To Tame a Highland Warrior (11 page)

She was standing below him on a rocky cleft overlooking the loch. The sun was a buttery gold crescent, breaking the horizon of the silvery loch. Her back was to him. She stiffened; the bittersweet song stuttered and died.

“I thought you were in the east wing,” Jillian said without turning. Her voice carried as clearly to his ears as had the melody, despite her being twenty feet below him.

“I choose my own domain, peahen. As I always have.” He leaned out the window slightly, absorbing every detail of her: blond hair rippling in the breeze, the proud set of her shoulders, the haughty angle at which she cocked her head, while she looked out over the loch as if she could scarcely bear to acknowledge his existence.

“Go home, Grimm,” she said coldly.

“ ’Tis not for you that I stay, but for your da,” he lied.

“You owe him such allegiance, then? You, who gives allegiance to none?” she mocked.

He winced. “Allegiance is not beyond me. ’Tis merely that there are so few deserving it.”

“I don’t want you here,” she flung over her shoulder.

It irritated him that she wouldn’t turn about and look at him; it was the least she could do while they said nasty things to each other. “I doona care what you want,” he forced himself to say. “Your da summoned me here, and here I will remain until he releases me.”

“I have released you!”

Grimm snorted. Would that she could release him, but whatever kept him bound to Jillian was indestructible. He should know; he’d tried for years to destroy the bond, not to care where she was, how she fared, if she was happy. “The wishes of a woman are insignificant when weighed against a man’s,” he said, certain insulting the feminine gender at large would bring her around to face him so he could savor the passion of her anger, in lieu of the sensual passion he desperately longed to provoke in her.
Berserker
, his mind rebuked.
Leave her alone—you have no right
.

“You are such a bastard!” Jillian unwittingly accommodated his basest wishes, spinning so quickly she took a spill. Her brief stumble presented him with a breathtaking view of the swell of her breasts. Pale, they sloped to a gentle valley that disappeared beneath the bodice of her gown. Her skin was so translucent that he could see a faint tracing of blue veins. He pressed against the window ledge to hide the sudden rise of his kilt.

“Sometimes I vow you aim to provoke me.” She scowled up at him, pushing off the ground with her hand as she stood up straight, stealing his glimpse of cleavage.

“Now, why would I bother to do that, brat?” he asked
coolly—so coolly it was counterpoint and insult to her raised voice.

“Could it be that you’re afraid if you ever stopped torturing me, you might actually like me?” she snapped.

“Never suffer that delusion, Jillian.” He splayed his hand through his hair and winced self-consciously. He could never manage to tell a lie without making that gesture. Fortunately, she didn’t know that.

“Seems to me you’ve developed an overwhelming fondness for your hair, Grimm Roderick. I hadn’t noticed your little vanities before. Probably because I couldn’t see that much of you beneath all the dirt and filth.”

It happened in a flash. With her words he was dirty again—mud-stained, blood-soaked, and filthy beyond redemption. No bath, no scouring could ever cleanse him. Only Jillian’s words could make him clean again, and he knew he didn’t inspire absolution.

“Some people grow up and mature, brat. I woke up one day, shaved, and discovered I was a bloody handsome man.” When her eyes widened, he couldn’t resist pushing her a little harder. “Some women have said I’m too handsome to have. Perhaps they feared they couldn’t hold me in the face of so much competition.”

“Spare me your conceit.”

Grimm smiled inwardly. She was so lovely, temper-flushed and disdainful, and so easily provoked. Countless times he’d wondered what kind of passion she’d unleash with a man. With a man like him. His thoughts took a dangerous segue into the forbidden. “I’ve heard men say you’re too beautiful to touch. Is that true?
Are
you untouched?” He bit his tongue the instant the words escaped.

Jillian’s mouth dropped in disbelief.
“You
would ask me that?”

Grimm swallowed. There’d been a time when he’d known from firsthand experience precisely how untouched she was, and that was a memory he’d do well to bury. “When a lass permits virtual strangers to kiss her, it makes one wonder what else she permits.” Bitterness tightened his lips, clipping his words.

Jillian stepped back as if he’d flung something more substantial than an insult in her direction. She narrowed her eyes and studied him suspiciously. “Curiously, it sounds like you care.”

“Not a chance. I simply doona wish to have to force you into marrying Ramsay before your da returns. I suspect Gibraltar might like to be present to give the
maiden
away.”

Jillian was watching him intently, too intently for his liking. He wondered desperately what was going on inside her head. She’d always been far too clever, and he was perilously close to acting like a jealous suitor. When she’d been young, he’d needed every ounce of his will to carry on a convincing charade of dislike. Now that she was a woman grown, drastic measures were necessary. He shrugged his shoulders arrogantly. “Look, peahen, all I want is for you to take your bloody flute off somewhere else so I can get a bit of sleep. I didn’t like you when you were a wee lass, and I doona like you now, but I owe your da and I will honor his missive. The only thing I remember about Caithness is that the food was good and your da was kind.” The lie practically burned his tongue.

“You don’t remember anything about me?” she asked carefully.

“A few things, nothing of any significance.” Restless fingers twined through his hair, tugging it free from his thong.

She glared at him. “Not even the day you left?”

“You mean the McKane attacking?” he asked blandly.

“No.” She frowned up at him. “I meant later that day, when I found you in the stables.”

“What are you talking about, lass? I doona recall you finding me in the stables before I left.” He caught his traitorous hand in mid-rise to his hair and crammed it into the waistband of his kilt.

“You remember nothing of me?” she repeated tightly.

“I remember one thing: I remember you following me around until you nearly drove me mad with your incessant chattering,” he said, looking as bored and long-suffering as possible.

Jillian turned her back on him and didn’t utter another word.

He watched her for a few moments, his eyes dark with memories, before pulling the shutters closed. When a few moments later the haunting silvery notes of her flute wept, he held his hands over his ears so tightly that it hurt. How could he possibly hope to remain here yet continue to resist her when every ounce of his being demanded he make her his woman?

I doona recall you finding me in the stables before I left
.

He’d never uttered a greater lie. He recalled the night in the stables. It was seared into his memory with the excruciating permanence of a brand. It had been the night twenty-two-year-old Grimm Roderick had stolen an unforgettable taste of heaven.

After the McKane were driven off and the battle was over, he’d desperately scrubbed the blood from his body, then packed, flinging clothing and keepsakes without care for what they were or where they landed. He’d nearly brought destruction upon the house that had sheltered him freely, and he would never again subject them to such
danger. Jillian’s brother Edmund had been wounded in the battle, and although it seemed certain he would recover, young Edmund would bear scars for life. Leaving was the only honorable thing Grimm could do.

He found Jillian’s note when his fingers had closed upon the book of Aesop’s fables she had given him his first Christmas at Caithness. She’d slipped the note with her big, looping scrawl between the pages so it protruded above the binding.
I will be on the roof at gloaming. I must speak to you tonight, Grimm!

Crumpling the note furiously, he stomped off for the stables.

He dared not risk seeing her before he left. Filled with self-loathing for bringing the McKane to this sacred place, he would not commit another transgression. Ever since Jillian had started to mature, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind. He knew it was wrong. He was twenty-two years old and she was scarcely sixteen. While she was certainly old enough to be wed—hell, many lasses were wed by thirteen—he could never offer her marriage. He had no home, no clan, and he was a dangerously unpredictable beast to boot. The facts were simple: No matter how much he might want Jillian St. Clair, he could never have her.

At sixteen he’d lost his heart to the wee golden lass; at twenty-two he was beginning to lose his head over the woman. Grimm had concluded a month ago that he had to leave soon, before he did something stupid like kiss her, like find reasons to justify carrying her off and making her his woman. Jillian deserved the best: a worthy husband, a family of her own, and a place to belong. He could offer her none of that.

Strapping his packs on the horse’s back, he sighed and
shoved a hand through his hair. As he began leading his horse from the stable, Jillian burst through the doors.

Her eyes darted warily between him and his horse, not missing a detail. “What are you doing, Grimm?”

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” he snarled, beyond exasperated that he’d failed to escape without encountering her. How much temptation was he expected to resist?

Tears misted her eyes, and he cursed himself. Jillian had seen so much horror today; he was the lowest of bastards to add to her pain. She’d sought him out in need of comfort, but unfortunately he was in no condition to console her. The aftereffects of Berserkergang left him unable to make clear choices and sensible decisions. Experience had taught him that he was more vulnerable after a Berserker rage; both his mind and body were more sensitive. He needed desperately to get away and find a safe, dark place to sleep for days. He had to force her to leave this instant, before he did something unforgivably stupid. “Go find your da, Jillian. Leave me alone.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you leaving, Grimm?” she asked plaintively.

“Because I must. I never should have come here to begin with!”

“That’s silly, Grimm,” she cried. “You fought gloriously today! Da locked me in my room, but I could still see what was going on! If you hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t have had a chance against the McKane—” Her voice broke, and he could see the horror of the bloody battle fresh in her eyes.

And Christ, she’d just admitted that she’d watched him when he’d been berserk!
“If I hadn’t been here—” he began
bitterly, then caught himself on the verge of admitting
he
was the only reason the McKane had come at all.

“If you hadn’t been here, what?” Her eyes were huge.

“Nothing,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

Jillian tried again. “I watched you from the win—”

“And you should have been hiding, lass!” Grimm cut her off before she could prattle glowingly about his “bravery” in battle—bravery that sprang from the devil himself. “Have you no idea what you look like? Doona you know what the McKane would have done to you if they’d found you?” His voice cracked on the words. It had been fear of what the McKane might do to his beloved lass that had driven him even deeper into Berserkergang during battle, turning him into a ruthless killing animal.

Jillian nervously tugged her lower lip between her teeth. The simple gesture shot a bolt of pure lust through him, and he despised himself for it. He was strung tighter than a compound bow; residual adrenaline from the battle still flooded his body. The heightened arousal attained in Berserkergang had the unfortunate effect of lingering, riding him like a demon, goading him to mate, to conquer. Grimm shook his head and turned his back on her. He couldn’t continue looking at her. He didn’t trust himself. “Get away from me. You doona know what you risk, being here with me.”

Straw rustled against the hem of her gown as she moved. “I trust you completely, Grimm Roderick.”

The sweet innocence in her young voice nearly undid him. He grimaced. “That’s your first mistake. Your second mistake is being here with me.
Go away.”

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I do trust you, Grimm,” she said.

“You can’t trust me. You doona even know me,” he growled, his body rigid with tension.

“Yes, I do,” she argued. “I’ve known you for years. You’ve lived here since I was a wee lass. You’re my hero, Grimm—”

“Stop it, lass!” he roared as he spun and knocked her hand away from him so roughly that she stepped back a few paces. His glacial blue eyes narrowed. “So you think you know me, do you?” He advanced on her.

“Yes,” she insisted stubbornly.

He sneered. “You doona know a bloody thing. You doona know who I’ve killed and who I’ve hated and who I’ve buried and how. You doona know what happens to me because you doona know what I really am!”

“Grimm, I’m frightened,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide pools of gold in the lantern light.

“So run to your bloody da! He’ll comfort you!”

“He’s with Edmund—”

“As you should be!”

“I need you, Grimm! Just put your arms around me! Hold me! Don’t leave me!”

Grimm’s limbs locked, freezing him clear to his marrow.
Hold me
. Her words hung in the air. Oh, how he longed to. Christ, how often he’d dreamed of it. Her deep amber eyes shifted with fear and vulnerability, and he reached for her despite his resolve. He caught his hands in mid-reach. His shoulders bowed, he was suddenly exhausted by the weight of the internal debate he waged. He could not offer her comfort. He was the very reason she needed comforting. Had he never come to Caithness, he would never have brought destruction on his heels. He could never forgive himself for what he’d brought upon the people who’d
opened their hearts to him when no one else had cared if he’d lived or died.

“You doona know what you’re saying, Jillian,” he said, suddenly immensely weary.