginning of a meadow. The girls giggled as they galloped across the flat field, the guards rounding out the periphery of the group.

They slowed their horses as they neared the patch of forest around the cave. There was only room for one horse at a time down the path, so the guards once again split between the front and the rear.

“Are we close to your home?” Gwyneth asked.

“Aye,” Heather answered. “We can dismount in that small clearing up ahead.” She pointed out the area decorated with purple flowers.

Once they arrived, they helped all the lassies dismount. Gwyneth gave the guards instructions on where she wanted them to wait, and Heather told them, “There’s a stream just to the north if you’d like fresh water.”

One of the guards said, “My lady, we’ll take jugs and fill them for you, if you’d like.”

Heather smiled at the lad, then led the way to the cave. Some containers sat just inside the stone lip while others were positioned to catch rainwater. “That would be much appreciated.” She stood just outside the cave as the girls ran ahead, already chattering up a storm.

Gwyneth held back, waiting until the wee ones were out of earshot. “Why, ‘tis quite beautiful with all the shades of purple in the area. But I must be serious for a moment. Heather, I sense there could have been something between you and Torrian. Brenna thought the same.” She paused to see if she would respond.

Heather did not know quite how to answer, but she felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I…I…do not know for sure…”

Gwyneth reached over to pat her hand. “My apologies. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, and mayhap ‘tis none of my concern, but his mother and I would both support the match. Torrian has not shown much interest in any particular lass up until now.”

“But he’ll be chieftain one day, and I…”

“It does not matter where you live or who your people are. If you two have feelings for each other, it might be worth pursuing them. His grandmama supported all of her descendants choosing their own partner. She was unconcerned with matters such as blood ties.”

“But the Buchans…” Though Heather was shocked and pleased to hear that the Ramsay women would be willing to accept her, she did not wish to get her hopes up for something that could never be. And she still suspected that such happiness might be beyond her.

“Both Brenna and I suspect that the matter will not work out the way our king hopes. But we’ll see. I just wanted you to know that we support you, should Torrian choose to pursue you. I respect a woman that prefers independence, as I was much like you before I met Logan. I stayed a distance away from everyone due to a personal issue, but I never realized what I had been missing. ‘Tis beneficial to allow others close to you.”

Having said her piece, Gwyneth headed into the cave after the bairns. “What are my wee lassies doing in here? Are you cleaning since Heather and Nellie have not been here in a while?”

Jennet, Brigid, and Nellie came running toward her, hands linked. “Mama,” Brigid said, “will you kill a rabbit for us so we may examine its insides? Nellie said she would look with us.”

Gwyneth rolled her eyes. “Nay. No surgery without Aunt Brenna. You know the rules.”

Sorcha and Bethia stood behind the wee ones. “But could we not help them hunt for their dinner? Surely, we may practice our shooting.”

Heather noticed they each had their own bow and quiver.

“Aye, I’ll take you two hunting for a wee bit before we return to the castle.”

Heather wished she had enough confidence to ask for lessons from Gwyneth, especially after all she’d learned from Torrian. She decided to stay back and watched as the younger girls started to play a game with sticks and stones, aiming at a target outside. Nellie’s face was bright with excitement at having so many friends, a completely new experience for her.

It was enough to make Heather feel guilty for having deprived Nellie of the experience of being around others her age. Heather could not help but wonder how different their lives would be if they lived with the Ramsays.

Chapter Six

After the evening meal, Torrian got up from his seat by the hearth and made his way over to Davina. He held his hand out to her and said, “Would you care for an evening stroll in the bailey, my lady?”

Davina gave him a demure smile, her lashes downcast, as she set her hand in his. “That would be lovely, my lord.”

Torrian kept his eyes off his sire and the other men around the hearth. He’d already decided at dinner that he was not interested in Davina, but he couldn’t yet put his dislike into words. His best strategy would be to talk to her as much as possible to try and uncover exactly what it was he didn’t trust about the lass. Then he could decide what to do moving forward.

Torrian helped her on with her mantle and then escorted her out the door of the great hall. One of the most unusual things about the Buchan great hall was the apparent lack of females. “You have only brothers, Davina? No sisters?”

They made their way through the center of the courtyard. He was pleased to see there weren’t many about, which gave them the freedom to talk more openly.

“Aye, just two brothers. My mother died when she was birthing her fourth bairn, and the bairn died as well. I was between five and six summers when she passed, so I have few memories of her. Do you have sisters?”

“Aye, I am close with my sister Lily, and we have two younger sisters, Bethia and Jennet, who is only six summers.” He watched her as she sauntered down the path. There was plenty of room, but she made a point of bumping her hip into him as they traveled.

“I wish I had a sister. I have naught but men around me.” She sighed, a deep heavy sigh that told him she was searching for sympathy.

“Surely, you must have friends.”

“Not many.” Her eyes widened and she pointed at a star shooting across the sky. “Look.

‘Tis a magical sign. Let’s move out from the trees to see it.”

Torrian squelched his own sigh over that. It was hardly a magical sign. He was certain if he checked with Aedan Cameron or his wife Jennie that they would agree with him. Nonetheless, he went along with her, following as she moved close to the curtain wall and a small copse of trees beside a bench.

They stared at the sky a few moments longer, until the star disappeared, and then she peered up at him with a hopeful look on her face. Torrian knew what that look meant. She was hoping for a kiss. He decided to accommodate her wish just to see if there were any stars shooting about afterwards. After all, he’d pledged to see if it was a good match. What better way to tell if there was a spark?

His lips descended on hers. As soon as their lips met, she wrapped her arms around his neck, grinding her pelvis into him. She parted her lips and immediately crushed her tongue against his in a most unappetizing way. It only reminded him of a different kiss, of honeyed lips and a lass who smelled like a forest.

Davina ended the kiss and stared at him, as if expecting something. Her eyebrows rose in a question, as if she were quite dissatisfied with his response.

“You did not like my kiss, Torrian?”

“Aye, ‘twas nice.” He pondered her question, unsure of what she wanted from him.

Then she stared at the front of his plaid as if she were expecting something. That was when it dawned on him. She had expected to feel his hardness against her, and it had surprised her that he was not excited. Trying to hide his surprise, he turned his head to the sky. “No more stars performing their magic?”

Truth was, she did nothing for him. But how could a lad say that without insulting a lass?

“Och, you are different, are you not?” She gave him a sideways glance, then cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips down to hers. She kissed him, sweeping her tongue to force his lips open, and then bit his lower lip.

Torrian pulled back and stared at her in shock. “You bit me? ‘Tis your way to entice me?” The lass had him so confused, he knew not what to say. But if she hoped to excite a reaction from him, she was surely going about it in the wrong way. He rubbed his bottom lip, felt the blood trickling from it. “I think ‘tis time to return to the keep.”

Davina glowered at him and murmured, “You are different, quite.” She stalked back to the keep one step ahead of him, never looking back, her hips swaying enough to collide with aught within a few feet of her.

It was going to be a long trip.

***

Later that night, heavy footsteps paced, stomping through the hay. He had told her to meet him in the stables to be sure they were not overheard. Shite, but he was mad as hell. How could he look at someone so beautiful and want to rip out her hair one strand at a time? He paced back over to her and spoke in as deep and threatening a voice as he could muster. “How could you fail to make him interested in you? You have the beauty, must I do everything?”

Davina whispered, “Ranulf, time will fix this.”

Ranulf MacNiven replied, “Time will not fix aught if he’s not interested in you. Are you sure he had no response to you?”

Davina replied, “I think I know by now what a man’s response should be. He had none.”

“Then you must have done something wrong. You must seduce him. He has to want this marriage. ‘Tis part of the plan. We need him to be so besotted with you, he’ll make poor decisions. This is a long-range plan, but it all begins with your marriage to the Ramsay’s son.”

“I know.” She cast her eyes downward.

Ranulf loomed over her. “You have the breasts every man wants. Now use them. You teased him, but you must be bolder. If you must, you will use trickery to get him into your bed before he leaves. Is that clear?”

“I tell you it takes more than one night with some men.”

He grabbed her hair and yanked her so her face was inches from his.

“Ouch, Ranulf. You’re hurting me. Let go of my hair.”

“I’ll let go when I’m ready. You need to do whatever it takes to entice him. Do you understand?” The woman was so tempting, was the lad blind? With her this close, he had to fight the urge to toss up her skirts and…

“Aye, but stop hurting me or I’ll go to my father. He’ll not allow you to…ow….”

“You must…you will…you know how important this is to me. This is everything. Do you wish to please me or not?”

“Aye. I love you, Ranulf. You know that.”

“Then prove it. Make him fall in love with you.” And with that, he gave in to the temptation in front of him. Releasing her hair, he grabbed her bottom and pulled her close. He sealed her lips with his and ravaged her mouth with his tongue as he reached down to the bodice of her gown, snapping ribbons as he pulled the flimsy material down and back.

He massaged her breasts until she moaned, then flicked her nipples with his nails before pinching them hard. She pulled away, gasping with desire. He’d have her begging in a few moments, he knew. She was a passionate one, so passionate that he could control her completely. Unfortunately, sounds outside the stables forced him to cut their tryst short.

He didn’t love her, but he did love it when she begged him to swive her. More curves than any man could ever want…aye, in truth, while he did not love her, she did have a wee bit of control over him.

He could never let her know that. Never.

***

At the end of the night, Torrian made his way back through the courtyard at a slow pace, made slower by his desire not to run into Davina again. It was late, but he hadn’t been able to sleep so searched out his friend. He and Kyle had spoken at great length about his betrothal, and his mind was no more settled than it had been before. The woman seemed to be everywhere, and Torrian wanted naught more to do with her. He opened the door to the keep as softly as possible, closing it just as carefully so he could creep up the stairs without being seen.

He’d walked outside for quite a while, hoping to clear his mind and think about his options logically and methodically, leaving his emotions aside, if that were possible. He had no answers, other than his heart leaned toward another.

His father and Uncle Logan had not given up on the idea of the marriage, though they both accepted that the Buchans and MacNivens needed to be watched. The three of them had discussed the possibility that their hosts were planning something other—and much darker—than a wedding, but there was little evidence. They would need to be patient to ferret out the goals of the Buchan and his followers. So the charade continued, much to Torrian’s dissatisfaction. It gave him a headache the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Uncle Logan and Brenna had been strategizing and analyzing ever since they’d arrived, keeping his sire busy. His father had not asked him once how he felt, and considered it part of his duty to continue on.

He wanted naught
more
than to tell his father exactly how he felt.

But to do that, he would risk losing his father’s respect, something he had dreaded his entire life. He moved down the passageway to his chamber, not running into anyone, thankfully. He grabbed the torch from the bracket outside of his door to light the one just inside it, but when he pushed his way in, he was surprised to see the room was already illuminated by torchlight.

There on the bed, wearing naught but a smile, lay Davina of Buchan. Torrian froze—from shock rather than temptation—and then acted swiftly.

“You will not entrap me this way, my lady.” He stepped back into the corridor, closed the door behind him, and headed straight to his sire’s room. Once there, he rapped harshly on the old wooden door.

The door flew open and Brenna stood there with a surprised look. “Torrian? Is something wrong?”

“May I come in?” When it took her a moment to respond, he added, “Please, Brenna. I must come in.” She could not know how much he needed to get away from the madness of the Buchan keep.

Brenna stood aside and said, “Of course.”

He left his torch in a holder by the door and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

His father sat in one of the chairs arranged by the hearth. “What is it, son?”

“You look as though you’ve just encountered a ghost,” Brenna added. “Sit, Torrian, before you collapse. You’re terribly pale.”

Torrian sat in a chair near his father, leaned his elbows onto his knees, and allowed his head to fall into his hands.

“Torrian?” Quade asked. “What is it?”

After a long pause, he lifted his gaze to his sire, saw his concern, and spoke. “She’s trying to entrap me.”

“What? Please be more specific. Who?” Quade glanced from Torrian to Brenna, and back again.

What stood out most to Torrian was not the shock or disbelief on his sire’s face, but the knowing look his stepmother now wore. Torrian turned back to face his father. “I went for a walk alone, to consider what is best for me. I returned to my room to find Davina lying on my bed without a stitch of clothing.”

His father stared at him in disbelief.

Brenna asked, “And what was your response?” Brenna seemed quite calm, as though he’d told her something she’d known for years.

“I closed the door and came here.”

“Did you say aught to her?”

“Aye, I told her she would not entrap me.”

“Did she respond?” Brenna asked. His sire just continued to stare at him in apparent disbelief.

“Nay. I left. I was afraid to stay. What if someone else had come along? Had her sire found me in that position, I would have been forced to marry her.”

His father finally spoke. “Are you telling me that Davina of Buchan was lying nude on your bed, as if waiting for you?”

“Aye. Da, ‘tis the truth. I would not lie about such a thing.”

“I can hardly believe it. She does not seem mischievous to me.”

“Conniving is the word I would use, husband, and you need to take this verra seriously. This one move shows me she wishes to become Torrian’s wife at any cost.” Brenna started to pace the room as she spoke.

“Had I not walked away, I could have been forced to marry her before we leave.” The thought sent a thrill of fear through him. He could not imagine spending his life joined in a marriage to such a woman.

“Torrian,” Brenna said in a calm voice he knew all too well, “you must consider the possibility that she will lie and say it happened whether it did or not.”

Quade bolted out of his chair. “You’re suggesting she’d lie about it just to entrap my son?”

“Aye, I am. You must consider the possibility, and I think we need to decide what we shall say if she does try to accuse him of impropriety.” Brenna stared Quade in the eye as she spoke. “That tells me we need to leave on the morrow before she has the opportunity to plan something more devious.”

“You think she will? You think she would dare to carry out such an atrocity?” His father limped a little due to his sore knee, but it did not stop him from pacing.

“Aye, I do. If she’s capable of trying to seduce him, she is capable of much, much more. We need to minimize the target by removing him. The two have met. Either send him home or stay fast by his side. That lass has plans for your son, and we cannot allow her to run his life or ruin it, as the case may be.” She tilted her head to await her husband’s response, but then added, “And you need more salve on your knee.”