Heart of Shadows (Hearts of the Highlands Book 2), page 5
“He had no reason not to,” she answered softly.
“Father,” Galien interjected. “Are we going to take the word of a stranger who claims our boys tried to kill the border guards?”
Oh, Braya could not believe how blind and unfair her brother was. “And Mr. Adams?” she asked him. “Since when has he lied to us? You saw how angry he was that our lads had attacked him.”
His eyes smoldered with anger as his gaze found hers. “It seems you forget that five of our cousins are dead. Five, Braya. Are you not loyal to your family?”
“I am, Galien,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m concerned for the rest of us if we fight the warden and his men. Gather all the Hetheringtons you want, but when the battle is over and everyone returns to their homesteads far away, we will be left here with no extra protection from other reivers. Remember we are no friends with the Armstrongs. We will lose the support of the other wardens. We could lose everything…everyone. And for what? Pride? Revenge?”
Galien’s face grew redder, making his eyes shine like burning flames. “Our family must be—”
“Galien!” Rowley Hetherington roared out the thunderous command, draining the color from his son’s face. “She is correct. Sir Torin has asked for forgiveness. If he and Adams ask it of me, I will grant it.”
Galien looked about to speak, but his father held up his hand. “I will not sacrifice more of you. You will do as I say and let this punishment go unfulfilled if ’tis what I wish. Do you understand?”
Galien reluctantly nodded, then stormed out of the cottage.
Braya’s father turned to her without sparing a glance after her brother. “Send word to Mr. Adams tomorrow. Invite him and Sir Torin to meet me in the town hall in two days. Tell them,” he instructed, his steely eyes hard and merciless. “If they do not come, I will bring battle to Carlisle and every one of them will die.”
Braya sighed. Both sides believed themselves to be unbeatable. She was a bit more sensible. Everyone was beatable, even the most renowned leader, a raider for over twenty years. Her father was strong and experienced, but she wasn’t sure if that was enough to triumph over a young man, who, if he had spoken the truth, had killed four men at once.
Galien’s brute force could possibly take Torin down, but what if it didn’t? She didn’t want to watch another brother die. What if her father brought war to the fortress and Torin killed four more of her family members at once—before even more of them perished?
What could she do to stop it? The answer wasn’t killing Torin. It was getting him to ask the forgiveness of her family. “I will do as you ask, Father.”
“Hmm.” He picked up an apple and examined it. “What changed your mind about him, Braya?”
Now? Now he saw fit to ask her opinion on something? “He was orphaned by the Scots at the tender age of five. He had a difficult time. You can see it in his eyes. But somehow, I do not know, perhaps God shows him favor, but he survived and he became a very skilled fighter, one whom the Earl of Rothbury recommends. And yet…”
“And yet?” her mother repeated in the same quiet tone.
“When I found him, he was smelling a flower. When I spoke to him, I found him to be genuine.”
“We shall see,” her father said, then set his gaze on the table. “For now, I must decide what to do with this food.”
“There is not much,” Braya noted without being asked, “but I would like two apples for Millie, please.”
He handed them to her without quarrel and then placed the other two into separate pouches. He did the same with the grapes, bread, and cheese. He would hand them out tomorrow to whatever families needed it most.
When he was done, he took his wife’s hand and bid Braya goodnight.
After a supper of cooled rabbit stew, Braya cleaned up and left the cottage to deliver Millie’s apples.
Her friend walked with her in the moonlight to the tree-lined riverbank, unafraid of attack. Her family still had the protection of the border guards. If reivers attacked, they’d meet the defender’s soldiers first. Braya didn’t want anything to change.
They sat together on a large rock and dipped their toes in the water.
“I’m still unsure if he did not plan out the entire thing to make himself appear the hero to the guards,” Braya confessed to her friend. “If that is the case,” she said, shaking her head hopelessly, “then he is truly ruthless and deadly.”
“Well, what do you feel in your belly?” Millie asked and then took a bite out of her apple.
“He is charming.” Braya smiled before she could stop herself. “His countenance is perfectly crafted and his tongue is as smooth as a serpent’s. But I believed him when he asked for my forgiveness. I believe he is innocent of murder. Do not ask me why, because I cannot tell you.”
Millie curled her arm around Braya’s waist and pulled her close. “I trust you, Braya. If you believe him, then so do I. But will he agree to your father’s condition of seeking forgiveness in the town hall?”
“I will have to make him.”
“But how? What if…” Millie stopped and cast Braya a nervous glance. “What if he demands a kiss?”
A kiss? Would she grant him his desire? He would be the first. “I…I’m not certain what I would do.”
Millie giggled. Braya joined her.
“Every time he came nearer to me today,” she said, sobering, “my heart beat madly in my chest and my head felt light. I do not know if I would push him away.”
“All the more reason you must make him come to the town hall,” Millie insisted, chewing her apple. “If there is something between you, he cannot be an enemy.”
Was there something between them? They had met twice. The second time, they ate together and opened up a little to each other. Did it mean anything? Of course not. The moment he saw her fight, he would recoil with hurt pride. “There is nothing between us,” she promised her friend. “He is handsome and he seems to want peace. ’Tis beguiling. That is all.”
She stayed with Millie for a little while longer and then returned home and went to her small room at the far end of the house. She undressed down to her chemise and climbed onto her straw mattress. She closed her eyes to sleep, but thoughts and images of Torin invaded her mind. What kind of man was he behind his restrained smiles and thoughtful gazes? A man who knew stories about legendary kings and magic islands and who had named himself after the clouds. He wasn’t what she had expected. In Carlisle’s great hall, he had seemed arrogant, but today he had been calm and quietly confident.
Would Torin come and humble himself before her father and the families of the victims? It was a beginning. More than she had this morning. This morning, she had wanted Torin Gray dead. Now, she thought it would be nice to see him again tomorrow.
She closed her eyes and finally fell asleep thinking about a man who smelled flowers and rode a horse called Avalon.
Chapter Five
Torin raked his fingers through his hair and pulled it all into a thin strip of leather behind his head. He didn’t like it falling into his face while he practiced. He closed his eyes and tilted up his face to the new dawn.
He was glad the night was over. For with it had come dreams of Braya Hetherington. Dreams of kissing her, laughing with her, of desires that were unfamiliar and unwanted. He had a duty to see to, a promise to a wee lad to keep.
He rolled up the sleeves of his léine and adjusted the belt on his hips. Was it already a bit tighter? It wouldn’t surprise him. The food served in the great hall was rich and filled with things that made a man fat and lazy. That was why he found himself on the practice field in the inner ward, alone with the crowing roosters.
Later, he would invite Sir John and the others to practice with him so he could discover how well was their defense. He didn’t put much hope in a good fight when he finally took down Carlisle.
He’d returned back to the castle late last night and most of the men had been asleep at their posts, open and vulnerable to attack. It had pleased him.
But not as much as what he’d heard Braya say about him earlier.
…my heart beat madly in my chest and my head felt light. I do not know if I would push him away.
She liked him. She trusted him. It was all he needed for victory.
He had followed her home last night. If her father was about to make some momentous decision, Torin wanted to know about it early, if possible, to better plan his defense. Also, it was good to know where the reivers lived.
From his position in the trees, he’d watched the huge younger man from the great hall, whom Torin assumed was her brother, storm out of the cottage. Torin wondered if she had told her family where she’d been and with whom, and this was their reaction.
Not long after that, the front door had opened and Braya stepped into the twilight. She’d worn her hood far over her face, but he’d known it was her. He’d followed her slight frame and agile steps to another lass’ house, and then shamelessly followed them and listened to what they had said.
He’d learned that her father wanted a public apology. It was better than wanting a fight.
What if he demands a kiss? Her friend, who was heavy with child, had asked.
A kiss. Torin had thought of it more than once, and was not opposed to the idea. Oddly enough, Miss Hetherington hadn’t sounded put off by the thought of it either.
It was exactly as it should be—if he were going to take her down.
Could he have her? Did he want her? She thought he wanted peace. He wanted war. An all-out, bloody battle. And he intended to win it.
I’m still unsure if he planned out the entire thing to make himself appear the hero to the guards.
Hell, she was intelligent and clever. He would have to use caution around her. She might be the one who stood in the way. What would he do if she was?
He had successfully infiltrated the castle. Now, he had three weeks to plan his attack. Three weeks until King Robert and his men arrived, whether Torin had prepared the way or not. He could do it. He would see them all dead, including the Hetheringtons if he had to. He wouldn’t let a lass stop him.
A rooster crowed again as he swung his heavy sword over his head. He brought it down in a chopping blow that spewed dirt around him. He jabbed it into one of the English soldiers who’d invaded his childhood home. He couldn’t remember their faces. He didn’t need to. They were all guilty.
He parried a swipe from the man who’d struck his older brother. With an effortless curl of his wrist, he flipped his hilt over and caught it again, ramming his long blade into the ghost of the English bastard that killed his father. He pulled it free and plunged it forward, in an arc of devastation that removed two heads at once. He heard his younger brother crying. Or was it his mother? His mother. Look what we have here, a tender little pigeon, he remembered an Englishman saying, and then lifting his mother and carrying her away. Torin stepped forward and swept his blade over his head, hacking it through his unseen enemies, laying waste to every last one—until he stood alone amid the carnage, having done what he could not do as a child. But nothing changed. It never changed.
He could go back in time and kill them all, but there would still be nothing left when it was over. He would never gain back his kin.
He would never have a family.
He straightened, drew in a deep breath that flared his nostrils, and balanced his legs again. Let the men sleep. Let them grow idle and unprepared for fighting. The defender had no defense. Carlisle was prime for the taking.
He turned at the sound of horse’s hooves clapping the ground behind him and looked up to see Braya seated upon a black horse and smiling down at him. She was alone.
The thought of her coming to kill him did not seem so farfetched, even though he knew why she had come. But why alone? Did she travel alone so far from her home often? Or had her father changed his mind and sent her? He kept his sword in his hand.
Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her. How had she gained his consideration? He hadn’t known her for a full day! She was deadly as an enemy, striking like a snake.
She tempted him to get bitten, to swoop in like a falcon and take her as prey.
“Miss Hetherington, ’tis nice to see you this morn.”
“You as well, Sir Torin,” she replied. “You are a fierce and precise warrior. I would like to see some more.”
How was it possible to forget how beautiful she was until he saw her again? He did his best not to let her appearance affect him, but it was more than her natural beauty that stopped his breath. It was the slight tilt of her chin, the strength in her eyes, and the confidence in whatever the hell she knew she possessed that straightened her spine.
She made his head reel and his ghosts scatter.
His gaze dipped to her pale braid draping her humble bosom. Was her heart beating madly now? “Perhaps we could practice together,” he offered.
She shrugged her shoulder and dipped her chin toward it, as if she did not care. “Perhaps.”
He looked around, suddenly aware that she, a reiver, had entered the inner ward without being stopped. “How did you gain entrance?”
“The east wall,” she told him. “There is rarely anyone patrolling it and none guarding the walkway.”
He nodded. “Aye, I have noticed that.” What else did she know about the castle defenses? He should spend time with her and find out.
“So, ’tis morn.” He looked up at her on her horse and let his gaze go just a bit soft on her. Though it wasn’t difficult. “Has your father sent you to kill me?”
“No,” she said, swinging one leg over her saddle and dismounting. “I’m here to speak you.”
“Oh? About what?” he asked, pretending ignorance.
She landed like a graceful cat on her booted feet. Her legs were encased in breeches. She wore a snug jack with no sleeves and a sky blue mantle. She moved toward him, addling his senses. “Were you sincere in your apology last eve, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said, knowing her father’s conditions. Also knowing what she had said last night about making him agree if she had to. He wondered how she would go about convincing him.
“Will you stand before my father and ask his forgiveness?”
He stared at her, thinking about bending his head to hers and kissing her. Would she try to stab him in his nether region? In the heart, mayhap? Would he want to kiss her again and again, for the remainder of his days? He clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from becoming too tempted and pulling her into his arms. “You ask much of me, lady.”
“Oh?” she asked in a clipped tone, shattering his hopes of her begging him to help. “Are you so filled with pride that you cannot tell a few fathers that you are sorry for taking their sons from them?”
He almost rolled his eyes, but smiled at her instead. “Very well. If ’tis so important to you, I will do it.”
Had he given in too soon? When she smiled, looking so relieved he thought she might have swooned for a moment, he was glad he had given in to her.
“’Tis important to me. My father will bring war here if you refuse.”
Carlisle at war with a handful of reivers could be ideal for Torin’s plans.
“I do not want to lose my father or brother if they fight you,” she added quietly, honestly, like a hammer to his defenses. If he fought the reivers, he would likely take more of her kin from her.
Was he losing his damned mind?
“And Mr. Adams?” she asked, looking around. “He has been a friend to my father in the past. Do you think he will go with you?”
It was as if he couldn’t stop his own tongue. “I will see what I can do,” he promised and held out his hand to her. He didn’t want to think about meeting her on the battlefield as Bennett’s enemy or his ally. “That is not all, is it? You did not ride all the way here alone just to ask me a simple question. Stay for breakfast with me and let me escort you home later.”
“I should not.”
He nodded and smiled in agreement, keeping his hand out to her. “Aye, and I should not ask. But I am. Stay.”
Her blue eyes seared into him, searching—hell, he could almost feel her peering around in the shadows, looking beneath this surface and that. He almost looked away, unwilling to give anything of himself to anyone, lest he lose them—and more of himself. But he let her search, almost daring her to look into the cold, dank darkness and not shrivel up and run.
“All right,” she said, finally fitting her small hand into his. “I will. But on one condition.”
He sighed inwardly. This family and their conditions! “Very well, what is it?”
“That you practice with me first.”
He should have expected her to want to test him, feel him out—as he’d planned on doing with the other guards later. She was brave, throwing herself into the fray with him to learn how he fought since she might have to be the one who protected her family from him if they came here.
Or, this was her way of stabbing him to death without anyone even bearing witness.
“Of course” He stepped away from her, releasing her hand.
He held up his blade, ready to know for sure if she could kill him. She did the same with the blade that had been hanging from her hip.
He smiled at her one more time, appreciating her readiness and willingness to fight him. He expected her to be a good fighter, but she was quite small at 5’ 4” mayhap and delicately fashioned. How much trouble could she be?
She came at him so fast he almost didn’t have time to block. He stopped a swift slice of her blade just before it would have rid him of his left arm. She took the opportunity to disappear from his view. He barely moved and she was already behind him. She’d had the slightest advantage after watching him practice and seeing how he moved. He’d had no way of knowing how fast she was until she was on him—literally strapped to his back with her legs wrapped around his waist and one hand closed over his forehead.
How was this happening? How was she in a position to kill him? And how had she arrived there so quickly?
