Heart of Shadows (Hearts of the Highlands Book 2), page 7
“Oh, Torin, no!” Braya sank back onto the bench. “I did not mean to…” Her voice trailed off into a cough she produced to stop the sob wanting to escape her lips. “Forgive me.” She reached for his hand and covered it with hers as a rush of tears fell from her eyes. She did not argue with him about whether he was entitled or not, to feel the way he did about certain men. She hadn’t lost her entire family to the Scots. “I did not realize how terrible it must have been for you.”
He looked at her and, for a heartbreaking instant, he didn’t seem to know where he was. As if he were still there, dropped off into his past by her so he could remember again what had happened.
Then his gaze cleared and he looked at his covered, trembling hand and her tears that had fallen around it. “No,” he said in a soft, smoky baritone. “I do not know why I shared such gruesome thoughts with you. ’Tis I who should ask forgiveness.” He slipped his hand free. “You are easy to speak with.”
She smiled. She believed that he didn’t open up to many. She liked that he’d opened up to her.
Thunder cracked across the charcoal sky. Startled, Yda dropped a jug of ale.
Torin rose from the bench. “I need to see to Avalon. She does not like thunder.”
“I will come with you,” Braya said and followed him out of the tavern.
They hadn’t walked more than three steps when the skies opened and poured down on them. Braya didn’t mind. In fact, she loved the rain. It cleansed and nourished. It was cold, though, and she hurried toward Torin when he held open his cloak for her to take refuge under.
They ran together, laughing beneath his hood as they entered the stable. Torin grew serious immediately when he found that Avalon was not where he had left her.
“Has someone taken her?” Braya asked him as they ran back out into the rain.
“No. She must have become frightened and took off.”
He called the horse’s name, once, and then again. His voice, though loud and strong, was drowned out by the wind and more thunder.
He whistled and the sharp sound pierced the wind.
Braya’s heart began to speed up as the realization that beautiful Avalon had run away. Would she return?
Torin kept whistling and searching for her until they were both dripping wet.
“Has she done this before?” she asked him while they headed for the trees.
“Once or twice.”
“But she came back,” Braya pointed out, hoping to comfort him. Was he distressed? She couldn’t tell.
“No, I had to find her.”
“Oh.” Braya’s heart drummed hard and fast. They had to find her. “Avalon!” she called out.
They searched for another quarter of an hour, calling out, wiping the rain from their eyes, and searching the forest for her.
“Let us split up,” she finally suggested. He nodded and then caught sight of something over her shoulder. He blinked his large green eyes and Braya couldn’t tell if what fell from his eyes was rain or tears.
He stepped around her and Braya turned to see his massive horse standing within the trees. Her long, dripping wet mane looked more gray than white as it cascaded over her wide, terrified eyes. She trembled and moved deeper into the trees when she saw them.
“Come, lady.” He reached out his hand. “I’m here. You are safe.”
Braya stayed where she was while he moved forward, speaking softly to Avalon. She watched him hold up both hands when the horse reared back her head and bit at the air. Avalon was warning him not to come any closer. He didn’t let her fear stop him but continued to speak to her.
When he reached her, he lifted his hand to her nose. She pushed back and snapped at him. Braya’s heart broke and raced together. Avalon was so afraid she couldn’t recognize him. He didn’t give up and, finally, the horse let him touch her nose with one hand, and then her cheeks with both. She swung her huge head toward him and nuzzled it close to him. He risked his handsome face by pressing it to Avalon’s.
Braya thought about what kind of man he must be to have earned the trust of such an animal. He was patient and, after a little more coaxing, he led her toward Braya.
A man stepping out of the trees between them stopped him. “That’s a nice horse, Brother.” He held up his wet sword. “You will hand it over to me, and the gel—”
He stopped talking when Braya smashed the hilt of a dagger into the back of his head. He folded to the ground, leaving her facing Torin. He smiled and stepped over the thief and continued on.
“Where did you get her?” Braya asked him while he dried Avalon and laid down fresh hay back at the tavern’s stable.
“I had been traveling two years ago and came upon a gypsy with a gloriously beautiful horse, and a cruel whip.”
“Oh, no!” Braya whispered, horrified and understanding Avalon a little better.
“I almost killed him one night,” he continued, remembering. “I had wanted to free her. She’d been skin and bones. Pulling his carriage for however long…I thought she was on the brink of death. I wanted her to run, untethered for whatever short amount of time she had left—free. But I had to free her from the carriage first. As you can imagine, she did not want hands on her, so I had a difficult time freeing her.” He smiled at Avalon and petted her. “I finally managed and she hurried off, as fast as she could go. I thought I would never see her again. But she returned to me two nights later in a moonlit vale and has remained with me ever since.”
Braya smiled. She didn’t mind standing in the hay, feeding Avalon and Archer carrots while Torin told her stories of the Isle of Avalon and a king called Arthur.
“How do you know these tales?”
Torin went to stand at the window. The rain had stopped and the clouds had disappeared. He stared out into the sunlight. “I read about them.”
Braya wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. Why would a guard have any need of reading? “You can read?”
“Aye. I learned how while I lived at Till Castle.” He turned away from the sun and smiled at her. “I can write, too.”
“You use your time well,” she said with admiration lacing her voice. Such skills were difficult and took many months, even years to achieve. She shook her head, marveling at him, and forgot the horses as she moved toward him. “Did the governor force you to learn?”
“No,” he told her, watching her move, turning her bones to liquid. “I wanted to read so that I could find the story of Avalon.”
“You are a very determined man.”
He smiled. It was well practiced and didn’t reach his eyes. Braya thought he didn’t like this compliment. Why not? Who was he? She understood why he wanted to be a soldier of the king and help triumph over the Scots, but there was so much more to him than that. Who raised him? Where had he spent his latest years, the ones after the Scots took down Till Castle until now? There was so much more she wanted to learn about him. So much she felt she needed to know.
He was different. That was a good thing. Wasn’t it?
Chapter Seven
They stopped outside the city, both of them mounted and ready to part ways.
Torin knew he should bid her good day and let her go home, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to spend the afternoon with her…the night. What the hell was the matter with him? He was supposed to be making friends with the guards, with Bennett himself, finding out the garrison’s weaknesses, the list went on—and here he was, wanting to make an English lass smile for the rest of the day.
“I was thinking of riding to Wetheral for some supplies,” he said, trying to settle down an impatient and mayhap a tad jealous Avalon between his thighs. He didn’t need any supplies in Wetheral, but he wanted to spend more time with her. “I would enjoy your company.”
Braya smiled, which pleased him—which also made him scowl.
“What does a village have that a city does not?” she put to him.
“A waterfall.
Her eyes widened and sparked with interest. “I know one that is closer.” But then she looked off into the distance, toward her village, and shook her head. “We have spent too much time together already.” She breathed out a wilting sigh, as if this were the last thing she wanted to hear herself say. Then, vanquishing the melancholy that had overtaken her, she smiled again, flashing her dimple and making him doubt everything he believed.
The English deserved to die. But no. Not her. He didn’t want her around for any fighting. They weren’t on the same side.
“I had a lovely day with you, Sir Torin. Thank you.”
He smiled at her. He didn’t want to. He wanted to turn and go. Avalon wanted him to go as well.
She could have killed him this morn. She had moved her arm slowly, so he could stop her. “I will be here tomorrow—tonight,” he added under his breath.
She laughed and he grew enchanted by her dimple, the sight of her, the sound of her.
“Farewell,” she said, sobering.
She left him looking after her, wanting to charge Avalon forward and bring Braya back.
“Ye wouldna budge, would ye?” he asked his horse while he turned for the keep. He didn’t wait for any answer. He knew what it would be. “What are ye jealous of anyway? I dinna feel anythin’ fer her.”
But what did he know of feeling anything for anyone? He hadn’t cared for anyone since he was seven. He honestly didn’t want to care now. It was too distracting. It could get him killed. What kind of charms did Braya possess to scatter his thoughts? There could never be anything between them. His secret was too great. His past was too dark and his heart was too consumed by the darkness to make a lass happy.
He had to stay with his plan and not deviate, keep his thoughts on what he’d come here to do. Bring war. He’d been driven by a single desire since he was a young lad. Use the skills he’d learned to kill them all, take them down, make them pay.
“’Twill be over soon,” he told his horse. “And then…”
What? What would he do? Where would he go? After Carlisle, there were no more strongholds to take down. Mayhap he could settle down somewhere…with…someone. He almost laughed at himself and his foolish musings. It was too late for love and a family, though it was something a deep part of him had always desired. Why was he allowing Miss Hetherington to stir that desire? He had his family, he reminded himself, and reached under his cloak to touch his fingers to his brooch. He had Avalon. It was enough.
He didn’t know why he had shared anything about his life with her. No one had ever tempted him to be so honest. He wasn’t sure yet if it had done him any good. His skill was in making the other person tell all their secrets while he kept his own hidden. But he felt at ease with her from the moment he sat with her yesterday in the woods, and today in the tavern. When she had risen to leave, angry about his stance on killing, he hadn’t wanted her to go, so he’d told her a little about that day.
But he hadn’t shared his true self with her, or with anyone else. He was a boy, ashamed and filled with guilt for running away, for escaping when his brothers had not. For not killing those soldiers. He wanted others to see a confident, in-control soldier, not an emotional, scarred child whose purpose in still living was to avenge his family.
He rode Avalon over the stone bridge and through the large outer gatehouse. He noted the time of day and how many men were looking out over the ramparts for any sign of enemies from the north.
He greeted some of the soldiers on his way to the stables, where he handed over Avalon’s reins to a stable hand with a warning not to touch her.
“I understand I’m to plead the forgiveness of Rowley Hetherington.”
Torin turned on his way toward the keep and saw Rob Adams coming up behind him. He was coming from the practice field in the inner ward. He wore a sleeveless léine tucked into his belt. His arms glistened with sweat. He’d been practicing.
Torin almost smiled and stopped to wait for him to catch up. “And the father of the man you killed.”
“Why are we apologizing for defending ourselves?”
Looking at him, Torin couldn’t help but wonder how many battles Adams had been in. He was even missing an earlobe. “Rowley Hetherington has promised to bring war here if we do not do as he asks.”
“He is no fool,” Adams huffed. “There are only two things that would make him bring war: his daughter being hurt or his wife being hurt. Otherwise, he is all bark and little bite.”
“I thought you were friends.”
“So did I, and then his family tried to rob and kill me.”
Torin liked his confidence and eagerness to fight. Pity he fought on the wrong side. Adams was skilled enough to kill a reiver while he was weary and drunk. Torin would be careful not to form any kind of attachment to him, since he was going to kill him at some point in the future.
Better to know now how he fought. Torin thought about it and pulled his curls back to tie them again. He hadn’t had a good, hard practice with someone skilled in months. Braya was a skilled, interesting opponent but he wanted to kiss the hell out of her, not defeat her. “Let us speak while we spar,” he offered. “Or do you need to rest?”
Adams narrowed his dark eyes on Torin and then smiled, proving he was missing a tooth on the right side on his mouth. “No, I do not need to rest. I was hoping to see you on the field today.”
“I was out here just before sunrise,” Torin told him as they walked together across the yard. A handful of men were practicing.
“Had I known you were here, I would have joined you for some sport.” Adams ripped his long sword from its sheath. “But better later than not at all.”
Torin pulled his sword free from over his shoulder. Practicing with him would give Adams an advantage, as well. Torin didn’t care. He would practice with everyone in this damned castle until they thought they knew his every move, and he would still win.
“I do not recognize the accents of your speech,” Adams remarked and swiped at the air with his blade to loosen up his arm. “From where do you hail?”
So, Adams was familiar with many different types of speech, meaning he moved around a lot. He was likely a mercenary. The most dangerous kind of man. For his loyalty belonged to his purse alone. “Bamburgh,” Torin told him, ready to give an account of his entire false background if necessary. Bamburgh was close to the Scottish border in the east, so if his tone sometimes sounded more like the Scots, it was understandable.
He circled Adams once and opened his mouth to say more, but Adams had other questions.
“How did you know about my friendship with Hetherington?”
“His daughter told me,” Torin said, readying his sword.
“Aye, I heard Miss Hetherington was here this morn,” Adams braced his feet and held up his blade. “I did not know you spent time with her.” He came forward with a long swing that made the air in front of Torin’s face whistle.
“We parted just before you found me,” Torin told him, straightening his arched back. He swung his blade, narrowly avoiding Adams’ knees, then curved his wrist and found an open spot in the soldier’s defense. He held the cold steel of his blade to his opponent’s groin.
Adams gave him the win. They pushed off each other and readied for the next round.
“So you spent the morning somewhere with her,” Adams remarked, hefting his sword over his head to block a crushing blow from Torin, “and returned without a wound.”
She’d given Adams’ name as one of the men who had not harassed her.
“Once she realized I had no intentions on molesting her,” Torin told him, “she was quite pleasant.”
Their swords met and crossed between them. Adams pushed against him and looked him straight in the eye. “She is not taken seriously and may be the downfall of this castle.”
What the hell did that mean? Torin parried a sweeping blow to his hip and smashed his blade down hard on Adams’, almost knocking the hilt from the soldier’s hands. “How is she a threat to this castle?” He jabbed and swung and pushed Adams back with an onslaught of heavy blows.
Adams fought back valiantly but finally, he jabbed when he should have blocked and closed his eyes when Torin pushed the tip of his blade against his throat.
Torin took the second win and swung around on his feet to walk away and catch his breath—and to think about what Adams had said. Had he missed something? Braya didn’t want war.
“She hates the warden.” Adams told him when he returned a few moments later. “And she should. If Bennett had his way, he would…” He stopped and shook his head, unable to finish what he meant to say. “He’s never made it a secret that he desires her, though he looks down upon her fighting and does not believe she is dangerous. If he touches her, I fear she will not hesitate to cause him the most grievous pain.”
Torin touched his groin and swallowed hard.
“The instant Rowley Hetherington heard what Bennett had dared to do to his daughter…well, there would be no threat of war. They would just come. Do you know how many of them there are? So many,” he said, answering his own question, “that I did not recognize the five who robbed us, and I have been here for twelve years. Bennett will die. Carlisle would fall and ’twould bring the Hetheringtons, especially Braya, to the attention of King Edward.”
Aye, Adams was correct. She hated Bennett. Torin should have seen it. She’d kept it from him, but the warden hadn’t acknowledged her the morning she was here with her kin. This morn, she would not let him even touch her. Torin had already stopped her from swiping at Bennett with her blade once today.
It was a threat to his plans, as well. As far as the reivers were concerned, he was an English soldier of Carlisle. They would slaughter the garrison, and he couldn’t fight off a thousand men on his own. Hell, he needed to keep Braya safe from Bennett’s foolish touch. He needed to make certain Adams’ fears did not come to pass. He had to think. Who could he enlist to fight alongside him if a thousand men arrived?
“Why do you care so much about her life?” he asked Adams. Was the soldier in love with her? No. Torin did not see passion in his eyes, nor did he hear it in the older man’s voice. “Let me guess. You saved her life.”
