Heart of Shadows (Hearts of the Highlands Book 2), page 15
He soon realized that Adams was behind him. “Do not ask me where I’m going. ’Tis better for you if you do not know what I’m about to do.”
“I already know,” Adams drawled. “I’m coming with you.”
He turned at once and held his hand up to stop Adams’ advance. “I’m not—I will not be back until the Scots arrive.”
The tall, older man nodded. “You will need someone at your back until you take her wherever you are taking her.”
Torin looked him straight in the eye. “You will not try to stop me?”
“Why the hell do you think I would?” Adams asked him frankly. “I do not want Miss H—Braya with him.”
Would he want Braya with Torin? “Her father will likely try to stop me.”
Adams nodded. “You will have to convince him that you can keep her safe from the warden’s treachery.” He swung his thumb over his shoulder toward the keep. “And from fighting the Scots.”
Aye, Torin thought, Adams understood. Torin didn’t really want company but it never hurt to have another sword and, besides, he could use a bit of advice. Like, was it normal to ache in every muscle, every bone, his head?
“Very well, let us go.”
After saddling their horses, they set out for the Hetheringtons’ village. Torin was surprised Rowley hadn’t yet arrived at Carlisle. He was glad though and thought nothing more of it as he and Adams rode toward the river and then through it.
“How serious are things between you and Braya?” Adams asked him as they went. “And do not try telling me they are not. ’Tis clear to see when you see her or even speak to her. Do you love her?”
How should he answer? With the truth? How could he love her when he was a deceitful fool—her enemy, who was tricking her into liking him? He felt a wee bit ill. He was pitiful and he needed help. “I have never been in love,” he confessed. “Unless you count when I was seven.”
Adams stared at him with a look of disbelief, and then his scarred, weathered face broke into a smile. “Do you jest, boy? You have never loved?”
Torin shook his head. “I do not know for certain if what I’m feeling for Braya is love, but I will not let Bennett have her.”
“Nor will I, but I’m not in love with her. What do you feel?” Adams dug his fingers into his belly. “Here.”
Torin clamped his jaw, but then loosened it. He would get no help being quiet on the matter. But would Adams help him? How did he feel about Torin being with her? “I feel twisted in knots, torn apart, hopeful and more hopeless than ever before.”
Adams’ smile widened, bringing Torin some relief. Adams had said that Braya reminded him of his sister. Torin did, in fact, feel as if he were confessing his heart to her older brother, Ragenald, and being given Ragenald’s blessing.
They neared the village and spotted someone running toward them. It was a woman. Braya’s cousin, Lucy. She was pale and her eyes appeared to be puffy and red from crying.
Torin’s heart began to race.
“My lords!” she shouted, almost reaching them. “They took her! The Armstrongs took Braya!”
Chapter Sixteen
For a horrifying instant, Torin was back in his mother’s kitchen, watching…back in the forest, finding his friends. He felt the dark beast stirring, merciless, ruthless, determined to find and kill every enemy.
“Where is their village?” he asked Adams calmly from high atop Avalon’s back.
“’Tis south of here,” Adams replied, and then looked down at Lucy. “The men gave chase?”
She nodded.
“How long ago?”
“Less than an hour ago. Oh, will you find her?” She turned her gaze to Torin. “Will you bring her back?”
He nodded, and then he gave a slight tug to Avalon’s left rein and took off. He didn’t speak to Adams on the way south, but rode Avalon hard and fast until he saw signs of the Hetheringtons in the distance. They had stopped their advance. Why?
He pushed Avalon harder and she went with ease, her long snowy mane flowing out behind her as she passed Adams’ horse.
When he reached the reivers, he spotted Rowley on his feet with other men, including Galien. He slid from Avalon’s saddle before she came to a complete halt, let her go the way she wanted, and hurried to Braya’s family.
“What is going on? Why have you stopped here?”
“Further ahead is the Armstrong’s well-fortified village,” her father informed him.
“What are you doing here?” Galien demanded, and then turned away when both his father and Torin cast him murderous glares.
“We do not know where they have taken Braya,” her father continued. “If we rush in, who knows what they might do to her before we reach her.”
Torin nodded and then leaned in. “I will get inside this well-fortified village and I will find her. I will bring her out and help you slaughter those who took her.”
Her father stared at him. He could feel Galien’s eyes on him as well.
“The warden,” he continued, “has accused your daughter of conspiring with the Armstrongs against him and his guards and plans on forcing you to agree to let him marry her. That is why he summoned you to the castle.”
“I will kill him,” Rowley Hetherington vowed. “I suspect he has something to do with this.”
“Aye. Perhaps he wants to give weight to his accusation by having her ‘caught’ with the Armstrongs.”
Torin was relieved, as even Galien seemed convinced.
“Give me two hours to get inside and find her,” Torin demanded. “Come in any time after that.”
“Why does he get to go in alone?” Galien griped.
“I can find a way into any enemy stronghold,” Torin told him directly. “I have done so many times. If the slightest thing goes awry, it could cost Braya her life. Please, trust me. I can get her back. We are wasting time.”
Her brother gave him the slightest nod.
Her father stared him in the eye. Torin could feel the strength in the older man’s gaze. He could see the hope there. “I will not fail her,” he promised.
“How do you plan on doing this?” her father asked. “How will we know when you have found her?”
Torin reached out and patted his shoulder and finally smiled. “You will know.”
“When Adams and his horse finally get here,” he said as he moved away, “tell him not to follow me. And no one touches my horse!”
The time for hesitation was over.
Thankfully, trees surrounded the village of Scorney—and Torin was at home in the trees. He knew how to climb them, to wait in them, to listen high atop everyone else without them knowing.
He looked around from where he sat on a thick branch. To the east was a great pasture dotted with sheep. To the north, dozens of cottages spilled down green hills.
The Armstrongs had much. Why the hell were they such a threat to the Hetheringtons? They didn’t need to raid. Torin thought mayhap they received payment from Bennett to attack every so often just so the warden could defend the Hetheringtons.
After this, surely Braya’s father would not fight for him.
Torin watched men hurrying toward a large house west of him. He didn’t know who the leader was, but he suspected he lived in that house. He also suspected Braya was in there with him.
Knowing where to go now, Torin climbed down the tree and pulled up his hood. He went to the tavern, where he hoped to hear some gossip, something to help him get inside the house without being stopped. If their leader had just returned with a Hetherington, there would be talk of it.
“I never saw a woman fight the way she did. I tell you, at one point, I feared she might overtake John.”
Torin moved closer to the small group of men standing toward the back of the tavern. The man he’d heard was speaking of Braya, no doubt.
“I do not understand why he insists on doing Lord Bennett’s bidding and picking fights with these people,” said another man.
“It does not matter if you understand or not,” the first man argued. “He does what is best for the family.”
Torin’s ear picked up another conversation to his left. A woman’s voice.
“The new cook should have been here by now.”
Torin turned away from her and raked his gaze over the people in the tavern. He started for the door when he saw a tall, pudgy man enter. He wore a bag over his shoulder and an iron pan from his hip and looked around as if he were lost. The new cook.
Torin smiled and hurried toward him. “The cook?”
“Aye,” the man smiled. “I—”
“Come,” Torin snaked his arm around the cook’s shoulder. “Let me get you to the house.” He escorted the cook out the door, led him around to the back of the tavern and smashed him in the head with the hilt of his sword. His victim would only be out for an hour or less, plenty of time for Torin to do what needed to be done.
He unfastened the pan, adjusted his mantle to conceal his sword at his side as best he could, and carried the cooking utensil back inside. He headed toward the woman. It turned out that she was sitting with two other women at a table.
“Pardon me,” he said after he cut across the tavern in three strides and pulled down his hood. His hair fell around his face in broad streaks of different shades of gold. “I seem to be lost. I’m the new cook.”
The lasses stopped talking to one another and looked him over from the tips of his worn boots to the cooking pan dangling from his fist, upward to his broad, draped shoulders, and haloed head.
“Do you always carry your pan around in your hand?” one of the lasses asked, giggling behind her fingers.
He smiled indulgently. His eyes shone like sunlit fields of summer green, inviting and mysterious. “If I let it dangle from my hip, it gets in the way of my sword.”
All three women giggled. Two blushed.
“Do you happen to know where I should go?”
They stopped smiling instantly and remembered their duty. “Aye! Follow us back to the house,” one of them said, standing up. The others followed. “Elaine will bring you to the kitchen.”
He bowed slightly and let them pass.
“Is that a sword at your side?” one of them asked.
“Aye, Miss,” He gave her a curious look. “I mentioned it a moment ago.”
“Aye, but I thought—” Her face went scarlet. “Never mind.”
They left the tavern and headed for the large house. Torin smiled. “’Tis dangerous out there. I need to protect myself.”
They agreed and told him of the wild woman their leader had captured from her bed. She had clawed and bit and kicked half the way here until Lord John had to strike her and knock her out.
Torin’s blood boiled. He could barely keep his rage contained. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Is the wildcat in the house?” he asked as they reached it. ’Twas built well with two floors of stone and timber. “Should I keep my sword ready?”
“The guards will not let you in with your sword,” one of them told him.
Torin didn’t care. He would get another one.
“She is inside, but do not fear. She is locked away upstairs.”
“I do not trust locks,” he replied with a dubious grin that made his frosty emerald eyes go dark. “Locks have keys.”
“Richard Bells is the only one with a key.”
“And where is Richard Bells?” he asked as they entered the house.
They were met immediately by four guards who demanded Torin’s sword, but not his pan. The thing was made from heavy wrought iron. It could likely do as much damage as a sword until it grew too heavy to wield.
“He is guarding her door,” one of the lasses with ginger-colored hair falling around her shoulders told him while he handed over his sword. “Come. I will show you the kitchen and then to your room.”
Ah, Elaine.
He smiled and followed her. He didn’t have too much more time. He’d told the Hetheringtons to give him two hours. That time was fast approaching.
Still, it wasn’t as if they would attack after two hours. Was it?
He saw the kitchen and did his best to show interest. Elaine took him to his room and reluctantly left when he showed her even less interest than the newly forged pots in the kitchen.
He waited a moment and then ran out and hurried down the hall. He searched for a moment for the stairs and upon finding them, climbed up them slowly.
Before he reached the top, he looked up and down the hall. He saw two men at the far southern end guarding a door. Which one was Richard Bells? No matter, he thought, climbing up the rest of the way.
The two guards saw him right away and drew their weapons.
Torin moved forward. He held up his hands, and then chuckled at the pan before his face. “I’m the new cook.” He lowered the pan. “Elaine said the garderobe was up here.”
“There is one below stairs. The small door to your left,” one of the guards told him with a warning lacing his tone.
Both men were tall and broad of shoulder. Both were armed with swords. One of them had a key swaying from a string at his hip.
“You two look as if you have not had a proper meal in weeks.”
“Months,” the man who wasn’t Richard corrected. “The last cook was terrible.”
Torin grinned and held up his pan again. “I will remedy that.”
The one who wasn’t Richard smiled. Richard did not. Torin swung the pan at him and turned away from the blood that splattered across his face. He hit Richard’s companion next, narrowly missing a swipe of the man’s blade across his throat. When both men were down, he dropped the pan and pulled the key from Richard’s string. He fit it into the lock.
He pushed open the door and saw her lying on a bed. Her mouth was bound, as were her wrists to the bed. Her ankles were bound to each other.
Torin’s heart cried out in rage for her and in joy at finding her alive.
When she saw him, she let out a breath that made her shoulders sag with relief.
He moved quickly, pulling a knife he had hidden behind his back and untying her. He wanted to go on a rampage. He felt the fury building up in him and almost let it loose when he saw her swollen, purple jaw.
“Come then, Braya.” He pulled her up and led her to the door pressed close to him so he could kiss her bruised face.
“How did you—”
“Later, love. We still need to get out of here.”
Outside the room, he bent to take Richard’s sword and then bent again to take his companion’s. He gave one to Braya and then led her down the hall, to the stairs. They raced down and almost reached the front doors when two guards noticed them and hurried to stop their departure.
Torin was ready with a swipe to the first’s belly and then a jab of his blade into the next guard’s chest.
He pushed Braya behind him as more men hurried toward them, weapons raised.
They had to get outside. He had to let the others know to come.
He made quick work of three men, one of whom had his sword, which he retrieved. Braya took down two more.
Torin grabbed a torch from the wall and they hurried out of the house. He could hear men behind him. He took Braya’s hand as he ran and tossed the torch on top of the tavern when they reached it. He ran inside and shouted, “Out! Everyone leave! ’Tis a fire!”
Everyone got out. Flames engulfed the roof. Smoke billowed upward and outward like a cloud over the village. It was becoming difficult to see but Armstrong guards were everywhere.
He stepped out into the crowd and began fighting the guards. Soon, he could hear the sounds of men attacking. The Hetheringtons were here. They knew the smoke was his sign. Good for them. He fought among them, at their sides, against their enemies. But he was too aware of Braya fighting for her life close by, so he took her hand and ran with her toward the edge of the village.
But she would not leave her family, and he admired her for it—more than she might ever know. He would save her from the manipulations of a powerful man, but he wouldn’t drag her away from protecting her family. And he wanted to find John Armstrong.
He didn’t have to wait.
“Where do you think you are going with my woman?”
He was a hulking brute with clipped yellow hair and a long scar across his chin. He wore breeches and a jack, and wielded a long sword and shield.
Nothing would help him.
Torin dropped Braya’s hand and moved forward confidently. “I will fight you for her.”
Chapter Seventeen
If Torin lost, Braya would kill them both.
She watched, afraid for Torin, for she’d fought this mountain of a man and he was strong. But Torin knew how to fight and he seemed eager to battle John Armstrong.
She swung her blade and ended the life of a man coming toward her with an axe. She saw Rob Adams hurrying toward her and let him embrace her when he reached her. Her father was there next, to hold and cherish her, and to witness the most savage warrior their eyes have ever seen.
Torin circled Armstrong like a predator sizing up its prey. His wore no expression on his face save for anger, dark and dangerous. He moved quickly, rushing in and then leaping back, slicing, swinging, jabbing, and, most impressively, dodging and deflecting deadly blows and combinations.
John Armstrong wasn’t the leader because he was handsome. Because he was not that. But he was a skilled fighter, able to protect the Armstrongs of the western Marches. Could Torin beat him? He had better. She tilted her head. Mr. Adams did not look worried, but her father did.
It didn’t take her long to realize that Torin was tiring the bulky leader in the sight of all his people. Armstrong couldn’t keep up with his quick movements. The leader would swing something massive and miss, using up his power. He was growing weaker by the moment.
