“Torin?”

  “Aye?”

  “I won the race. We made a bargain.”

  “Aye, love. I will put you out of my thoughts tomorrow.”

  She laughed softly and poked him in the side, then she kissed him and told him about her brother Raggie until he fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Braya opened her eyes to sunlight streaming into her un-shuttered windows. For a moment, she forgot where she was. She remembered, sighing with delight at the comfort of her bed. She became aware of a heavy arm strewn across her belly, a long, even heavier leg tossed over hers. She smiled from the innermost depths of her heart and turned to look at Torin sleeping beside her.

  Oh, but she loved his face. His beguiling curls falling over his sleeping eyes. His shapely lips were relaxed and waiting to be kissed. Did she want to disturb him? He looked quite peaceful.

  In fact, since he returned with the earl and the earl’s Highland brother yesterday, he seemed less melancholy—until he looked at her. Was she making him unhappy for some reason? Even last night after they had lain together, he’d regretted coming to her room. Why? Why would he ask her to be his wife if she made him sad?

  And why wasn’t he angry with the earl for deceiving him all these years. Nicholas MacPherson was a Scot, a Highlander, though he did not dress or speak like one. How could Torin forgive him after what the Scots had done to his family?

  She wanted to wake him up and ask him, but she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer.

  She was being silly. He wasn’t unhappy around her. She made him laugh, and if she had her way, she would make him laugh until they grew old together.

  And, of course, he forgave the earl. They had been friends. The earl hadn’t killed his family. He had lost his beloved wife though, and Torin was just trying to help him through the day. She hoped he had, but perhaps now was the time to go. She wasn’t comfortable around Scots.

  But they had been nothing but nice to her. The commander had even complimented her on her skill. And her bed was so damned comfortable.

  “You are beautiful in the morn.” Torin’s deep, groggy voice swept through her and warmed her insides.

  “I have not even combed my hair.”

  “Then do not comb it,” he told her, closing his eyes again. “’Tis perfect.”

  He was perfect, Braya thought, gazing at him.

  “Ah!” he said, opening his eyes. “You were correct about this bed. I want to sleep for another sennight.”

  She brushed her fingers through his curls and smiled at him. “Shall we stay in bed all day?”

  “I would love to.” He laughed and pulled her closer. He was so much bigger than she and quickly covered her.

  A rap came at the door. Again, harder this time when neither of them moved to answer it.

  “Gray! Open the door!” It was Adams. “I know you are in there.”

  “What the hell is he doing out of bed?” Torin asked Braya while he left the bed and stumbled into his breeches.

  “He must be feeling better,” she guessed and climbed out of bed wrapped in the colorful bed coverings. She stood behind the door when Torin went barefoot and bare-chested to it and swung it open.

  “Adams, what are you doing out—”

  “Where is she?” Braya’s family friend demanded. “Does she know, Gray? Does she know that you are a Scot? That you came to Carlisle to prepare it for defeat against the Bruce’s soldiers?”

  Surely she was dreaming. This was not happening. Torin was a Scot? A spy for the Bruce? No! No! He was here to bring…war? She shook her head. She didn’t believe it.

  “Braya!” Mr. Adams shouted.

  She didn’t care what Mr. Adams thought of how she was dressed; she stepped out from around the door. “I am here, Mr. Adams. Who told you such a vile thing?”

  “I discovered the truth quite by accident,” he told her and then stared at Torin. “The earl’s babe has a nurse, and she came to have a word with Edith, who was bringing me food. She told Edith all about how you are the earl’s long lost brother and how even Commander MacPherson believed it since he introduced you to his son as Uncle Torin!”

  His brothers? She couldn’t comprehend what he was telling her. He was the Highlanders’ brother? No. She’d brought him to her family! Helped them trust him! She’d trusted him. She let him—no!

  “Braya,” Torin tried. “Let us speak alone.”

  She turned to him with a hardening gaze and her heart shattering at her feet. “Then ’tis all true.”

  “Aye, but I beg you, give me a chance to—”

  She slapped him hard in the face. “Get out!”

  She turned away before she struck him again. Tears spilled down her face as she moved to get his boots and his léine. She threw them at him and screamed for him to get out again when he didn’t move fast enough.

  “Braya. I will not go,” he said. “I would speak with you.”

  Well, if he wouldn’t leave, she would!

  With a quick adjustment to her wrappings, she pushed past him and Mr. Adams and stormed out of the room.

  She had no idea where she was going. She realized too late that she should have dressed herself properly first, but she had wanted to get away from Torin. And now he hurried after her, while Mr. Adams moved at a slower rate. She would not be stopped. She would leave Lismoor in her blanket, get on Archer, and ride home!

  Another door opened and Aleysia, wife of the Highlander, stepped out of a room toting her sleepy son by the hand.

  When she saw Braya garbed in bed coverings, Torin hurrying down the hall after her in just breeches, and Mr. Adams out of his sickbed, she drew back her son toddling before her.

  “What in the blazes is going on here? Miss Hetherington, where are you off to?”

  “I am going home,” Braya stopped to tell her.

  “Dressed in a blanket?” Aleysia asked with a raised raven brow.

  “My lady.” Torin stopped beside Braya. She moved a step farther away from him. “Forgive our indecency,” he said, pulling his léine over his head and shoving his arms into the sleeves. “We had words—”

  Braya turned to him, gaping. “We had words? You are a Scot, a soldier for the Bruce, and you kept it from me all this time!”

  Aleysia looked at her in her blanket and Torin, trying to dress. She shook her head at him. “Go find Father Timothy. He is very good with things like this.”

  “Like what?” Braya asked. “A man who vows you can trust him and turns out to be a lying—”

  “Braya,” he tried, putting a hand to her shoulder.

  She slapped his hand away and returned her attention to Aleysia, mostly so that Torin wouldn’t see the tears she shed for him. “Lady MacPherson, your husband should not believe this man’s claims that he is his brother. He cannot be trusted!” She had to turn away lest he see her fall apart.

  The Highlander’s wife put her arms around Braya and ushered her toward the door to her chambers. “Come inside,” she offered gently. “Not either of you!” she scolded Torin and Mr. Adams while Braya wept into her hands. “You have upset her enough!”

  She wasn’t about to stand around and listen to their defense, so she picked up her son and, turning on her heel, pulled Braya into the room and slammed the door shut in their faces.

  When Braya entered the room, she stopped and almost walked out of it again when she saw the commander sitting in a chair and pulling on his boots.

  He held up his hand. “Dinna bother, I am goin’.” He stood up and came toward them. “I heard.” He motioned toward the door. “He didna claim to be anyone, lass. He has proven who he is to me and Nicholas.”

  “But the Scots killed his family.”

  “No, the English killed our parents.”

  Lies. All lies. All to bring war.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Commander, my lady, but I will be leaving as soon as I can dress.”

  The Highlander sighed and shook his head. “He has lost much. Now, he will lose ye as well.”

  She turned away. He should have thought of that sooner. She fought her brother over him. She made a fool of her father by having Torin come to the town hall to apologize for—oh, dear God, her cousins. “He killed my cousins.”

  “Pardon?”

  She didn’t answer but yanked open the door and hurried into the hall. He was still there, waiting for her.

  “My cousins! What happened that night, Torin? I will have the truth!”

  His face paled. He looked ill.

  Braya stopped in her tracks. “What?” Oh, she didn’t want to think it, to hear it! “You murdered them in cold blood?”

  “No!” Mr. Adams exclaimed, lest guilt fall on him, too. “That is not what happened! They attacked me and the others!”

  But Torin said nothing, and it was more damning than any false defense he could have come up with. She was glad he didn’t try. She would have lifted one of those knives the commander had shoved under his belt a few moments earlier and stabbed Torin with it.

  “I am leaving, Torin,” she said coolly and with false calm. Beneath the surface, a labyrinth of writhing emotion threatened to erupt. “Allow me to dress and prepare for the journey with Mr. Adams. Do not follow me or ’twill become a battle between us and one of us will die. I will return home, even if it means I must marry the warden. For he would be better than you.”

  She squared her shoulders and waited for him to move out of her way. When he did, she returned to her room alone and locked the door.

  She dressed while her belly twisted with an ache she’d never known before. He was not real. He was not real. Of course, he wanted her family to stay away from the Scots. He knew Carlisle would win with the reivers on its side. She had to tell her family.

  Oh, her family. What would she tell them? How would they forgive her after she told them what she had once suspected but had been too horrible to believe, so she hadn’t? He’d killed her cousins to make himself appear the hero to the guards. Aye! To gain entrance into Carlisle for his deadly purpose!

  Her father would never forgive her. He would tell her that she thought with her heart and that was why ’twas better to be a man. He was correct, at least about one thing. She had made her decisions with her heart and not her head. She had trusted him. She had seen him enjoy the sweet fragrance of a flower. He’d shown patience with his horse and mercy to a man who didn’t deserve it, and she thought he was a different kind of man.

  But he wasn’t. He thirsted for blood. He hungered for battle.

  And since he wanted one so bad, she would give it to him.

  She had much to think on during her trip home with Mr. Adams. At first they didn’t speak much, taking solace in each other’s silence. But Torin’s betrayal cut them both.

  “Perhaps he had agreed to fight us with your cousins and then turned on them,” Mr. Adams ventured. “But they did not seem to know him. Though ’twas dark and my eyes are not as good as they once were.”

  Braya shook her head. “I do not know what he did or how he was involved, but he was. He lied about it. I could tell when I asked him. Nothing he said was the truth.”

  “I do not know about that.”

  She drew in a deep breath. If Mr. Adams tried to convince her that Torin’s feelings for her were real, she would tell him she didn’t care. It didn’t change anything.

  “He told us the truth about his brothers.”

  Her heart faltered a little and she cursed it. He’d found his brothers. Truly, it was a miracle. A joyous one. She wanted to be happy for him, but her heart was too broken and all she could see were the lies.

  “The commander told me ’twas the English who killed their parents.”

  Mr. Adams nodded. “I guessed as much once I knew the truth. He must have much hatred in him for the English.”

  “He watched them kill his father,” Braya told him hollowly. “He has haunting memories.”

  “Aye. He must be very torn about recent events.”

  Aye, Braya silently agreed then slipped her glare to Adams. “Why are you giving him your pity? He is undeserving of it.”

  “Pity or no,” Mr. Adams stated, “he found his brothers and lost you in the same day.”

  “And if he follows me,” she told him, “he will lose his life today as well.

  Mr. Adams remained silent but stared at her. “You love him.”

  “I was a fool,” she cried and wiped her eyes. “I trusted him and fell in love with a shadow.”

  “I trusted him, too, Braya. I refuse to believe that we were both so wrong about a man. There is good in him.”

  Instead of answering—for she wasn’t sure she had anything to say that wasn’t a scathing oath—she flicked Archer’s reins and pushed onward, away from the deceit, away from Torin Gray…MacPherson.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Braya didn’t think the pain could get any worse, but she was wrong. The more the initial shock wore off, the worse she felt. Telling her father didn’t help any—even with Mr. Adams there with her. She couldn’t tell Galien or the others yet. She could not take the ridicule she was sure would come to her after insisting that he was innocent and having him apologize to all.

  But none of that was the worst part. No. The worst part was that she’d given herself to him. She’d agreed to wed him. She’d lain in bed with him and…she couldn’t think of it. She didn’t want to remember how wanton she had been for him. The thought of it shocked and shamed her. Was Torin so cruel that he would not only deceive her but would use her to satisfy his own lustful desires?

  But he had been sorry he came to her.

  I wish we had not done it while I was so deep in my cups. You deserve more than that. So much more than what you got from me.

  Was he sorry he had deceived her? Or was his regret just another lie?

  You were…hell, you were…perfect, like a burning lute playing a song only I could hear, and we danced together to it.

  She remembered his voice, so meaningful, so sensual—his touch, so tender and patient. She wanted it back, and she was angry with him for taking it from her.

  She closed her eyes and wept for the thousandth time today.

  “Braya?”

  She opened her eyes and wiped them at the sound of Galien’s voice.

  “May I come in?” he asked, surprisingly gently.

  When she nodded, he sat near her on the floor beside her straw mattress behind the curtained partition that separated her room from the rest of the house. “I spoke to Father.”

  She groaned inwardly and prepared herself for whatever her brother was going to say. She wouldn’t mind if he ridiculed her for trusting a Scot if her heart didn’t feel as if it were being ripped out.

  “So, Gray has an agenda.”

  “Aye,” she said weakly. That was a nice way to say it. “Aye. You were correct about him all along. I should have listened to you.”

  He swayed a little. If he had been standing, Braya thought he would have fallen over. “I…I wish I had been wrong.”

  She smiled and swiped a tear from her cheek.

  “You care for him.” It wasn’t a question he put to her.

  First she shook her head, and then she wept harder and nodded.

  He didn’t say anything for a time but simply sat with her and pulled her in closer while she wept—which only made her weep harder. He hadn’t trusted Torin, and she hadn’t listened to him.

  “He…he lied to me, Galien,” she told him through sobs and tears. “The Scots have taken over every stronghold. They want Carlisle as well. We cannot let them have it.”

  “Aye,” he said, his dark gray eyes somber, “but if we fight, we will be fighting against him. You will be fighting against him. I do not think ’tis wise.”

  She eyed him, unsure if her brother had been replaced while she was away with someone who looked like him. “Since when do you care what is wise?”

  He smiled. “Since my sister is involved. Braya, you are a skilled fighter. Better than most—”

  She lifted her head and gaped at him. Was she hearing him right? Though her heart was aching, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “—but your heart is involved,” he continued. “Being hurt or angry with him is very different than killing him on the battlefield. If we do fight against the Scots, I do not think you should come with us.”

  She sat up. “But I—”

  He shook his head. “No. Father agrees. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  Braya bolted from her mattress and stood over him. “What are you saying, Galien?” she asked angrily. “That I will not kill him given the chance?”

  “I’m saying that you cannot kill him,” he replied. “As much as I hate to say this, I think you are in love with him. You fell asleep in his arms, Braya. ’Tis the first time I have seen you trust someone so far.”

  When she opened her mouth to protest loving the Highland warrior, he held up his hand. “I was not finished. Now that we know the truth, we must ask ourselves if he will bring the Scots to us. I do not think he will.”

  He held up his hand again and pushed open her curtain then waited for her to leave. “You will have your turn before Father, but at least hear me, Sister.”

  She nodded and remained quiet.

  “When he wanted to go into the Armstrongs’ village alone, he asked me to trust him, and I saw something in his eyes that convinced me that you meant much to him. He rescued you from John Armstrong and saved you from them on the castle battlements, and both times his gaze on you spoke volumes about his heart. The Scot loves you.”

  “So what are you saying?” she asked him, reaching the kitchen. “We let the Scots fight Carlisle on their own?”

  “Even with our help, Carlisle may not win,” her father answered from his seat at the table. “If the rest of the Bruce’s men fight like him, no one will have a chance.”

  “If you want peace, Sister, staying out of the fight will help get it. Gray will not bring his army against you.”

  “And our cousins?” she turned to ask him as he leaned his hip on the table. “Do you still believe his innocence?”

 

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