Chapter Thirteen

R aina marveled over how un afraid she was in the wake of what had been a decidedly terrifying ordeal.

True, it was many hours later, but she'd rather expected to be still a quivering puddle of nerves.

But she was not.

Instead, she was possessed of what was likely an unhealthy dose of anger, maddened by having too many questions and scarcely any answers. Why had she been taken? Who was behind the plot? What might have become of her if not for Torsten's rescue?

She reviewed again the faces of the men in the party, still quite sure she recognized no one.

She pressed her forefinger and middle finger to the skin between her brows, massaging and smoothing the flesh, quite sure she'd wind up like Torsten, with those permanent vertical marks if she didn't do something to counteract her persistently knitted brow.

Considering Geoffrey's role in the scheme, Raina was forced to imagine the plot was conceived by some of Lochlan's own. But why? They'd hated and feared her for years; why now? Did they hold her responsible for the de Grahams having overtaken Lochlan ?

And why use the ruse of Torsten having been injured and calling for her?

She was compelled to examine that as well, her inexplicable response at that time, upon being told that Torsten was injured, gravely she'd assumed since she'd been told he'd asked for her. Why had her heart skipped a beat in fear? Why had she followed the lad without question, simply to reach Torsten in time, all the while fearing she might not?

Maddening, all of it, the confusion, the lack of answers.

Tucked into her bed, her hair yet damp upon the pillows, she sighed with frustration, knowing sleep might well be impossible.

Mayhap though, she had at least one answer, though she resisted it mightily.

But... did she care for Torsten?

But how could she? What had he done to earn even the smallest scrap of interest—or...affection?—from her?

He'd let it be known this very day that he viewed her as the enemy, had effectively said he wanted nothing to do with her!

Having not once harmed her, despite the origins of their association, did not a cause for affection make!

Could it be that her own response to his oft-probing and sometimes scorching gaze influenced her emotions? But no, the way his fierce eyes sometimes curled her toes and ignited a blush was surely not a cause for fondness.

And his kiss, though delicious in a dangerously fascinating way, could not rouse warmth and want, certainly not of the heart.

No, she had no affection for Torsten, she assured herself. In all probability, she'd have reacted in a similar manner no matter what name Geoffrey had used. He might have said that Nell or Rory—or any other person—lay broken and dying, asking for her, and she'd have sprinted to the scene all the same, propelled by human decency and a sense of duty.

She knew now—had been heartbreaking reminded!— that Torsten viewed her not as his wife, but still as his enemy, that daughter of the man who had betrayed Scotland, an enemy for taking a side that was not his own. Truth was, Raina didn't trust him . She didn't trust a man who frequently stared at her with such avid displeasure but then forced a kiss on her. Didn't one have to at least like a person in order for the idea of a kiss to enter one's awareness? She didn't trust a man who insisted in one moment he had no intention of having a real marriage with his own wife and naught but an hour later, looked as pale as a ghost when he recovered her from fiends intent on kidnapping her. Allowing herself to read anything into either the kiss or what seemed a bloodless fright earlier at her near-abduction—allowing herself to hope, essentially—seemed to be only a swift and sure path to heartbreak, she was somehow certain.

And yet, she could not discount either his striking good looks or his enthralling kiss as grounds for affection. And then there was the feeling, the grand and unmatched sensation, of being in his arms, so safe and protected, a sensation she hadn't known in years. Since her mother died more than a decade ago, affection had been a rare commodity in Raina's life. In Torsten's arms, she felt a flicker of something long buried, a sense of belonging and yearning she scarcely remembered.

And in light of his cruel remarks this morning, she hated herself for it.

No. No! She shook her head, furious with herself for allowing this stream of thought .

?Tis a dangerous path, she warned herself, bound to wind up in heartache.

Though it was true that he seemed furious when he came to her rescue, his rage had likely been driven by his possessive and territorial nature rather than any genuine concern for her.

No one takes what belongs to me , he had said.

It wasn't about her specifically; it was about his rage and his need to defend what he saw as his territory. He might have been defending Lochlan or Glenbarra Brae. His fury was not a sign of affection, but rather a manifestation of his desire to protect his domain and maintain control.

I protect what is mine , he'd uttered in that terrible voice. She was a what , not even a who .

By the time the door creaked open to admit her husband, Raina had turned on her side, seriously courting sleep but, sadly, still awake. She listened to him move about the chamber, recognizing the sounds he made as he readied himself for bed: the metallic clink of his belt being unbuckled, the soft thud of the scabbard and sword as he set them aside, the rustle of fabric as he doffed his tunic, and the splash of water as he washed his face at the short cupboard with what remained in the basin. Each noise, familiar after less than a fortnight, from the subtle creak of the floorboards to the gentle clatter of his belongings, painted a picture of his nightly routine.

The bed shifted when he climbed into it, and Raina had all she could do to remain still when she felt him moving closer to her. With her back to him, her eyes widened a bit when his strong hand landed softly on the curve of her hip .

Even now riled with frustration, Raina was not inclined to playact. She turned toward him, showing him her face in the soft gray light.

"I'm awake," she said, assuming he meant to gauge her recovery for himself, which was possibly why he'd touched her, so gently or at all. She assured him, "I'm fine."

A rare breath of quiet laughter erupted from him. "But I dinna ken if I am."

She smiled a bit at this, his attempt to pretend he'd been scared, but the smile was tempered by an aloof sadness.

"I have a suspicion you will be all right."

"Aye, I will," he said thoughtfully after a moment, in which time Raina was sure he was trying to discern her mood, or mayhap the reason for her remoteness. "But turn over here and I will—do ye want me to...hold ye...or...?"

The smile that answered this was bittersweet, touched by his boyish stammering and his seeming desire to console her. Despite herself, she wasn't immune to the charm of his awkward tenderness, a stark contrast to his mostly brusque demeanor. Frankly, his attempt at gentleness now left her conflicted, part of her longing for the warmth he offered and the sensible side of her wary of his unpredictable nature. It seemed every day he would have her second-guessing what she'd thought about him only the day before, and what she expected of his behavior going forward.

He'd kissed her and had been angry.

She'd provoked him, meaning to have more than only a kiss, only to be ruthlessly denied.

He'd saved her, had come to her rescue, and now wanted to play doting husband ?

Raina didn't know if she were coming or going, every day another encounter, another mood, another position in regard to their marriage. Honestly, she was not so sure that she was as na?ve as he was confounded by his own emotions and desires.

Torsten de Graham didn't know what he wanted, was all she could imagine.

But damn, if she'd let him toy with her, pulling her close and pushing her away by turns, while he made up his mind.

"I don't...I don't need coddling," she told him coolly. "I am beyond grateful for your help, for recovering me, but I need nothing from you."

His brow furrowed once more, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. His eyes, dark and searching through the bare light, reflected a hint of something else unfathomable, but that Raina supposed must be annoyance.

"Ye are my wife," he reminded her.

Raina turned fully onto her back, showing him a small but bitter smile. "I am not. I am no more your wife than Peigi or Helen or...or Gilles, for that matter. I am naught but the name put to paper next to yours, in a wedding contract, but this is not a marriage. We inhabit the same house and share this bed, a thousand miles apart despite the close proximity."

"This is a far cry from what ye said only this morning to me, what ye expressed as yer desire for this marriage?"

"And what? My near-kidnapping has changed your mind on the matter? I'm sure it has not." She would guess that heaven and hell would have to move and shake to change this man's mind. When he seemed befuddled, angrily so, Raina pressed on. "Am I not your enemy still? Will you make this marriage real? Or will you allow me to pursue an annulment? Will you be so generous as to grant me a divorce? Will you perish in battle? No, you will not. And thus, I will be all my life attached to you, without means of escape. And without the benefits of marriage, namely children."

"This is simply a continuation of the same discussion we had this morn," he presumed.

"I'm simply letting you know you can't one day be cold and the next hot and expect me to ride each high wave and then sink beneath the surface with you. You don't want a marriage with me so why waste your time with this false concern now? You have denied me...everything. Everything save security, and for that I am grateful. But otherwise, I am naught but a name on paper, a means to an end, nothing more. Let's not pretend otherwise."

HE KNEW HE WOULDN'T be able to sleep unless he could somehow manage to stop grinding his teeth.

He remained as he was, leaning on his elbow in the middle of the bed, while Raina had again turned her back to him, dismissing him and what was actually a genuine concern.

This—this!—was half the reason he didn't want a wife, or a proper union with the one he was compelled to take. Drama, nagging, demands, all the things he'd seen too often in men wretchedly joined in marriage and of which he wanted no part.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, tapping his fingers impatiently upon his bare chest.

Aside from the very powerful truth that she was his enemy, Torsten's internal struggle with the idea of a full marriage to Raina, rather than just a tool of war or an edict by his king, was deeply rooted in his personal convictions and the rigid framework of his life. He prided himself on the complete lack of emotional connections, his demand for perfection, and his absolute authority. Control was paramount to him, a bulwark against the unpredictable tide of emotions, most especially love, which he viewed as disruptive and dangerous.

He hadn't loved Meera but damn how her savage death had haunted him. He didn't ever want to be incapable of control, as he'd been for some time after being informed of Meera's death, so frantic with rage for so long.

Nonetheless, Torsten couldn't deny that Raina had stirred something within him. Her abduction had shaken him profoundly, revealing a vulnerability he hadn't felt in years, a fear that had been so deeply and frighteningly personal. He'd reveled in their lone kiss, had nearly melted for how innocent but eager had been her response; but more than that, more than only the physical delight, he'd been tempted by the possibility of a connection with her, which in truth had scared the devil out of him as much as it had perplexed him—why her? Why now?

She was the enemy, he reminded himself over and over.

And yet she was not, he knew. He knew this. She'd once questioned whether he was so narrow-minded as to hold her father's sins against her. He did, or he had, but he knew it wasn't right, wasn't fair. She was as innocent of her father's crimes as Torsten himself was. She was kind and considerate, was never without fear but was always brave, was hard-working and possessed a keen intellect and sharp wit. And what she lacked in confidence, she more than made up for with bravado. And she felt like heaven in his arms.

When she'd...well, she'd propositioned him, had thought to seduce him—that's what had happened this morning when he'd brought her, supposedly injured, to this chamber—he'd been forced to cull the depths of inner strength as he'd rarely been caused to do, simply to resist her. Christ, how sweet she'd been, how bluidy hopeful.

Torsten contemplated the consequences of giving in to those desires. Could he maintain his disciplined life if he embraced his role as a husband? Say he did give in, and his body clearly wanted to—his mind and other organs were leaning in that direction as well—what was the worst that could happen? Would allowing emotions to flourish jeopardize the iron control he prized? The prospect both intrigued and unsettled him, challenging his belief that a life devoted to war and duty was the only path worth pursuing.

As he grappled with these thoughts, Torsten found himself torn between duty and desire, control and passion.

He had little choice but to admit that Raina had not misspoken— one day be cold and the next hot . As much as it shamed him, he knew that what seemed to her a mercurial mood was in fact evidence of his attempt to distance himself, or to maintain a distance, at which he—obviously and repeatedly—failed.

Roughly rubbing his brow, he wondered if he was overthinking the whole bloody thing. In truth, he'd long suspected he was incapable of love or any softer emotion. Could he fulfill his duties as a husband without fear of losing control to passion, or losing himself to any other useless tender sentiment?

At length, he did sleep but his rest was fitful, and he woke at dawn, dressing quietly before he slipped from the chamber. He availed himself of a bruising morning ride atop his destrier and upon his return, saw to the stabling and brushing of his steed himself. He made a mental note at that time that Lochlan's stables needed further attention; rarely had he come and found either the stablemaster or any lad available to ready his horse or tend to its needs upon his return.

Upon exiting the stables, he was met by Gilles, Aonghas, Thomas, and Rory.

Torsten inclined his head, expecting they brought news.

"James, Eòghann, and Uilleam are bringing in the lad," Gilles announced as he approached. "Found ?im inside a cottage that is nae his own, being hidden by others."

"I'll want them brought up as well, those cottagers," Torsten directed. "His father? The bailiff?"

"Nea yet," Gilles relayed. "But he might be heading north, by some accounts, has a sister outside Montrose."

Torsten had more questions, but knew they would likely, and better, be answered by the bailiff and his lad, Geoffrey when they arrived.

"How's the lass?" Aonghas inquired.

Torsten shrugged, his jaw tightening. "Says she's fine." And rather with some lingering annoyance, he added, "Says she dinna need me to coddle her."

A blanket of silence fell over the group for one, two, three seconds. Until Gilles cleared his throat and asked, his tone halting, "Ye...meant to coddle her? Ye did?"

"Not coddle," Torsten replied impatiently, "but embrace, enfold, what have ye. I kent she might have had some lingering fear," he clipped defensively.

"And she...refused ye?"

Torsten drew in a deep breath, wondering if he wanted to have this conversation with these men at this time. What could they possibly know, more than he did, about women and wives ?

In an unprecedented move—a sign of his own turmoil—he disclosed, "She dinna want the marriage, as ye ken, but then she dinna want a childless union either and is...perturbed with me because I have nae desire to sleep with the enemy."

Again, his statement was met by what seemed an incredulous silence.

Until Aonghas broke it, not bothering to hide a broad smirk. "Ye're...ye're jesting, eh? Ye're wife—the one who looks like she'd make fine work of haunting a man's dreams—wants ye to consummate the marriage and ye refused?"

Testily, very sorry he'd brought it up after all—he had never revealed so personal a matter as this to his men— Torsten growled, "I wed by order of my king. Ye ken fully that I have nae intention of staying here. The war will—what the bluidy hell is so funny, Gilles?"

Gilles reigned in his obnoxious laughter swiftly enough that Torsten thought it might have been forced. "Shite, for years I believed ye were the smartest man around, more clever than most other gowks at any rate. I kent ye were leagues beyond the rest of us, but ye're... Jesu , ye're as thick as bricks, inna ye?" His brows shot up into his forehead, as if he expected a reply. "What's the point of all this?" He lifted his arms widely. "War, death, destruction—what's any of it mean, if there's nae one to go home to?" He shook his head and harrumphed another snort of laughter. "Would it be so bad to seek—to desire for yerself—a solid union with the lass?"

"Certainly if she seems to desire it herself," Aonghas added logically .

Annoyed by the interference, regretting that he'd nearly invited it, Torsten asked, "And what the bluidy hell do any of ye ken about being married?"

Gilles's answering scowl mirrored Torsten's. "Ye ken damn well I was wed, for more than a decade. And for more'n half of that, I actually liked the bluidy woman!"

Aonghas frowned. "Ye're nae the first of us to wed, more rather nearly the last. Lost my Beth almost a decade ago, ?twas Sunday the first of June. Nae a day goes by I dinna ken on her, what might have been."

Rory spoke up. "I've mentioned Liosa to ye—many times. Christ, been married for nigh on three years." He narrowed his eyes at his laird, seemingly offended that Torsten hadn't recalled, or hadn't paid attention in the first place. "She awaits me at Glenbarra Brae. Going home to her is what keeps me going, I'm fairly certain the idea of her is what's kept me alive, saved me more than once."

Torsten stared, dumbfounded, having no idea that Aonghas had been wed or that Rory still was. Or...mayhap he had known this. Certainly he recalled that Gilles had been wed. It returned to him now, a recollection of Rory's festive nuptials at Glenbarra Brae, and another memory, burying Aonghas's wife, Beth, just before they'd departed and had ridden to meet William Wallace at Falkirk.

He frowned at Thomas, wondering if he, too, was wed.

The lad held up his hands, admitting, "I've got nae one, but I'll take the first one that'll have me."

"All ye ken is war and fighting," Gilles continued, putting into words what Torsten had thought only a second ago, "and aye that makes ye clever in the field, but lad, what're ye going to do when we're nae more in the field? Ye ken this war'll nae last forever? Ye want to be auld and gray like me—er, grayer—with nae one at yer side?"

Rory wondered, with furrowed brow, "Why do ye fight at all? My da' said to point my sword in front of me to protect those I loved who stood behind me. But ye...why do ye fight?"

"I fight for many reasons," he began, hardly able to believe he had to list the numerous motives. "I fight for loyalty to my king, who commands my allegiance. I fight for the honor of my clan, to protect the lands and people who depend on me. I fight to reclaim what was stolen from us, to right the wrongs done to Scotland and its crown. I fight for the freedom of our land, to push back against those who seek to subjugate us." He paused, his jaw clenching. "I fight because it's all I've ever known, all I've been trained to do."

"All noble and true, and there's nae one better at it than ye, lad," Gilles said. "But ye left out the greatest cause."

Incensed and yet still curious, Torsten planted his hands on his hips and waited.

"Ye fight for the future, do ye nae?" Gilles asked.

Torsten held Gilles's earnest gaze, his words piercing Torsten's armor of pride and duty.

And now Torsten glared at them, his annoyance tempered by a vulnerability he was unaccustomed to, and for which he did not particularly care. Reacting intuitively, defensively, his glare darkened. "Christ, I'm surrounded by softlings, downy chicks with stars in their eyes over worthless emotions."

Failing to heed the warning of Torsten's rising anger, Gilles chortled again. "Says the man who's ne'er been in love. "

"That's enough," Torsten barked, which effectively shuttered Aonghas and Rory's expressions, though not that of his captain. "When does the lad come?"

"Any minute now," Gilles answered. "And what are ye're plans for ?im?"

Torsten sneered at Gilles, "What the hell do ye ken I'm planning? I want answers, and if he dinna give them to me, he'll suffer greater consequences than he will for what role he played."

"Ye canna flog ?im or—"

"Christ, and what?" Torsten exploded. "Ye want me to feast the lad, lay a bounty before him and ask him nicely if he'll give me the answers I need?"

Shrugging as if he didn't care either way, Gilles argued mildly, "Provoke a revolt, ye will, ye whip that lad. Lock ?im up for a few days, see what he kens, but ye canna lay open his back. He's nae more than ten and two."

"Auld enough to ken better, I should imagine," Torsten grumbled, and spun on his heel, returning to the keep.

The lad, Geoffrey, never was brought before him.

"Slipped through their fingers, chased ?im all the way down to the sea, where he disappeared, has nae surfaced yet, and nae body washed up," was reported to Torsten late in the morning, over which he was beyond furious.

NO MATTER HOW HE TRIED , Torsten could not escape the echo of Gilles, Aonghas, and Rory's words. They lingered in his mind, clinging like burrs to his thoughts. And to his great annoyance, when eventually his anger began to fade, the bloody idea began to grow on him .

At first, he tried to dismiss it, attributing the notion to merely a want of coupling—it had been months since he'd lain with a woman. But the more he pondered, the more the idea took root.

The idea began to shift from an abstract concept to a tantalizing possibility. He imagined Raina laughing at something he said, her eyes bright with amusement rather than wariness. He counted as other enticing prospects another kiss, more kisses, and joining his body to hers. He thought of the trust that might grow between them, and wondered if respect and affection could possibly follow.

Fairly quickly, Torsten found himself unexpectedly wrestling with desires he had long buried beneath the mantle of duty and discipline, and finally admitting what he knew to be true: Raina's presence had unsettled his carefully constructed world, stirring emotions he had for most his life deemed unnecessary and inconvenient.

But his newfound realization came with complications. Raina, understandably, didn't trust him. His past actions—his bluidy waffling, his inability to resist her completely, his reactive iciness when he was angered by his own desire for her—had created a rift between them. He chuckled humorlessly, considering the odds of Raina believing he'd had a sudden change of heart. Torsten pondered how to bridge this divide, how to convince her of his sincerity and his newfound desire for a genuine partnership, all this when the idea was yet so new to him and not entirely welcome.

He was adept at warfare and strategy, skilled in the art of command and battle tactics. Yet, when it came to matters of the heart and wooing a woman like Raina, he felt utterly out of his depth .

He thought about it the next few nights, rather waiting for the extraordinary feeling to pass, firmly believing that it would.

But it did not.

And he became more disturbed than he cared to admit by Raina's continued indifference. He wasn't sure that she was asleep each night when he came to bed or if she only pretended that she was. And he scowled when he realized that he missed having any interaction at all with her, and he almost wished now a bat would fly into the chamber or that she would turn to him to announce her plans for the morrow, making small talk, or even imperiously request that he escort her again to the market.

He considered what was at stake, picturing Raina standing over him when the chair had collapsed beneath him after his unsuccessful attempt to trap the bat, showing her first smile to him, that dazzling smile that had transformed her. That might have been the first occasion, honestly, that he'd been aware of her as a woman, his woman, and not merely a pawn, his unwanted wife.

Almost daily, even before now, he was visited by the image of her after he'd kissed her in the rain, her hair matted around her head, her garb soggy, her cheeks flushed charmingly, and her bright eyes fixed on him, when she'd challenged his want to take it back. I rather liked it , she'd boldly proclaimed.

He recalled her enthusiasm at the Montrose market, how blithe and carefree she'd been, that woman who was brave enough to drive a wayn about the coast as if she feared nothing. She'd smiled more than she had not on that day, and Torsten could not recall in all his life a time when he'd been more taken with a woman's beauty and spirit.

Those memories, a gnawing desire for more, was at stake, he supposed.

Ye fight for a future, do ye nae?