Chapter Eleven

I n truth, her own nerves may have delayed her putting into action one of Peigi's mad suggestions. But it was also true that Raina simply did not encounter quite the right circumstance.

Peigi's brazen idea that she should bathe inside her chamber, waiting for Torsten to happen upon her, was not only outside the limit of what lengths she was willing to go—just yet—but also seemed a bit obvious, and thus was fairly quickly discarded as a possibility. Torsten usually came to their chamber late at night, and what might be her reason for having a bath so close to midnight? In theory, Raina judged it implausible, likely to be seen through. Additionally, she had to consider that option would require help—unwilling accomplices, she deemed them, any and all of the household staff that would be asked to bring and fill the heavy tub. And she couldn't imagine herself being so selfish as to demand that they, too, keep late hours merely to satisfy her errant plot.

For lack of any of her own ideas to compel Torsten's awareness and hopefully another kiss and more, the scheme to feign a stumble and a sore ankle won out.

But then Raina struggled with a wee dread, having no idea what she was actually asking for. She hadn't the courage to ask Peigi what she should expect. If her plan worked, if Torsten could be made to kiss her again...then what? Her knowledge of intimacy was limited to the ways of animals, and she was hardly enthusiastic about experiencing what bulls did to cows. She slapped her hands over her face, bemoaning the fact that she was so uneducated, so unworldly. There, she believed—and only there—her mother had certainly failed her. In her defense, however, Lisbeth MacQueen in all probability imagined that she had many more years yet, decades even, with her daughter.

It wasn't until two days later that she finally found an opportune moment to set her wobbly plan in motion, catching Torsten outdoors. It wasn't ideal, as he was surrounded by a dozen of his men and all their large destriers, having just returned. But then she imagined she might use the crowd to her advantage—the horses, specifically.

Heart pounding, knowing she had never before invented or purposefully created such a ruse, Raina strode across the cobbles, appearing to any onlooker as if she were approaching her husband. At the hindquarters of the first horse she encountered, she gritted her teeth, thinking now or never , and let out a little yelp before dropping to the ground.

Mayhap they would believe she had been bumped or kicked by the large destrier.

Her fall, she judged, was convincingly clumsy, though sadly not entirely intentional. Having never faked a fall before, the gasp that escaped her was real, and her hands flailed dramatically before she landed heavily on her knees.

She hadn't thought it through; from her vantage point, she could not see Torsten's reaction, or even if he had seen her at all. Still, the wince she gave as she pivoted onto her bottom was genuine, realizing she had landed wrong on her hand; her ankle did not hurt in the least, but her wrist was sore. The horse's tail swished as its rider urged it forward, away from her, muttering a surprised and sincere apology. The dusty ends of the tail brushed across her face.

"Raina!" Torsten's voice rang out, infused with genuine concern, which she was happy to hear.

Ah, success .

The throng of horses and men parted in front of her, revealing Torsten hastening toward her, his brow furrowed.

There was little need to feign embarrassment for her mishap—the embarrassment was real. The courtyard had fallen silent, with whispers of concern and even a titter of laughter, the latter perhaps provoked from someone in the group of peasants near the well. Raina glanced up at Torsten as he crouched at her side.

Torsten's footsteps halted beside her, his tall, broad-shouldered figure casting a shadow over her and the cobbles. His expression, chiseled and severe as always, betrayed no hint of softness. Lowering himself onto his haunches at her side, he asked in a voice as sharp as his gaze, "Dinna ye ken nae to walk behind a horse?"

Raina blanched a bit, suffering a mild surprise at his reaction, reproach rather than concern. Just as quickly, she realized she shouldn't have been surprised. Clearly she hadn't expected warmth, but this cold severity cut deeper than she anticipated.

"It was my fault," she managed, her tone aggrieved. "I didn't...." she left that unsaid, supposing her plot was effectively thwarted by his cool indifference. She rubbed her sore wrist in dejection. It wasn't like she could stumble and fall every day until he cared.

"Are ye hurt? "

Raina glanced up, recognizing an opening. A glimmer of hope spiraled inside her.

"My ankle," she said automatically.

"Yer ankle? But ye're rubbing yer wrist."

"Yes, um, that's sore as well."

Torsten flipped back the hem of her skirt, exposing her hose-clad ankles and short boots but not much more. With more gentleness than she'd have suspected him capable of, he assessed one ankle, moving his finger and palm over the hose.

Raina's breath caught in her throat. It dawned on her then that if her ankle were truly sore, she should probably have some reaction. When he examined the second ankle in the same manner, she stiffened and drew in a breath, believing that had been well done indeed, that it had come across as very authentic.

"Mayhap it's only sprained," he said. While his fingers remained wrapped lightly around her ankle, Torsten faced Raina. "Can ye move it at all?"

"Yes, I think so," she said and did so, pivoting her ankle just a wee bit. She grimaced again for good measure since he was regarding her so closely.

"Nae broken then," he surmised, "or the pain would be unbearable."

"Oh, no," she was quick to say, "it's not broken. I mean, I don't think it is. I just don't know if I can stand on it."

Why wasn't her big, strong, impatient husband simply lifting her into his arms? Was he afraid of touching her?

"I think it'll be all right," she said, attempting to get to her feet.

Torsten stood quickly and assisted, his strong hands on her arms .

Committed now to her ruse, Raina pretended that putting weight on her ankle was painful, immediately shifting her weight to her other leg.

Grumbling something unintelligible but clearly annoyed, Torsten finally scooped her into his arms. Raina rolled her lips inward to prevent a satisfied smile from coming. As he bore her into the keep, Raina recalled Peigi's suggestion and lifted her arms, wrapping her hands around his neck, her fingers connecting with rigid cords. Laying her head against his chest was not so easy in this position and Raina abandoned that notion, and then was alarmed when it seemed his intent was to deliver her to a chair at the high table in the hall.

"Oh no, I—I would rather, that is, I think I should be brought to my—our—bedchamber. Do you suppose I should elevate my foot?"

Whether he did or not wasn't made known, but Torsten changed direction, and carried her up the stairs at the opposite end of the hall and down the corridor, hardly slowed at all by her weight.

Raina snuggled as close as she could to him, inhaling his scent, horse, leather, man, not at all unpleasant. His arms were strong beneath her, muscles rigid at her back and under her legs.

He mounted the far staircase and kicked the door open with his foot and was careful to turn a bit as he entered so that her head was not banged. Inside, he strode straight to the bed.

She was a bundle of nerves by this point, expecting she still needed to provoke a kiss though she'd yet to imagine how. Raina simply hung on when he set her down on the soft mattress, her hands still gripping his neck, so that he couldn't just pull back and straighten away from her.

He tried to, though. But Raina held on and tipped her face up to his, closing her eyes, waiting.

There was a moment, just a moment, when he did not move, and Raina waited, expecting his lips to touch hers. Her pulse raced with anticipation.

Then his fingers circled her wrists and drew her hands away from his neck, his grip firm.

"Bluidy hell, Raina," he growled. "What are ye about?"

His anger caused her eyes to snap open. His blue eyes were set harshly upon her, his dark brows slashed downward.

Flustered and disappointed, she stuttered a disjointed response. "I thought...you seemed so—don't you want to kiss me?"

"What the—" he began and then stopped, his lip curled as he did now straighten away from her. "Are ye even injured?"

She gasped in outrage, though she couldn't bring herself to refute it verbally, which would have her lying outright.

"I've said to ye, have I nae, a marriage in name only suits me just fine. I'm nae interested in furthering the union."

"But...you kissed me during the storm—"

He glared at her. "Aye, and I've said I should nae have. A momentary lapse of judgment. It will nae happen again."

Angry and unaccountably wounded by his swift and severe rejection, but overcome by a need to understand this enigmatic man, she asked, "Then why did you?" She put her hands behind her on the mattress, wincing a bit as her wrist really was sore.

He didn't like being questioned. His jaw tightened as he stared down at her, a muscle ticking at the corner as if he were physically restraining himself from responding. His eyes, that stormy blue, darkened further, a clear sign of his mounting irritation.

She bristled at his refusal to answer, her own ire stirred. Tight-lipped, she suggested, "In that case, an annulment should be easy to obtain, given the circumstances. Wed by force under threats of violence, to which there were plenty of witnesses. And the union unconsummated, meaning it's not really a marriage at all—"

"There will be nae annulment," he ground out.

"Then mayhap I will simply leave."

"Ye will nae. Christ, dinna ye understand how war and the spoils of it work?"

"I do understand," she shot back, hating the weakness that caused wretched tears to rise. "You claim the spoils and to hell with any person who happens to have her life ruined by—"

"What do ye want, Raina?" He clipped impatiently. "What are ye after?"

"I want a child," she answered bluntly, holding her breath, hardly able to credit the boldness that possessed her.

Torsten was speechless. His frown darkened and his lips thinned but he said nothing.

"And if you are not willing to give me that," she continued heatedly, "what right do you have to prevent me from marrying someone who can or will? It's not fair. It's selfish and arrogant, that you don't—haven't once!—considered me and what I—"

"God's fury, lass," he seethed. "There's a war going on! All of us will sacrifice, as we have and as we will. Ye are nae made special that any singular accommodation is granted ye, for what ye willna have because of war."

"That's rubbish," she challenged, lunging to her feet, uncaring that she might seem miraculously cured. "What a piss poor excuse," she furthered, using one of her father's vulgar expressions. " By my understanding, people continue, every day, to wed and to conceive. War indeed, but life goes on."

"It dinna matter," he said, his jaw tight. "It remains that I haven't any interest in consummating this marriage—"

"Is it me personally? Or are you against marriage in general?" She interjected.

"—certainly nae with the daughter of Malcolm MacQueen," he finished.

Raina stared, horrified. Sweet Jesus . He loathed her. Simply because she was her father's daughter.

Her heart twisted inside her chest, hope cruelly stomped and crushed under the boot of his hatred.

She returned his furious glare, absurdly annoyed for how ridiculously handsome he was. Childishly, she thought that was unfair as well. If he'd been crafted as homely, or was unkempt, or carried a foul scent, or possessed eyes that didn't pierce her so, she would in all probability be thrilled that he didn't want to touch her. Truth was, however, that he was striking, and he had shown tenderness, more than once, and she was...well, part of her was smitten, anyway.

Had been smitten. He'd just killed whatever had blossomed and lived so hopefully inside her.

Mayhap she'd only been smitten with his kiss, though. And his arms around her when he was half-clothed. She did not particularly care for his regularly brusque demeanor.

"You've made yourself known, as have I," she said at length, her tone wooden. "Don't be surprised if one day you find—"

"Dinna even think to leave Lochlan," he warned her dangerously .

"I have no intention of abandoning my home," she said, though she wasn't certain that was true.

When he seemed to have nothing further to add, she turned on her heel and left him, a sigh erupting as she exited the chamber. Sure, she'd trembled inside her shoes in the face of his fury and for how awful was the truth now known, but at least she knew for certain where she stood.

Not only had the kiss meant nothing, but he actually despised her, she now understood.

Raina was gutted by heartache. This was the closest she'd ever gotten to having a child of her own—close but still so far. She'd worked herself into a fine frenzy of hope over the last few days, since he'd kissed her, since she'd begun to imagine holding a bairn in her arms.

As she marched down to the kitchens, her blood boiling at the injustice of it all, she considered that seeking an annulment would mean that she would likely be forced to leave Lochlan Hall. And then were would she go?

She wondered what was worse: remaining at Lochlan, with her indifferent husband—as hurtful as had been her tyrannical father, but in a different manner—or returning to her aunt's house and living there, attempting again to find a husband, but this time without the benefit of her father's influence and whatever false promises he'd made to her previous intended bridegrooms, and now known as the Killer of Men .

Inside the kitchen, she seized upon the first bit of busy work she found, needing to occupy her mind. A basket of cabbages sat beside the long wooden counter in the middle of the kitchen. Running her hand over the end of the board, Raina judged it clean, claimed a chopping knife, and began hacking away at the poor vegetable.

The constant thud of the knife against the cutting board was soothing, a fine way to channel her frustration. She was so engrossed in her task that she didn't immediately notice the kitchen maid, Lorna, standing off to the side, wringing her hands nervously.

"Milady, that's my chore," Lorna said when Raina finally noticed her presence.

Raina paused, looking at the young maid and then at the half-chopped cabbage. "I needed something to do," she said, nearly breathless, her efforts neither slow nor without a fair amount of violence.

Lorna bobbed an agreeable nod. "Aye, milady. I'll, um, see to the bread then."

Raina gave a grateful nod and returned to her task, the repetitive motion and the physical exertion helping to work off some of her steam. But her thoughts were still a whirl of anger and confusion, and she found it difficult to focus on anything else.

After almost thirty minutes, every head of cabbage in the large basket was chopped and Raina was feeling somewhat calmer. She set the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron. She made her way to the rear lower passageway, hoping a breath of fresh sea air outside the back door might help clear her mind further.

Just as she stepped outside, a young lad from the village came running up to her, breathless and wide-eyed. "Milady, ye must come quickly," he panted.

Alarm shot through her. "What is it, Geoffrey?" She asked, recognizing the bailiff's son .

"The laird," he gasped, his large eyes wide with fright, "fell from his horse, he did. He's asking for ye."

Raina's heart lurched. Without another word, she gathered her skirts and hurried after the boy, all thoughts of her earlier frustration with Torsten forgotten in her rush to reach him.

As she followed Geoffrey, her mind raced with questions and fears. Torsten's brusque rejection and the argument that wasn't yet an hour old churned in her mind. She wondered if Torsten had been thrown, his destrier spooked by something; she didn't know for sure but had to imagine he was an accomplished rider. Weren't his soldiers with him? He rarely went anywhere about Lochlan without at least one other person, always in discussion about something, so much as she'd noticed. Her heart thudded with fright, imagining her magnificent and seemingly invincible husband broken and bloody, imagining all sorts of scenarios that might have compelled him to ask for her.

Why would he ask for her now, after making it clear he wanted no real marriage with her? That she was his enemy still? Was his injury so grave that he meant to make an apology to her ere he succumbed to his wounds?

They followed the narrow shelf along the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sea, the path winding far to the north where it became a woodland—the very spot where Torsten had kissed her. The memory of that kiss, a rare moment of vulnerability from him and an unexpected delight for her clutched at her heart now but served to spur her on.

"Just over here," as the lad had said more than once, seemed to be ever further ahead.

"Geoffrey! Wait! "

The lad was far ahead now, swift and agile darting through the trees. Raina struggled to follow the sparse and fleeting glimpses of the boy as he raced forward.

As she sprinted through the trees, she supposed that any of these gnarled and protruding roots might have caused Torsten's steed to stumble. Had he pitched his rider over his head? Sweet Mother Mary, but had Torsten broken his neck or back?

"Here!" Geoffrey shouted, sounding closer.

Finally, Raina became aware of a group of mounted men milling about, their figures seen through the boughs and leaves as she approached. It did not register immediately that none of the mounted men were de Graham men.

Nonplused, she surveyed the ground, expecting to find Torsten there.

But none of these men were Torsten and no one lay on the ground, injured.

Her chest heaving, she lifted her face to the men on horseback, some of them slowly moving to surround her. The lad, after a quick nod to a man wearing a cowl so tightly drawn that his face was unseen, sprinted away, swiftly lost inside the woodland.

"Where is...?" She began, just now comprehending fully these were not de Graham men; not one of them wore the familiar green tartan. And these were not even villagers; though many wore kerchiefs, the faces that were visible were unknown to her. "I don't understand."

"Take her," was all that was said, and reality crashed upon her.

They intended to abduct her .

Raina turned, meaning to flee, to run as fast as she could, but was caught almost immediately by a lanky lad leaping from the saddle and upon her, knocking her to the ground.

"Bleedin' sinners! Take her, ye eejit! Dinna maim her!"

With little hope and likely only one chance, Raina stopped fighting, pausing to draw in breath as she was hauled to her feet. When she was standing and rather than question what was happening and why, she tipped her face to the sky and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

It was, sadly, cut short rather swiftly. A man rushed her again, tackling her once more to the ground, his hand on the back of her head, shoving her cheek into the dirt. This one was neither lean nor lanky, the knee upon her back heavy and strong. She struggled with every ounce of strength she had, but his grip tightened, and the weight of his knee pressed harder against her back, forcing the air from her lungs. As his hand pushed her head further into the dirt, a finger came dangerously close to her mouth. In a desperate bid, she opened her mouth and bit down on his finger with all her might, tasting blood as she did so.

"Bluidy hell!" the man shouted, jerking his hand back in pain.

Raina spat out the blood and dirt, trying to scramble to her feet, but another man was already upon her, grabbing her arms and pulling her up roughly. She kicked and thrashed, refusing to go quietly.

"Ye'll pay for that, lass," the injured man growled, nursing his bleeding finger as he glared at her.

"Let go of me!" Raina screamed, but her captors were relentless, their grips like iron .

The man with the cowl urged his steed forward, his voice cold and commanding. "Enough of this. Gag her if you must, but we need to move quickly."

Fear and defiance warred within her as she continued to struggle, but the truth was the infidels easily overpowered her, binding her hands and placing a gag over her mouth. Helpless, furious, and beyond frightened, Raina was hoisted onto one of the horses and taken further away from Lochlan Hall.