Chapter Fourteen

S he considered all the emotions she'd known in her twenty-four years: joy and sorrow, melancholy and anger, anticipation and dread, among a host of others. Fear, she realized, had only been known in small doses, and those occasions had mostly been known in the face of her father's fury and weeks ago, in the moment of and in those first few days of Torsten de Graham's arrival.

But now and despite the curious lack of fear in the initial hours after her abduction, it was with her every hour of the day. Never in her life had she turned her head over her shoulder so much, never had she jumped and startled with every little noise, never had she gazed with so much suspicion upon the people of Lochlan. The fear was a constant, gnawing presence, an uninvited guest that shadowed her every step. Each day was a battle against the rising tide of anxiety that came with some nagging dread that she was being watched, her movements tracked by unseen eyes. The sense of being hunted, like prey in a predator's sights, was disconcerting.

Only sleep offered respite, there in the bedchamber with Torsten at her side. There, and only then did she feel safe.

Soon enough, though, she began to understand that the eyes watching her were de Graham eyes. She was followed everywhere, or green-tartaned soldiers were stationed outside the kitchen's door or in the forward yard whenever she was inside the keep. And not only one or two young men, as Peigi and subsequently, Raina, had noticed, but half a dozen at any given time were never more than twenty yards from her.

Raina supposed she had Torsten to thank for this, and though she remained alert, the fear did gradually begin to ebb, knowing she was well-guarded.

Today, three days after the event, Rain and Peigi walked across the vast heath toward the village. The wildflowers, once a riot of color, had taken on the mellow hues of late August. The clustered bellflower still held onto a few deep violet blooms, though their numbers had dwindled. The vivid red maiden pinks were fewer, their delicate petals starting to dry and curl at the edges. The knapweed's pale purple blossoms had mostly given way to fuzzy seed heads, swaying gently in the breeze. The once lush and vibrant landscape was now dotted with the subtle signs of the approaching autumn, with the grasses turning golden and the air carrying the first hints of a cooler season.

They intended to visit the house of the weaver, Judith, meaning to commission new blankets for the soldiers' barracks and cloths to cover the head table in the great hall. Those previously used for the long board were moth-eaten and discolored. Peigi had suggested another market trip to procure these things, but Raina had recommended they give the work, and thus coin, to the villagers.

"They brought the lad in this morning," Peigi said.

"The lad? Geoffrey?" She'd heard of his previous escape, and though she disliked his part in the scheme to apprehend her, he was only a child in her mind, and she'd been saddened by the possibility that he'd drowned in the sea, as had been presumed .

"Aye, and he's squawkin'," Peigi informed her. "That's what Aonghas imparted, anyway, though little sense was made of it."

"What has he said? Was his father involved? Or did he know?"

Peigi flapped her hand several times toward the ground, asking for patience, or mayhap only one query at a time. "Squawked a bit, but nae any of it useful. Said he dinna tell his father until after it had been done, and then aye, the bailiff hid his son—canna blame ?im there, I'd've done the same."

"But who put him up to it? And how did they coerce him? Did they threaten him? Or—"

"Coin, they offered," Peigi replied, "and plenty of it—mysteriously disappeared from where he'd hidden it, it comes out. Mysterious, my arse. His nae guid father has it and dinna ken he does nae. But nae, the lad had little to offer, dinna recognize the men who approached ?im, couldna say he'd ever seen ?em before."

Raina pushed out a frustrated breath. What little hope had been caused to rise at the mention of the lad was now doused, and she knew no more now than three days ago who had seized her.

"But ye're better now," Peigi guessed, slanting a sideways glance at Raina. "Seem less likely to jump out yer skin today and yesterday."

Nodding, Raina turned a glance over her shoulder. "A week ago I was followed by only one or two, and now there are half a dozen soldiers behind us. It's...not ideal, but much less unsettling than being inundated with fear."

"And do ye wonder how ye might have overcome fear if nae for yer husband's soldiers, his care for ye? "

Raina didn't respond to the last part of Peigi's query, believing it was less Torsten's care for her than it was his fierce possessive pride. No one takes what belongs to me, she was reminded once again.

"I wonder," Raina said evenly, "if any attempt would have been made at all if not for the coming of the de Grahams."

Peigi turned a quick scowl onto Raina, pulling the hood of her cloak more tightly around her head, to ward off the sharpening wind. "Ye ken one of the de Graham men—?"

"No," Raina was swift to disabuse the housekeeper of that thought. "Not at all. I only submit that mayhap someone, other than me, doesn't want Torsten de Graham to have Lochlan."

They walked on in silence for several moments before Peigi spoke again. "Ye really wish he were nae here? That he'd never come?"

Raina stared at Peigi with incredulity, wondering how she could even ask that. Her thoughts swirled with memories and emotions, the complexity of her feelings toward Torsten weighing heavily on her mind, a distinct hopelessness outweighing almost every other emotion. But then she hadn't told Peigi about either her humiliating, failed attempt at seduction or Torsten's decree, that he still had no intention of consummating their marriage.

She hesitated before responding, her voice measured and tinged with uncertainty.

"It's not that simple, Peigi. Torsten's presence here—and that of his army—has changed everything, for better or worse." While she couldn't argue that thus far, he seemed to have administered effectively, that a thriving Lochlan seemed his goal, there was no way that she couldn't contemplate what his coming had meant to her. "Consequences abound and not all of them are fine or fair. Lochlan needed change, aye, but at what cost?"

THE NEXT FEW DAYS UNFOLDED in such a way as to wrinkle Raina's brow more often than not.

On Monday, when Raina went to collect the table and chair that she would bring with her down to the beach to pay the fisherfolk, she found Torsten waiting outside the storeroom with a de Graham soldier she hadn't yet met.

"I have the lads busy with other jobs right now," he said, possibly referring to the two who'd accompanied her last week. "I'll escort ye myself, me and Samuel."

Carrying the basket that contained the ledger, the coins, and the ink and quill, Raina hoisted that further up her shoulder and hid her dissatisfaction. She nodded briefly and without a word turned and marched down to the beach.

Having been trained over the last couple of weeks to come when Raina arrived, the folks on the beach began to line up even before Raina had set up her supplies, and thus the trek, the disbursement, and recording took no more than an hour. Little opportunity was afforded for conversation between Raina and Torsten, for which she was glad, but she was not unaware of his imposing figure, standing as a sentry at her side, watchful of each mark made in the journal and each coin set into the hands of the workers. She knew some dismay that she couldn't possibly enjoy this occasion at the beach since all glorious sights and sounds were overshadowed by Torsten de Graham and his unnerving presence .

And when all was said and done and Samuel lifted the small table over his head and started the climb upward, Torsten paused, his hands on the chair, and stared at Raina as she packed up the basket. Aware of his regard, she turned a quizzical glance toward him. His eyes matched the sea, she noted, dark blue, and with a restless intensity swirling beneath the surface.

"Let's walk," he suggested. "Aye, a bit windy, but I would imagine ye'd never deny a stroll along the shore."

Bewildered by his...whatever this sudden interest in her was, Raina did deny him. "No, um, I really cannot." She frowned and thought to add, "But thank you." And then she pivoted and retraced her steps up the cliff path.

Tuesday came, and before he'd exited their chamber in the morning, Torsten politely offered to drive Raina, and Peigi and the lasses if she liked, to the market in Montrose.

Once more puzzled by what seemed a polite overture, Raina had been quick to make up her mind but slower to answer.

"That's very kind of you," she said after a moment, "but no. I haven't a need nor frankly, the time."

Appearing neither aggrieved nor relieved, Torsten offered a courteous bow of his head and left their chamber.

That evening found both Torsten and Raina seated at the high table for supper, a rare sight indeed. The kitchen staff, still grappling with the challenges of feeding such a vast number of souls, often required Raina's aid with late preparations or the delivery of platters to the hall. As for Torsten, he had seldom made it a priority to arrive on time for the evening meal. Tonight, however, was different .

Raina was already seated in her mother's chair when Torsten arrived, coming from the courtyard, smiling at something Gilles was saying.

Smiling, he was, she realized, her gaze fixed on him as he crossed the hall. It was the first time she had seen him truly smile, and despite herself, she considered the sight striking. His smile did beautiful things to his already handsome face, softening the intensity that usually roiled beneath the surface of his dark blue eyes. She felt a pang of something—admiration, perhaps, or an unsettling warmth—that she quickly tried to dismiss. She had resolved to maintain a distance from him, to ignore all that was potentially magnetic, but the unexpected charm of his smile made that resolve waver, if only for a moment.

"Och, ye'll sit tonight and feast with us?" Gilles asked good-naturedly as he took the chair to her right. "And nae be serving us, as that dinna sit well with me."

"Needs must and all that," she said with a shrug to Torsten's captain, in reference to her, the mistress, having served. "But no, Rory politely informed me yesterday that more than a third of the army would be gone this evening, on what he called maneuvers." Rory had explained that maneuvers were akin to training exercises, a term previously unfamiliar to her, but now clear. Frankly, she sat here now, having expected that Torsten would be absent, engaged in the drilling and discipline of his men. "Of course, so many less mouths to feed offered great ease to the kitchen staff."

"And yerself," Torsten remarked, sitting down in her father's chair at her left .

"Yes, for tonight," she allowed, stiffening when Torsten very casually reached across her to fetch the pitcher of ale, with which he filled his pewter goblet.

Raina was compelled to lean far back in her chair when Torsten next lifted the pitcher at Gilles in question and then proceeded to fill his captain's cup, stretching his upper body and arm across her front. "Pardon, lass," he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn't a clue about the instant tumult provoked in her for his disturbing nearness.

Swallowing, Raina sat unmoving, and then was further befuddled by Torsten continuing the conversation, this after he'd switched pitchers, taking up the ceramic flagon from which he poured wine into Raina's cup.

"All the officers, save Gilles and I, take part in the training," he explained. "?Tis needed, to determine how the lads act, react, and behave, without their commanders present."

"Guid practice for the lieutenants as well," Gilles said, his eyes widening with zeal as the kitchen servers arrived, bearing platters of smoked salmon, roasted beef medallions, beans smothered in garlic and onions, and baskets of bread, cheese, and fruit, "relying on each other and nae us, to implement plans, instruct the units, and create their own strategies."

Raina was relieved that she had insisted on having a pewter trencher at each place on the high table, ensuring she did not have to share a plate with Torsten, as custom dictated. Unlike those seated at the lower tables who ate directly from communal platters or placed their portions directly on the table, Raina had learned from her aunt's household that there were cleaner, less distasteful, ways to dine. Having years ago endured the unappetizing experience of sharing a trencher with either Seòras or one of her father's officers at Lochlan, Raina had often been repulsed by their eating habits. Determined to adopt her aunt's practice of individual dining, she was grateful for the arrangement she had insisted upon.

Currently, this arrangement suited her well even as Raina observed that while Torsten and Gilles ate heartily, serving themselves generously from the platters, neither displayed unseemly eating habits. They avoided letting grease drip down their fingers or chins and were kind enough to use their eating knives for serving rather than relying on fingers they had just licked.

In truth, though she contributed little to the conversation, Raina was not displeased to have spent the dinner hour with the two men, enjoying their easy banter and learning quite a bit about the architecture of Lochlan Hall and the strategic considerations of defending such a fortress, which they discussed at length as Torsten had recommended building watch towers made of stone and not wood.

But what seemed a sudden series of occasions initiated by Torsten to reduce the distance he himself had instigated between them continued the next day, as Raina discovered Torsten to be among the oft-silent, creeping-in-her-shadow guard that followed her everywhere. However, unlike his men, Torsten did not keep his distance from her as she walked again to the village. Judith, the weaver, had sent word requesting that Raina make a decision about the color of the dyed thread.

He walked beside her, his imposing figure shadowing her smaller stature. The path from the keep to the village, winding through a meadow of flowers, was narrow—ideal for two people to walk abreast as Raina often did with Peigi. Despite Torsten's large frame not easily fitting the path, they managed to walk side by side. He occasionally stepped onto the path's fringe, brushing through wind-swept golden grass that reached his knees.

Since he'd inquired about her destination, she explained briefly about Judith making cloth for the hall and the barracks. And then she couldn't help herself, and she stopped walking and faced him, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she glanced up at him.

"What is it you're doing, Torsten?" she asked, her tone tart. "Why are you here, playing at lowly grunt assigned to so dull a duty?"

"?Tis nae dull, to keep the lady of the keep safe from harm," he answered promptly, a hint of chastisement evident, seemingly in reaction to her minimizing the role.

"If you fear for my safety," she persisted, "why not put the previous detail of guards on me, as you did in the beginning? Why are you part of this detail? Why did you accompany me to the beach?"

Torsten paused, meeting her eyes with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I dinna trust anyone so well as I trust myself to keep ye safe."

Raina blinked, taken aback by his statement. She searched his face for any hint of a deeper meaning but refused to let herself hope. "If that is true, I might suggest ye surround yourself with a better army, sir," she replied, her tone laced with irony, before she began walking again.

Torsten chuckled, a rare sound that made Raina snap her gaze back to him, noting how wide was his smile and how alluring were the crinkling corners of his eyes.

"Nae, wife," he said after a moment, his voice low. "There are some tasks too vital to entrust to lads. "

"You trust them to fight," she reminded him, unwilling to assume anything. "You trust them in war. You trusted them previously with me."

"Aye, but it's different now, with the most reliable men away from the keep or busy with other business." He shrugged, the motion detected in her periphery as she was watching the pathway now. "Besides, I have the time at the moment."

It didn't stop there; his sudden, seemingly intentional desire to engage with her continued throughout the day, manifesting in small gestures—briefly appearing at the kitchen's garden as she'd gathered marjoram leaves; there he'd stepped inside the short fence and had proceeded to pull weeds that had proven to be too firmly entrenched for her small hands—and frequent, lingering gazes, which she was sure were meant to either bewitch or befuddle her more, at which they succeeded.

Where before their sleep schedules had rarely aligned, Torsten now arrived in their bedchamber curiously just as Raina was climbing into bed. He did not arrive and only murmur a spare and meaningless good night to her, but rather engaged her in conversation.

One night, after remarking about the soothing sound of the sea's roar, he spoke of Glenbarra Brae, his home.

"A place full of rolling hills and deep forests," he said, "remarkable, for how formidable the keep is, surrounded by a curtain wall three stories high, but nae as striking as Lochlan Hall, perched upon the cliff at the edge of the sea."

"What...what of your family?" She asked, unable to resist.

As if he were a man who engaged regularly in small talk, he answered promptly. "William is my brother and Moira my sister, both much younger than I, nearer to yer age. Moira wed almost two years ago, is a MacRae now, and William took up the cloth, having nae drive to fight."

"And your parents?"

"Gone, my father at Stirling, felled verra close to where William Wallace fought, and my màthair when she delivered another babe nearly five years after Moira," he disclosed. "Too auld by then to be bringing bairns into the world."

Raina sensed a hint of resentment in his tone, and she wondered if he blamed his father for having put his mother in that condition. "Were you...close with your kin? Or rather, are you close now with your brother and sister?"

He shook his head slowly on the pillow and paused to thrust his fingers through his short hair. "Nae, and truth be told, we never were. Aye, I loved my màthair, ?twas she who ran the keep. She was strong, capable, managed everything in my father's absence," he said reflectively, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness. "I ken she was the heart of Glenbarra Brae for many years. My father was nae cruel, he was simply...indifferent and too often gone. And then, as ye might imagine, I was sent off to foster, spent seven years with the Mathesons of Kintail, first as a page and then a squire, until I earned my knighthood. Was gone when my sister was born, and when my màthair and the babe went. Later, as an adult, war had me gone from home, when Moira wed, and Alistair was ordained."

"Does that bother you?"

He hesitated, but Raina thought only with some intent to put into words his thoughts on the matter.

"If it does or did, I dinna dwell on it," he answered. "I've always felt a bit disconnected from them, certainly from my siblings. It's strange, really, to be bound by blood yet feel like a stranger in your own home."

More than only a wee bit surprised at how open he was with her, Raina boldly pressed on. "Do you wish...um, that it was or that you felt otherwise?"

He chuckled a bit at this, the sound infusing Raina with a pleasant warmth.

"Mayhap I would, but in truth, Moira was a hellion, mayhap still is. Little to recommend her—speaks more of people rather than ideas, does more shrieking than speaking, and where she goes, trouble and drama soon follow."

"And your brother?"

He sighed. "Frankly, I never understood Alistair. He's...soft, weak. Pleasant, he is, but we have little in common."

Knowing Torsten's personality as she did—authoritative, controlling, strong, and proud—she wasn't surprised that he didn't sound too keen with his siblings' personalities. His demeanor suggested he valued order and discipline, traits likely at odds with Moira's spirited nature and Alistair's perceived softness.

She thought she might have just glimpsed her own future, supposing she might now have some idea what all this meant for them and their fractured, impersonal marriage. She could easily guess that one day he would ride away from Lochlan Hall without dwelling on her too much either.

She told herself, the sooner the better , but in her heart she knew she didn't really believe that.

Admittedly, after a few nights where she either stared blindly at the ceiling or asked but a few questions of the conversation he made, she found herself growing more comfortable engaging with him—even as she was still confused about why he was suddenly behaving so agreeably, why he seemed so eager to devote so much attention to her of late.

Less than a week after her kidnapping, Torsten came to the bedchamber wearing a bandage around his arm, the linen soaked with blood, though not gruesomely so.

Having yet to snuff the taper at her side, Raina gasped at the sight, sitting up in bed. "Torsten? What have you done?"

"?Tis naught," he dismissed carelessly. "We're reroofing the cattle barns and I scraped against one of the beams ere I kent an iron spike protruded from it."

Raina grimaced in response. "But was it cleaned properly?"

"Aye, Uilleam fetched salve from Peigi." He held up a spare linen cloth and a wee ceramic crock in his other hand. "But help me change this, will ye? I dinna want to ooze bluid all over the bed."

Raina flipped back the blankets and got to her feet, following Torsten across the chamber, where he sat down on the stool in front of the small cupboard where she'd just finished brushing out her hair.

The chamber was dimly lit by only a pair of tapers, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls and over Torsten as she approached.

Torsten peeled off his sleeveless tunic and presented his arm to Raina as she knelt at his side.

With careful and deliberate movements, she peeled away and unwound the bandage covering the wound, revealing a ragged tear and a shallow cut on the back of his muscular arm. She used one of the few bloodless spots on the used linen and gently dabbed at the wound, inspecting it closely. The cut was clean, seemingly without infection at the moment, and very close to that other jagged, ropey scar that was much, much longer.

His skin was warm and smooth over finely sculpted muscles. Touching him in such a way, ministering so tenderly, to her great annoyance, caused her to flush and be flustered. Everything about him, from the sheer width of his bare shoulders and chest, the powerful muscles in his arms and back, and even his scent all radiated an undeniable, primal masculinity.

"How did you come by this other scar?" She asked, meaning to distract herself, opening the small crock and applying a layer of salve to the new wound, her touch light.

He glanced down and around at the back of his arm, as if needing reminding because he owned so many scars.

"Ah, that auld one," he said, his voice flat. "Happened at Stirling. I had gone to my father's side when he was felled. Moments after I'd dropped to my knees at this side, an Englishman swung at me." He glanced at Raina, meeting her eyes. "The horse of the assailant stumbled at the last moment, causing the blade to veer off its intended path." He shrugged. "Instead of taking off my head, it ripped down my arm."

"You were lucky," she murmured softly, beginning to wrap the clean linen around the fresh wound. She stole glances at his face, so close now, admiring the jut of high cheekbones in his square-jawed face.

"There is nae luck in battle," Torsten said. "There is fortune and misfortune."

Raina smiled briefly. "You were fortunate, then."

"I was."

They stared for a moment, Raina kneeling at his side, suddenly and acutely aware of her own state of undress .

Torsten's eyes were deep and solemn but his expression unreadable. Then he lifted his hand and traced his finger over the mark on her cheek, his touch warm. "And how did ye acquire this?"

So then she regretted engaging, asking about his scars, as it seemed to serve as an invitation for him to ask his own questions.

"Ye dinna have to tell me if ye dinna want to," he allowed generously after a moment.

"My father gave me this," she said. Coming to her feet, she capped the crock and laid the soiled linen on the cupboard. "With the back of his hand and his signet ring." Assuming he had no further need of her, Raina returned to bed, ducking under the blankets. "But that was long ago," she added dismissively.