My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5) (5 page)

"I have no inkling," she said. "I've never met Nolan."

"He's an outlaw. And I'm sure Lady Isobel told you what he tried to do to her. I'm not like him in the least."

Aye, Isobel had told her plenty. Enough for her to know she wanted to have naught to do with the
MacLeods
. And yet, something about him lured her. The sensual shape of his lips, the intent male interest in his eyes, his tall, lean-muscled body.
'Twas
only physical attraction—a dangerous physical attraction, for no corresponding emotion lay beneath it.

"I'm glad you're not like him. Well, I must see to the kitchen servants about midday meal." She moved into the doorway.

"Lady Jessie?" he said in an almost desperate tone.

Startled, she paused, eying him with suspicion. Why would he say her name in such a way? Was he desperate to gain her affection? "Aye?"

"I hope you know I would never harm you. I'm here to protect you." His tone was softer, warmer, and she almost believed him.

Why couldn't he have been someone else? Someone she hadn't witnessed at his most brutal.

She nodded. Strangely, she wished she could trust him. And maybe he was telling the truth now, but that couldn't erase what he'd done. "I thank you."

Male voices echoed down the corridor and loud footsteps pounded toward them. Sticking her head out into the passageway again, she saw MacBain and one of his men charging toward her.

"There you are, m'lady. I've searched the castle for you."

"Why?"

"Because that vile MacLeod is missing, too, and I don't trust the whoreson."

She glanced back into the room at Torrin, who made for the door, a thunderous expression on his face.

"Are you wanting your nose broken again, MacBain?" he asked.

"What the hell are you doing here, in a bedchamber, with Lady Jessie?"
MacBain's
face turned as red as his injured nose. The area around his eyes was a bruised blue color.

"
'Tis
none of your concern."

"I wholeheartedly disagree. I came to woo and marry this lady in a most honorable way. You are naught but a rogue set on using her and casting her aside."

"Ha. You are the one who used her and cast her aside!" Torrin accused. "
'Tis
clear to everyone you will do the same again if given the chance. On the other hand, my intentions are honorable."

Mortified by
Torrin's
candor in regards to MacBain using her, Jessie wished she could crawl into one of the trunks.

"Well… nay. I'm a changed man," MacBain said, stretching his neck up as if trying to stand taller. "I have already apologized to her for my past mistakes. No one is perfect, not even you, MacLeod."

Torrin gave a derisive laugh and shook his head. "We'll let the lady decide," he said in a hushed tone.

"The lady has decided she is weary of this daft arguing." Jessie bypassed MacBain and headed toward the stairwell.

"Out of my way, MacBain," Torrin ordered.

Footsteps thudded on the wooden floor behind her. She quickened her pace down the stairwell, eager to be free of these two crowing roosters and have some time alone to think. Just before the last step, her foot caught in her skirts and she tumbled forward, her knee smashing onto the stone floor. Pain shot up her leg.

"Blast!"

"Lady Jessie?" Torrin exclaimed just behind her, then knelt by her side, his arm around her. "How badly are you hurt?"

"
'Tis
only a bruised knee," she assured him, trying to shrug off his strong, protective arm. Aye, the sensation of his arm around her was warm and comforting, but this only served to heighten her
discomfort
. She attempted to push to her feet.

"Here, let me help you." He removed his arm from around her and offered his hand instead.

Much as she was tempted to take his hand, she could not bring herself to. "Nay. I am well."

He released a breath. "Do not be so stubborn."

"What has happened?" MacBain thundered, standing over them.

"Can you not see? She fell," Torrin snapped.

"Allow me to help you up, m'lady." MacBain reached a hand down.

Annoyance verging on rage twisted through her. "Leave me be, MacBain!" she warned. "Go." She pointed toward the great hall.

"Very well. You had only to ask," he said in a petulant tone and strode away.

"I'm so sick of him," she muttered, shoving to her feet.

A slight grin quirked
Torrin's
lips as he rose to stand beside her. "I am as well."

She chuckled at how ridiculous the situation was and Torrin joined in. She liked the sound of his deep laugh.

"Are you certain nothing is broken?" he asked.

"Aye, I'll send for the healer, but I'm sure 'tis only a bruise."

"If I caused you to fall, I'm sorry." The sincerity in his dark green eyes caused her stomach to knot, for she did not understand him. He seemed not at all like the man who had killed
Lyall
with a lethal mixture of cold calculation and blazing rage. Who was Torrin, really, deep down?

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "
'Twas
not your fault. My foot simply caught."

"Well, I hope you're going to your chamber now to have the healer check you over."

"Maybe." She didn't care for any man telling her what to do, even if it was for her own good.

He tilted his head, giving her a mock warning look with a potent dose of sensuality mixed in. "If you don't, I'll be forced to carry you there myself."

Heat and awareness burning through her, she started to tell him that he certainly would not carry her anywhere, but a young chambermaid approached. "Would you see if you can find
Nannag
and send her to my chamber?" Jessie asked her.

"Aye. Of course, m'lady." The maid hastened away.

Trying to ignore Torrin, she limped toward the great hall and the stairwell leading to her chamber.

"Do you have pain when you walk?" Torrin asked, following her.

"Not much."

"I'm glad. But you should rest for several hours."

She glanced back at him, raising a brow. My, he liked to order people about. But she knew it was only because he was trying to be helpful.

"Do you need help getting to your chamber?"

"Nay. I thank you."

The last thing she needed was Torrin MacLeod carrying her to her bedchamber. She knew not how to perceive him, and the more she talked to him the more confused she became.

***

Just as gloaming was turning to night, Haldane MacKay disembarked from a galleon at
Thurso
with his fourteen men. From here, they'd take a smaller galley or
bìrlinn
along the north coast to
Durness
. He smiled, loving the idea of slipping up on
his clan
. They would regret making him the clan outcast and welcoming that bastard Dirk as their chief.

It had only been three days since Haldane and his men had left Inverness and escaped his cousin, Keegan MacKay, and the rest of them. He'd had Lady Seona, the love of his life, in his arms, but then they'd snatched her from him. He would kill Keegan slowly and torturously when he showed up in
Durness
, making Lady Seona a widow, then he would marry her. Donald McMurdo would kill Haldane's oldest brother, Dirk, as he'd been paid to do, long ago, and the chiefdom would be Haldane's, as his mother and father had always wanted.

If his annoying sister, Jessie, or his whiny brother, Aiden, got in his way, they would be killed, too. Any of the MacKay clan who didn't vow their allegiance to him would be dead.

Haldane fingered the leather pouch of silver and gold coins beneath his doublet that McMurdo had stolen from Dirk over a fortnight ago. It was lighter than it had been; he'd spent a great amount hiring men, some of whom had already died in skirmishes with the
MacKays
and their allies. But he was determined this money would last long enough for him to take over Dunnakeil Castle.

Behind him, a quarrel broke out amongst his men. When he turned, one scruffy whoreson had his dirk pressed against another's throat.

"Halt! What the devil are you doing, Ferguson?" Haldane marched back toward them, a lone torch on the deserted docks lighting his way.

"This mangy cur
MacGillie
besmirched my ma's good name."

"Release him or you'll not get your pay. I didn't hire the lot of you miscreants to kill each other, but to kill
MacKays
. If you're all dead before we reach Dunnakeil, who's going to fight them?"

Ferguson lowered his blade.

MacGillie
smirked and muttered a couple of words under his breath that Haldane didn't catch.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Ferguson slashed out and cut
MacGillie's
throat. Dark blood spurted from the gash.

"Damnation!" Haldane said, rage consuming him. "Kill that bastard," Haldane told McMurdo, beside him.

The old highwayman, with his long gray hair and scarred, pockmarked face, stomped into the fray. He slit Ferguson's throat in two seconds flat and shoved him to the ground beside his dying companion.

Haldane glanced around, hoping no witnesses lingered nearby. He saw no one in the dusky gloaming, other than his own men. "Leave them where they are. The rest of you, if you kill or even attempt to kill anyone else in this group, this is what you'll get. Do you ken?"

They all nodded and cast wide-eyed looks at each other and the men bleeding to death on the ground.

"Go see about hiring a
bìrlinn
," Haldane said to McMurdo. "And I'll search for more men to recruit to replace these two bastards. We'll likely need several more to defeat the
MacKays
."

McMurdo nodded and strode off to do his bidding. Haldane liked that the old man rarely questioned anything he told him. And that he was a ruthless killer. Haldane had learned much from him over the past several months.

Now, he was so close to getting everything he wanted he could hardly stand it. All he had to do was kill his brother, his cousin, and maybe his sister, if she tried to stop him from taking Dunnakeil.

Looking out an open upstairs window, Jessie couldn't help but glare at the spectacle below her in the bailey—grown men acting like stags during the autumn rut. Instead of locking antlers, Torrin and MacBain charged each other with dull swords. At least the weapons were said to be dull, so the men wouldn't kill each other accidentally. Although she had authorized this training session, she was starting to regret it, because at times it looked far too real.

With a fearsome grimace and a loud growl, MacBain rushed Torrin, who easily evaded his blade.

"What's going on here?" a deep voice yelled through the portcullis.

Who was that? At first she thought it might be some of the
MacKays
returning from their long journey. But, nay, she didn't recognize the dark-haired man revealed by the late afternoon sunshine.

Everyone stopped and stared. Torrin stepped back several paces but kept MacBain within his sights.

"Iain Stewart, is that you?" Torrin called.

"Of course." The man drew close to the iron bars, his smile evident.

"What the devil are you doing here?"

"Ran off and left me while I was passed out, aye? Some friend you are. I couldn't resist hunting you down and watching you make a damned fool of yourself." He chuckled.

Torrin glanced around, looking a bit chagrinned, his eyes meeting Jessie's for a couple of moments, then he headed for the portcullis. Until he'd glanced up at her, she hadn't realized he knew she was watching.

Who was Iain Stewart, and what had he meant about Torrin making a damned fool of himself? Courting her?

"I hope this skirmish here isn't serious, but if 'tis, I've arrived just in time," Iain said.

"
'Tis
called practice," Torrin said, then turned to face her again. "Will you allow this knave entrance, m'lady? Although he is a scoundrel of the worst order, I claim him as a foster brother and a friend… sometimes."

"Who is he?"

"Iain Stewart, heir to the chiefdom of Stewart and Barony of
Appin
."

"Aye, if he allows Erskine to disarm him," she said. He didn't seem like the type who would cause trouble, but she could take no chances with so many different clans visiting, and MacBain being contrary.

Torrin gave a courtly bow, then faced his friend again. "You heard the lady. Give up your weapons."

"Gladly. But I want in on this practice session. Looked like you were losing. And by the way, I have four men with me." He motioned them forward.

"They must all disarm themselves," Torrin said.

More men?
'Twas
a good thing their storeroom shelves had been stocked full not long ago.

While the newcomers were removing their weapons, Jessie noticed MacBain whispering to a couple of his men. What was he cooking up? His dark, malicious expression changed to a forced friendly one when Torrin introduced Iain Stewart to him.

"Been at this for days, have you?" Iain asked, eying MacBain with his swollen nose and black and blue eyes.

MacBain clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but made no comment.

"Don't tell me you two are vying for the same lady's hand." Iain grinned, turning to Torrin.

"Not exactly."

Iain laughed.

"Enough talk, MacLeod," MacBain said. "Let's get on with the practice."

Everyone stepped back, leaving Torrin and MacBain in the center of the circle. MacBain launched himself at Torrin instantly. Torrin scrambled to deflect the blade slashing toward his chest.

Jessie held her breath. Though she didn't trust Torrin, neither did she wish to see him hurt or killed.

The practice was quickly shifting from a mock battle to a real one. Should she order them to stop? Would they even listen to her? What if someone ended up dead before this was over?

Jessie raced down the steps, across the great hall, and out into the bailey. She pushed her way through the crowd of male spectators. The two men were in the heat of battle, their blades smashing and clanging. No matter that the weapons were dull; they could still kill. Someone grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Halt!" she yelled.

Torrin paused, his gaze darting to her. MacBain swung his blade again. Torrin leapt out of the way at the last second, but MacBain continued his assault.

"MacBain! That's enough," she ordered.

But he wasn't listening. His face was a red mask of rage.

"Keep her back," Torrin said.

Erskine held onto one of her arms. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but you must stay back. You'll be hurt."

"Make them stop," she demanded, terrified beyond all reason that Torrin would be killed or hurt badly. But Erskine ignored her just as the other men did. If Dirk were here, he'd order them to cease their battle. What if one of them died while she was acting as lady of the castle? Was it not her responsibility to keep the peace and make sure everyone was safe?

In the next second, a sword flew into the air and Torrin caught the hilt of it. To her surprise, he stood before the slack-jawed MacBain and held up a sword in each hand.

"I win," Torrin said in a dry tone.

Several men laughed and a raucous cheer went up. Not from the
MacBains
of course; they merely glared, some of them red-faced. His look of shock fading, MacBain glowered at Torrin and those celebrating his victory.

Relief surged through her, and Erskine released her. She wasn't celebrating anyone's victory; she was simply glad no one had been killed. She disliked the way men competed, and she especially hated them fighting over her. Though no one said that was what this
mock
battle was about, she knew it was. Each of them wanted to look superior to the other. The more powerful stallion.

They were ridiculous. She turned and strode back into the great hall.

***

"What the devil have you gotten yourself into, Torrin?" Iain asked in a low voice, as the rest of the chuckling men disbursed in the bailey, leaving them alone to talk. Torrin glanced about for Jessie, but didn't see her, though she had been there minutes ago, demanding that they halt their practice. He was fair certain that she'd been afraid he was going to get hurt. He grinned. That meant she cared a wee bit.

Iain snorted. "Saints, you're madder than a stag in rut."

"I have no need for your lowly opinion on it."

"Who is this MacBain, and why is he so irate with you? I'm certain the bastard was trying to kill you."

"You guessed the right of it. He's trying to win back Lady Jessie's hand, and I'm always getting in his way." Torrin smiled. "You see, they were
handfasted
for a year and a day, three years past, but he sent her away. Now, he's back for another go, but Lady Jessie wants naught to do with him."

"Canny lady."

"Indeed."

"And beautiful."

"Keep your eyes off her," Torrin warned in a mock severe tone.

"Ha! I couldn't help but look. She stormed through the crowd like a goddess of fire, demanding that you stop the fight."

Satisfaction curled through Torrin. "Aye, clearly afraid I'd be injured."

Iain shook his head. "So, she is smitten with you already, is she?"

"Not quite, but I'm gaining ground."

"Well, you have naught to worry about from me. I would never try to steal your lady."

"I ken it well."

"Why did you hasten out of
Lairg
so quickly while I was sleeping off the drink?"

"Well, you had that lovely milkmaid with you, and I figured you had better things to do than watch me court a lady."

"Nay, I do not. I sent Mary back to her cows. I'm certain this will be grand entertainment, especially since both your offers of marriage to Lady Jessie have been refused."

Torrin narrowed his eyes. "Laugh at my misery if you will, but I'm determined in this. She will agree to marry me before this is over."

Iain grinned. "I've never seen you so smitten with a lass."

"Nay, you haven't."

"Well, when do I get to meet her?"

***

Jessie stood near the stairwell to the kitchen, overseeing the male servants setting up the tables, as everyone gathered into the great hall for supper. Torrin and his newly arrived friend entered from the bailey and strode toward her.
Torrin's
friend was only an inch or two shorter than him and built like a trained warrior, although she remembered Torrin had said he was Iain Stewart, heir to the Stewart chiefdom. He wore a belted plaid of a weave she'd never seen before.

Torrin's
intense green gaze lit on her. "Iain, I'd like for you to meet Lady Jessie MacKay."

"
'Tis
an honor to meet you, sir." Jessie curtsied.

"The pleasure is all mine." Iain grinned, his dark blue eyes gleaming with humor. He kissed her hand. "I beg of you, m'lady, please do not break this man's heart." He slapped Torrin on the shoulder. "He's been in a lovesick stupor for months."

She sucked in a surprised breath, heat racing over her, head to toe.
Lovesick?
Surely he exaggerated.

"Bastard," Torrin said under his breath.

Iain snorted with laughter.

"Might I escort you to the high table, Lady Jessie," Torrin asked, offering his elbow. "'Twill be best if you sit far away from Iain."

She took his arm, hoping her fiery blush would subside soon, but her fingers pressing into the hard muscles of
Torrin's
arm, just above his elbow, ignited another type of heat within her. She was not yet accustomed to touching him, and she found that every time she did, her body reacted in disturbing ways.

"You would deprive me of this lovely lady's company?" Iain protested behind them as they proceeded to the dais.

She was not used to so many men's attention or the compliments they doled out, especially in the last three years. The disaster with MacBain had made her shy away from men. But now, she found she liked the attention, though it made her uncomfortable.

Torrin pulled out a chair for Jessie, then took the one beside her.

"You cannot get rid of me that easily," Iain said, sitting beside Torrin.

"Sometimes he reminds me of a leech," Torrin murmured aside to her.

She gave a slight smile but grew uncomfortable beneath his perceptive gaze. "I thank you for preventing any bloodshed today. I think MacBain went mad for a few minutes."

"Indeed, he was possessed of a battle rage." Torrin shrugged. "Truth is… he wants rid of me in the worst way so he can get to you, but I intend to protect you from the knave."

She didn't truly want Torrin acting as her shield, but she was grateful to him. Still, she could've handled MacBain on her own. "I feared the practice would get out of hand." She glanced down at the low table where MacBain sat with his men—unusual, for he usually sat at the high table as was his right by rank. He gave Torrin an evil look which concerned her greatly.

Supper was served. All the men were especially boisterous with their outlandish stories mixed with plenty of drink. Two men, a MacKay and a MacLeod, acted out the skirmish that had happened earlier, except they used the wee lads' wooden swords and added a more dramatic and entertaining finale. Laughter abounded.