Heart of Shadows (Hearts of the Highlands Book 2), page 13
He basked in the sight of her red, puffy lips and flushed cheeks.
He had to find a way to resist her so that he would remain strong to his duty, strong to his promise. Make them pay. Make them all pay.
“I spotted some mulberry bushes not far from here,” she said, letting him go slowly. Her arms slipping down his shoulders and away from him tempted him to reach for her and pull her back.
“Come, let us pick some.” She broke away, tossed him a bright smile, and hurried off.
Torin watched her for a moment, his brows flaring upward at the edges, along with his lips. He took off after her through the bramble, listening to the sound of her laughter through the trees.
She was playful and deadly, and so damned alluring. She made him feel primal, instinctual. He wanted to chase her down, catch her, and take her against a tree. Or keep playing with her.
Mayhap, they could do both.
She stopped running when she came to Avalon and Archer basking in the shafts of sunlight.
“I tied him to a tree near the clearing,” Torin heard her mutter as he caught up. She settled her gaze on Avalon’s steady, sapient one. “Did she get loose and set Archer loose as well?”
“I did not tie her,” he said, “and aye, she likely did untie Archer.”
“What kind of horse is she?” Braya marveled then stepped closer to them and gasped. “They are eating the berries!”
She gave Avalon a little push and Torin reached out to pull her back before his horse chomped off Braya’s fingers. But Avalon didn’t try to bite her and Torin pulled her into his arms instead.
“She likes you,” he told her, running his lips over her cheek. “She’s a very intelligent horse.”
“So she’s the brain and you are the brawn,” she said, giggling when he kissed her earlobe down to her neck.
“And you are the beauty,” he whispered, snaking his arms around her.
“What a silver tongue you have, Sir Torin.”
He ran the tip of it over her lips and groaned into her mouth when she opened to him. She coiled her arms around his neck as they fell to their knees onto the soft earth, kissing.
Nothing mattered to him in that moment but her. He wanted to tell her, while he kissed the breath from her, that he hadn’t cared about anyone in so long, he wasn’t sure he knew what to do. He wanted to tell her everything; even about the guilt and shame he carried with him. But he couldn’t give that much of himself away. Not to her. And that was the pity of it. She was the one he wanted to tell.
He was afraid. Afraid of loving her and losing her—and the odds of losing her were very high. What would be left of him this time?
How could he find such passion with an English woman? How could he betray himself? Would he be haunted forever? When would it end?
He withdrew from their kiss and cupped her face in his hands. He didn’t know what to say, so he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.
“Are you someone’s husband, my lord?”
He opened his eyes and stared at her. “No. I’m not.”
“Are you away from someone you love?”
She looked so apprehensive about his answer he had to smile at her. “I love no one, lady.”
She didn’t appear relieved so he kissed her hoping it would help. It didn’t. She looked more miserable than he.
“I’m plagued by many things,” he told her quietly and sank to his arse on the ground.
Braya followed. “Tell them to me.”
He couldn’t. How could he tell her who he was, what he was? Even if he wasn’t deceiving her, how could he ever tell her how he had run away from his family that day? What would she think of him? Her family meant everything to her. He understood it. If he had not lost two families to the English, he would have felt the same way.
“I have lived most of my life for—” He stopped, realizing that this was the first time these words, in this order, had ever left his lips. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or what it meant. All he knew was that he wanted to tell her some things, not all.
She moved closer to him, almost in his lap, and ran her fingers down the side of his face. She didn’t say anything, and mayhap because of that he knew she could be trusted with what he wanted to tell her.
“For revenge,” he went on, closing his eyes at her touch. “Every single thing I did or said had a purpose, and that purpose was revenge against the E—Scots. About a month ago, I was in Berwick and I overheard some of the Bruce’s men talking about possibly riding here this winter, mayhap sooner. I came hoping to fight. But now I fear you will join the battle.”
Her eyes were large, her face pale. “They are coming?”
He nodded, keeping his steady gaze on her. “I believe they are.”
Her eyes immediately filled with tears. “I have never seen a Scottish soldier. I was too young to fight their war against the warden. My…father is older.” Her tears fell to his hands that were holding hers. She let him go and swiped at her eyes. “When will your revenge be satisfied?” she asked softly.
“I do not know, Braya. But right now, you should be asking your father that question. Will he risk his entire family again by fighting the Scots over some pact he has with Bennett to keep enemy reivers awa—” Aye, right, then. It was not Galien who informed the Armstrongs.
Torin didn’t think her eyes could get any bluer as the truth dawned on her as well. “The warden is working with the Armstrongs. He set up the attack.”
Torin smiled at her cleverness.
“’Tis the perfect way to keep us beholden to him. Have our enemies strike. Show us how much we need him and his men. You,” she corrected, “and Mr. Adams. Oh,” she bristled. “How many other things has he lied to us about? How many other times did he protect us from enemies he brought to our doors? And all to make certain we fought on his side again if and when the Scots came back.”
Aye, Torin thought, and now he might also have the Armstrongs on his side. He would have to do something about that. But for now, Braya was the only one on his mind.
“You have my sword, Braya. I swear.” He had no trouble making the promise to her. He was here to kill Bennett, not fight the Scots with him. “But now more than ever, you need to convince your father that his debt to the warden is over. He must let go of his revenge and not stand with Bennett when the Scots come. Too many will die. The Scots are a formidable army.”
Was it enough? He was glad it was Bennett who had brought the Armstrongs here. Braya’s father was now less likely to fight for him. It had to be enough.
Hell, he should have refused to apologize and that would have caused dissention between the Hetheringtons and Bennett, but he had kept peace…for her.
“What about you?” she asked him, taking hold of his hands again. “Will you fight this formidable army?”
“I must do what I came here to do,” he told her, looking away.
“You ask my father to give up his revenge but you cling to yours,” she accused, and rightly so. “And what about us having a Scottish warden? Whose side do you think he will take in a raid?”
“It will not matter if everyone is dead, Braya.”
She shivered and he pulled her closer and closed his arms around her. “I do not mean to upset you. But I want you to leave Bennett’s fights to Bennett.”
“You need not worry about me,” she whispered against his neck.
“I know,” he smiled, loving her confidence, but wishing she didn’t possess so much of it. “You can take care of yourself—”
“I’m guaranteed safety,” she interrupted and pressed her lips to his, “with you at my side.
Chapter Fourteen
Torin sat alone beneath the moonlit sky, beside the river Eden just outside the city. Roger MacRae, one of the king’s messengers, just left him carrying Torin’s message beneath his mantle. Torin had written the king, as he had dozens of times in the past, giving him all the information he’d gathered so far about the stronghold. He knew exactly how many men resided in the garrison, and how many patrolled the borders. He knew how many weapons they possessed and he was learning how well they fought. Most of them were poorly trained and would be easy to take down.
If not for the Hetheringtons, Braya most especially, Torin’s plans would not have changed. The Scot’s army could be here by the last few days in July as planned, but so much had changed since he’d come here.
A few days ago there wasn’t a woman in his life who was beginning to matter more than he cared to admit, for whom he feared he was willing to do anything.
Had he said enough, made her afraid enough to warn her father tonight? He hoped so. His army was coming. All he could do was postpone it a bit by asking the king for another sennight before the troops arrived. He would have no way of knowing if Robert would do as he’d asked, but the Bruce always had in the past. The king trusted him. Torin wouldn’t let him down.
There wasn’t much time. If the Hetheringtons insisted on fighting, Torin would have to take Braya away to keep her safe.
Where the hell would he take her and how would he fight if he was not here? No! He had to be here. He wanted to see the stronghold fall.
He looked out across the moon-dappled surface of the river. It was time he began preparing Carlisle for its fate. He would make certain the Hetheringtons did not fight.
Still, it wouldn’t be long now until Braya knew the truth and this was over, the way it was destined to end. It should never have begun in the first place.
Why had he asked for another sennight? Why did he want to prolong this yet again?
He heard a sound and looked over his shoulder to find Rob Adams coming up behind him. What the hell was he doing awake and out here beyond the city? How long had he been skulking about?
“What are you doing here?” Torin asked him with a hard edge in his voice.
“I often come out when everyone else is asleep.” Adams replied, as if he were repeating the weather. “I find it more peaceful.”
Had he seen Torin speaking with MacRae? Torin was tempted to ask him. What if he had? Would Torin kill him if he started asking too many questions? “Aye.”
“What are you doing out here?” he asked Torin and sat down next to him on the grass.
“Seeking peace,” Torin answered and folded his arms across his knees. He kept his gaze on the water before him and said nothing else. Let Adams get the hint that Torin did not want to talk to anyone and let him leave.
He did neither.
“What do you seek peace about?” he asked annoyingly. “Is it Miss Hetherington?”
Torin gaped at him. Had he given Adams any reason to think he could be so bold? “I would rather not discuss my—”
“’Tis clear,” the older man said, ignoring Torin’s warning glare, even if he likely couldn’t see it. “What plagues you about her? That she is the leader’s daughter? That she is a skilled swordswoman? That she—?”
“Adams!” Torin held up his hands. “Enough! I have no intentions on sharing my feelings with anyone, about anyone. Do you understand?”
“Of course. You know I only meant to help with your dilemma.”
Did Torin appear so poorly then? “I need no help with my—I do not have a dilemma.”
“Of course not.”
“Do you mock me?” Torin demanded, wishing there was no full moon so he didn’t have to see Adams’ mocking smile and he could at least pretend ignorance.
“Perhaps just a bit,” the older man admitted. “Only a man as cocksure as you would deny his attraction to her.”
“I’m not cocksure and I do not deny my attraction to her,” Torin confessed quietly, without realizing how much of himself he was giving away.
Adams may have softened his smile. Torin couldn’t be sure, nor did he care.
“I believe I know who alerted the Armstrongs to our weakened defense, and it was not Galien Hetherington,” he said, changing the topic.
“Who was it then?”
“Bennett.” Torin explained to him what he had inadvertently realized tonight. “Braya—Miss Hetherington agrees.”
Adams nodded. “It makes sense that he would want to keep the Hetheringtons under control, especially after all that has happened. How do we prove it?”
Torin didn’t care about proving it. Bennett, the defender, would be on his knees soon enough. “We?”
“Aye,” Adams challenged. “We. I have not trusted him for many years.”
“Then why work for him?” Torin asked in a low, gravelly voice.
“’Twas either this or become a reiver like the rest of my family,” Adams answered.
Torin turned to set his eyes on him in the dim light. “What do you mean? Are you a Hetherington?”
“My mother was a Hetherington,” Adams told him. “My father is a Forster. Bennett does not allow reivers to become guards so I changed my name, left my family, and came here many years ago.”
Adams’ family were reivers. That explained why he helped them. Why they considered each other friends, and why Adams had felt slighted by their attack.
Still, Torin would not be tempted to trust him with too much.
“You said Braya saved your life. What did she do?”
“She convinced me to forgive myself for something I did once.”
Torin smiled. “And that saved your life?”
“Aye. What I did was quite terrible. I was ready to end my life over the guilt of it.”
“Aye, I understand guilt,” Torin agreed quietly.
They sat for a little while without speaking. That was fine with Torin.
“I’m half-Scot,” Adams finally said, and then smiled at Torin’s look of stunned disbelief. “My father, the Forster, is a Scot.”
“Does Rowley know that?”
“He does,” Adams laughed. “’Tis only Scot soldiers he hates.”
Torin nodded. “Aye, I had forgotten.”
What would Adams do if Torin told him the truth? He could use an ally on this side of the wall. The Scots weren’t coming to harm the reivers. Mayhap he could help keep the Hetheringtons from fighting. “You have an interesting story, Adams.”
“What about you, Gray? You said you hail from Bamburgh, aye?”
Torin thought about telling him the truth. He was a Scot. He was here to take down the stronghold. Either Adams joined him or he died. “Aye. Bamburgh.”
“What of your family?”
Torin was prepared for these questions. He had to be. He had to have a past, else people wouldn’t trust him and would turn on him. He didn’t want to tell his own, so he had many made up and ready to tell. “My father was a blacksmith.” He lifted his fingers and drew them faintly over the moth brooch pinned to his léine beneath his mantle. “My mother was as good as any mother, I would imagine.”
“Oh?” the older—and proving to be wiser—man put to him. “Was she taken from you at a young age?”
Torin nodded his head. He hadn’t mentioned anything about her dying, had he? “Aye, she was,” he said, before he could stop himself. “As was everyone in my family, all taken from me in a moment.”
“Oh, hell, Gray, my apologies.” Adams’ stricken voice echoed through the trees, across the water. “I had no idea.”
“No apologies are necessary,” Torin assured him quietly, glad that they were done speaking of it.
“How did it happen?”
Torin closed his eyes to stop them from burning. “Fire.”
“God help you, lad,” Adams lamented. “How did you survive?”
Torin rose up, brushed off his breeches, and turned back for the castle. “I ran.”
“Galien,” Braya said, with a warning lilt in her voice. “I would hear Father’s voice on the matter.”
“Soon,” said her brother, sitting at their father’s kitchen table. “Father’s voice will be mine.”
“Until then,” growled Rowley Hetherington next to him, “my voice is mine and if you interrupt my thoughts on this matter again, mine will be the only male voice to be heard in this house for a long time to come!” he shouted, coming to a close.
His son closed his mouth and did not open it again.
“Now, Braya, tell me again why you and Sir Torin believe ’twas the warden who advised the Armstrongs to attack.”
She patiently told her father—for the second time—everything she and Torin had spoken about tonight. “The warden wants us to think we need him—and…we do, but not as much as we have been made to believe. He is the one who needs us.”
“’Tis ingenious really,” her father muttered through his teeth. “The bastard.”
“Father,” Braya started as she reached across the table and touched his arm. She cut a worried glance to her mother sitting beside her. “He is the one who needs us because the Scots are returning.”
Galien cast her a look of shock and fear. “How do you know this?”
“Sir Torin heard the Scots speaking of it when he was in Berwick last month.”
“Father.” Her brother turned fully on the bench to face him. “If this is true, we need to send out the call for our other brothers to gather.”
“’Tis true,” Braya interjected. It was time her voice started being heard. She disagreed with her brother and she was tired of being quiet about it. Her sword was worth more than silence. “But why should we fight for a man who deceives us with little regard if we, his guests, were taken against our wills or killed. I do not wish to risk my life or any of yours for him.”
“You have no firm basis for your argument, Sister. We do not know for certain if the warden had anything to do with the Armstrongs. There is no proof. I do not want to take the word of a man I do not know. A man who killed four of my cousins, and stand by while the Scot’s army decimates Carlisle and takes over. Where will we be then?”
No! She saw that Galien’s words were making sense to her father. She shook her head. “Father, please, do not cast us into a war that will take more sons from their parents, more brothers from their sisters, more fathers, husbands. Do not, I beg you, send us to our deaths over the warden.”
“Braya.” Galien held up his hand. “’Tis not just for the warden, but for Carlisle and for Cumberland. We fought the Scots five years ago and won. We will win again.”
