Chapter Sixteen

H e was forced to relinquish her hand as they neared the top of the cliff in that small stretch where the path was only wide enough to accommodate one person at a time. Raina carefully navigated the trail a step ahead of him, holding up her skirts as she trudged along.

Want and need simmered inside Torsten, awakened by the fantastic liberation glimpsed in Raina over the last few hours. Gone, the guarded, cautious Raina who wore thin-lipped expressions and looked upon him as she had of late with naught but wariness. In her place, this vivid and vibrant woman, who'd embraced so readily, so happily a chore that was not her own, one that was more unpleasant than most, and that was even to him taxing.

At the top of the cliff, Raina turned to Torsten, her eyes shining with an exuberant glow. Her cheeks were flushed with the exertion of the climb and the excitement of the morning's adventure, giving her a healthy, sun-kissed radiance. The sea air had lent a gentle curl to her hair, and the wind now tousled it about her face and neck.

"Oh, but that was exhilarating," she exclaimed, skimming her forefinger along her cheek to pull a strand of hair away from her nose and mouth. "I'll suffer blisters aplenty and likely carry around the stench of fish for days and I don't care. Thank you for suggesting it."

Torsten nodded, his gaze steady and thoughtful. Introduced to this lively and radiant side of Raina, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd have approached their marriage differently from the beginning, setting aside his own reservations—enemy or no—allowing their bond to grow from that first night.

Aye, they reeked like the worst dredges of the sea and aye, his hands were blistered as well, his left palm abraded from the net, and he was parched, his throat dry, but he was possessed of a violent yearning stronger than he'd ever known to kiss her wildly.

Besieged with mad desire, indifferent to the lack of control, which he normally would have spurned, he acted, needing to mark this moment, not in triumph, but to remember.

He stepped forward and framed her face in his hands. Though her smile faltered, and she tensed slightly, she did not pull away or resist his touch. Torsten lowered his mouth to hers.

Her lips trembled under his, forcing him to proceed slowly, but damn, Raina's lush mouth under his and the shy touch of her tongue nearly caused him to forget his name. Melting into his embrace, she parted her lips and clung to him, stroking his tongue with her own, moaning softly. Her arms circled round his waist, her fingers clawed softly at his back.

Though there was a great risk to himself in advancing their union, he somehow knew that not doing so would be a bigger one. Certainly when she met his kiss with so much passion, as though she too had imagined, often, another kiss, as if she wrestled daily with this. This —this need, this staggering desire.

Her breath hitched as he deepened the kiss, and he gathered her closer, the swell of her breasts pressing against his chest. Blood rushed through him, surging toward the lower half of his body.

Recalled to reason well before he might have been, Raina pulled away, shaking her head. She brought her hands around, between them, and pushed at his chest.

"No, I won't let you—I don't understand you, or what you're playing at," she said to his chest, unwilling or unable to meet his eyes. "I begin to believe you do it simply to confound me."

"Kiss you?" Nae, kissing was his need, was selfishly all about him.

Her dark lashes fluttered open and closed several times.

"No—well, yes, that, too. But why do you say one thing and do another? Why are you so contrary? Why do you behave of late as if you had not said that you didn't want...this?"

"Is nae a man allowed a change of heart?"

Her eyes widened and lifted to his. "A man is," she allowed, her brows drawing down, " a...a normal man is. But not you." She pushed herself further away, until they touched not at all. "Not Torsten de Graham, who prides himself on his rigid control, who is as sure and certain as a stone fortress, whose arrogance is as constant as the tide, to whom a change of heart must seem a mortal sin."

He was, of course, at pains to refute any of this as there was so much truth in her assessment.

Save that it was true, the change of heart, wrought by being utterly—indeed, willingly now—captivated by his wife.

"Raina, imagine if ye will—" he began.

"Laird! Milady!"

Torsten and Raina turned at once, to find Uilleam coming round the soft corner of the keep, sprinting toward them.

The lad's gaze was focused on Raina and not Torsten.

"?Tis yer sire, milady," Uilleam said, coming to an abrupt halt five feet away. A wince accompanied his sparse announcement, evidently sorry to deliver this news. "The nurse sent for ye."

Raina clutched her hand to her throat and after only a swift glance at Torsten, lifted her skirts and ran toward the keep.

Uilleam's grimace remained as he said quietly to Torsten, "Too late, she'll be. He's gone already."

Exhaling a large sigh, Torsten followed his wife.

He arrived inside the chamber, which Malcolm MacQueen had not left for more than three months by Torsten's understanding, to find his wife standing at the bedside. He spared only a fleeting glance at the miserable bastard in the bed, having a quick impression of a pale and flaccid expression, the man's eyes closed. The blankets had been neatly arranged around his shoulders so that all that was visible was his lifeless face. The chamber stank of piss and death.

Torsten knew not even a hint of sympathy as he imagined MacQueen meeting his maker, and likely being rejected at heaven's gate for the enormity of his sins upon this earth.

And maybe his hatred might have been pierced by sympathy for a daughter losing her father, save that when he fixed his gaze on her, he perceived no emotion there. Raina stood passively, three feet away from the side of the bed, hugging her arms around herself, her fingers squeezed into the sleeve of her opposite arm, seemingly devoid of any grief.

She simply stared at the figure in the bed, unblinking, neither pain nor sorrow discerned.

After a long moment, she dropped her arms and turned, showing a reaction now, but which he judged as naught but a wee surprise to find Torsten standing just inside the door. She approached him with a purposeful stride and stopped in front of him. Her lips were yet red and slightly puffy from his kiss, the flesh around her mouth pinkened as well from the scratch of his stubble. Her eyes were dry.

"Might I have leave to arrange his funeral?" She asked. "A simple burial—it doesn't need anything grand."

Torsten nodded, a brow raised for her coldness, for the use of it rather than he .

"Aye, lass. Do what ye must."

She swept out of the room, neither her shoulders nor her head slumped with grief.

FOR WEEKS, SHE HAD thrown herself into tasks and chores as mistress of Lochlan Hall, eager to see improvements, so bloody motivated to finally have been given the chance to contribute something . Each completed task had brought a sense of accomplishment, a sense of worth, so that she was more than only the daughter of Malcolm MacQueen or the Killer of Men ; she felt as if she'd finally become Raina MacQueen.

Raina de Graham, she corrected herself.

She had something to offer, something to contribute. She was not merely a pretty face, useful only to attract suitors, and thereby wealth, or power, or alliances.

And now, as she faced the grim duty of planning her father's funeral, all she felt was a desperate need to see it done. She wanted to put him to rest and out of her mind, his presence a shadow that had loomed over her for far too long. Guilt gnawed at her heart for feeling this way, but she couldn't deny the truth. Her father had been a harsh man, and what truths had come to light in the last few weeks, even supposed ones, had only reduced what meager affection she'd ever felt for him. She didn't even suffer any guilt for how infrequently she'd visited him recently, naught every day as she had dutifully done at one time.

The shame she did feel was owing to the reality that his death stirred more relief than sorrow. This funeral was just another task to be completed, another burden to be lifted from her shoulders. She would bury her father not only in the ground, but in her mind as well.

Raina paused by the hearth in the great hall, the heat from the fire warming her cold hands. She watched the flames dance, her mind drifting back to her childhood, and then over all of her twenty-four years, attempting to cull some memory, some instance, some speck of warmth that she might attribute to her father. When she could not, and being wise enough to understand it was not on her as a bairn or child to have created or inspired love between her father and herself, Raina made peace with the fact that she had no desire to give him a farewell befitting a king as he would have wanted or expected.

In her mind, he hadn't earned it.

And so, the very next day, Raina stood in the courtyard of Lochlan Hall before a plain wooden casket, holding a handful of wildflowers gathered from the fields and forced into her hands by Peigi, while a few muted candles flickered in the breeze. The overcast sky mirrored her mood, casting a somber light over the modest gathering.

Torsten stood at her side though she didn't know why. Certainly, he was not paying tribute to some worthy foe for whom he'd long had great respect. Peigi, as dry-eyed as Raina, stood on her right. They hadn't even bothered to garb themselves in black mourning robes.

Lochlan's priest, Father Walter, his voice softened by years of service, stood ready to deliver the brief eulogy she had requested. No grand processions, no lavish feasts, no lengthy speeches. Just a quiet, unadorned ceremony to mark the end of a life that had left her with more scars than fond memories.

As she watched the handful of attendants mill about, she felt another pang of dull guilt.

When she couldn't force herself to grieve, she focused on practical matters. She and Peigi and the lasses would clean out her father's bedchamber later today, scrubbing and scouring until all traces of illness and death were obliterated. She would suggest to Torsten that he make it his own, for however long he planned to reside at Lochlan; there was no more a reason for him to occupy her bedchamber.

The service proceeded as planned. The priest's words were few, touching briefly on duty and honor, avoiding any mention of warmth or love. The villagers who attended offered their polite but sparse condolences. Raina could see in their eyes that they understood; her father's reputation as a hard man was well-known.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Raina felt a weight lift from her shoulders. This chapter of her life, built on the poorly stacked stones of obligation and duty, and devoid of affection, was finally over. She could now turn her full attention to the future and what she might make of it, unencumbered by the shadow of a man who had never truly been a father to her .

And when she cried that night in her bed, she cried not for her father or what should have been, and neither did she waste tears on the guilt she'd finally thrust aside.

She cried because she had no one, no family left at all.

She went still when Torsten arrived in their bedchamber, clamping her lips to stifle her weeping, keeping her back to him. He seemed to undress leisurely, and it was several minutes before she felt the mattress sink under his weight.

Raina maintained her stillness, waiting for the candle to be snuffed.

Before that happened, Torsten's hand landed on her arm.

Raina didn't move.

He stroked his hand up and down her bare arm. "Raina?"

The tenderness of his gesture and what sounded suspiciously like concern in his low voice wrought a strangled cry from her.

Damn him.

She swatted his hand. "Leave me alone."

He returned his hand to her arm. "I will nae." He applied some pressure, trying to get her to turn over.

Expecting that he would not give up, Raina groaned her displeasure and flopped over onto her back, forcing him to scooch back a wee bit as he'd been so close. Frustrated, she blew the strands of hair off her face, undisturbed that her cheeks, nose, and eyes were no doubt blotchy red.

Torsten was propped up on his elbow at her side. "Ah, lass," he said, using his thumb to wipe at her tears.

She wanted to howl at him to leave off with the pretense of concern.

"I will nae pretend to understand yer grief," he said gently, "nae any lasting affection for a man who—what? "

Her swift scowl had given him pause.

"I do not grieve my father," she informed him, flinging her forearm over her forehead, displacing his hand. A sigh of resignation was breathed through her lips. "To some degree, I guess I'm not so different than you—there's a coldness in me." Lowering her arm, she met his gaze and confessed, "Mine is born of pride and stubbornness. I feel nothing for my father and do not weep for him, but selfishly for myself. I am, for the first time in my life, truly alone. I am an orphan now. I have no kin. I have...no one."

"Ye have a husband," he reminded her, a gruffness to his voice.

"Who cares no more for me than he does for dust on the hearth," she said, cruelly repeating words he'd once uttered to her, which seemed to anger him.

"Christ, Raina," he growled furiously, "have ye held onto yer initial impression of me? From day one? I daresay ye have nae. Though ye tried to hide it well, ye were horrified by me. Does that remain? The horror? Nae, dinna lie to me and say it does." He pressed his fingers against his eyelids, squeezing them shut as he massaged them, exhaling sharply as he did so. And then he dropped his hand again, softly onto her arm, and opened his eyes. "Raina, I ken I've nae much to offer ye. I ken what I am—aloof, exacting, and with a foul temper I dinna even try to control—and nae, I dinna expect or want to wed. And aye, I'm cold, ye say. War will call and I will leave, and I dinna ken what the future holds." He stared at her, his blue eyes glittering with an unfathomable harshness.

Unsure how she was expected to respond, or even if she were, Raina waited, sensing that he was only gathering his thoughts .

"I am cold," he continued tersely, "hollow, indifferent. But ye are nae. And I am nae any of those things when I kiss ye." He took her chin in his hand. "At six and thirty, I've determined I'm nae capable of true affection—love or any other tender sentiment. I'm nae saying I am, or that I'm offering anything in that regard. But Raina, ye dinna have to be alone. Ye...ye asked me to give ye a child."

In a thousand years, she would never be able to even begin to describe the magnitude of her shock. Her breath caught sharply in her throat, and her heart pounded as if trying to escape her chest. She felt her face go pale, a cold wave sweeping over her. Her eyes widened, staring at him as if he had spoken in a foreign tongue, while her hand fisted on her chest.

At length, she found her voice. "And ye are offering to do so? Since you assumed I would be riddled with grief, did you also assume that would make me weaker, more amenable?"

"I assumed nothing," he said, still imbued with a wee annoyance it seemed, "but what I ken to be true. Ye stated yer want of a child and I've said to ye, I've changed my mind on the matter." He picked up her hand, easily unfurling her clenched fingers. "What, then, should keep us from making a babe?"

Breathlessly, she asked, "I guess I would want to know what has changed your mind?"

"Ye have, naturally." He paused, staring at their fingers, entwined once more. "Ye were the enemy, I canna deny. That's how I saw ye. As a millstone and nae a wife. But my enemy is nae someone who cares for people, who takes on the burdens of Lochlan Hall, defends the verra lad who lured her into danger, who shows kindness to me even though I have acted harshly and have been unyielding. "

Her chest rose and fell in a dramatic fashion, stunned by his words and the reaction of her body. She sensed this was a pivotal moment in her life and their marriage. Now was not the time to allow pride to recklessly refuse what he offered. He would leave, she was sure of it. Likely, he wouldn't look back, not at the wife he didn't want—dust or no. But she could have this, the child he now offered.

Yet, would achieving her greatest desire demand surrendering her heart? Could she resist, or mend it once he departed? Though she wished it were not true, she was vulnerable; she understood that more lived and breathed inside her than merely a desire for his touch or only a child with him.

He cocked a brow at her, moving his face gradually closer to her. "Dinna say, Raina, that ye dinna want my kiss," he provoked, his breath hot against her lips.

Beginning to understand that surrender was inevitable, Raina didn't bother to lie. "I cannot say that with any certainty."

He brushed his lips briefly over hers, gently moving them side to side. "I should endeavor to remove all doubt," he whispered.

"You cannot undo this, Torsten," she was compelled to bring to his attention.

He paused and met her gaze. "I have every confidence that I will nae want to undo this, Raina, but that I will want it often. I want ye, as a man wants a woman. I offer ye a child."

"But you will still leave one day?" You won't ever love me.

"Aye," he admitted, confirming her forlorn suspicion. "Lochlan is nae my home."

A palpable sadness enveloped her, a cold wave washing over her heart .

Take what you can get, take all that he'll give .

Unless and until a child was born, it might be all that she would ever have, her first and only spark of joy in her adult life.

Torsten paused, pulling back to stare down at her. "Ye have nae said aye, ye want this."

And she wouldn't, though she did, very much.

Instead, she lifted her hands and threaded her fingers into the short hair over his ears, drawing him down to her kiss.

His warm lips brushed across her, igniting a flame she hadn't any intention of dousing. Raina's pulse pounded as he traced her lips with his tongue, demanding entry. She opened willingly for him, and a deep groan signaled his satisfaction. While she was nervous, Torsten suffered no similar qualms. His mouth covered hers hungrily and his tongue plunged inside. And though she'd thought he'd have devoured her, abandoning all restraint, there was a softness, a measured deliberateness, as if she and her kiss were something to be savored.

Raina enthusiastically returned his kiss. She moved her hands down from his face and hair, enthralled by the chiseled flesh of his shoulders and arms. Of their own accord, her hands slid between them, onto his chest. She'd dreamed of this, hadn't she? Imagined it, at the very least. She was inundated with sensations: his solid, naked flesh under her curious fingers, his heartbeat thudding against her palm, the feel of gliding her fingers over the crisp hair that covered his chest, the way he stiffened when she encountered a flat nipple.

She was consumed by impressions and reactions she hadn't known existed—a stirring of heat in her belly, some decidedly female pleasure at making him growl against her lips when she continued exploring his nipple, an instinct to arch against him, seeking more. Most significantly, she was imbued with a vast desire to abandon her own inhibitions, to give freely of herself. Though he'd said he suspected he would want more, she felt she had this one chance with Torsten.

A breathless sigh escaped her, knowing heaven of some sort was within her reach.

Torsten again trailed a kiss across her cheek and around her ear and Raina did arch against him.

"There's more," She guessed, unable to open eyelids that seemed ponderously heavy now. "More than only kissing."

"Christ, lass," he seethed, "so much more."

His voice was such, ragged, husky, that she imagined him as lethargic with passion as she was.

A chuckle broke the spell, forcing Raina to open her eyes.

Torsten was close, his lips only inches from hers, his eyes shards of blue crystal in the dim light.

"More, ye surmise. Impatient, are ye?"

"I must be," she said, unable to imagine any clever retort. "I beg you, do not...go slowly under some misconception that I am afraid."

He brushed his fingers and palm over her cheek and forehead, moving strands of hair off her face. He gazed deeply into her eyes before brushing her lips once more with his. "I would nae have ye imbued with fear at this moment, Raina. This is...well, this is simply kissing. There are about forty-three other things I want to do to you, with you."

Raina gasped, hardly able to credit—

Another chuckle—wonders never cease.

"Fine, nae forty-three," he confessed. "Nae all at once, tonight. "

"Tell me," she requested.

"Do ye want to be told?" He asked, his gaze piercing as it moved from her eyes and over her nose and lingered on her lips. "Or do ye want to experience? To feel?"

The voice he used—sensual, smoldering—advised what her answer should be.

"I want to feel."

"Ye've never lain with a man?"

Her cheeks pinkened. Raina shook her head.

"Then I am compelled to go slowly," he said, "though it will pain me to do so. I want ye to feel, Raina, everything I do to ye."

Torsten inched backward until he was on his knees and gathered the hem of her shift, sliding it up along her body. He pushed with his palms against her skin, and Raina gasped with heretofore unknown delight when his calloused palms scraped over her breasts. She raised her arms mechanically and he pulled the linen garment over her head, leaving her entirely naked.

Her thoughts shattered as Torsten raked his gaze over her body with excruciating languor.

She might have been embarrassed or felt vulnerable, but it was impossible to know these things when he stared at her with such hunger. Fire burned in his blue-eyed gaze. It was then, her first awareness of the power of her own body, and she likened it to the effect the sight of his masculinity had on her.

Then he dropped over her again and his lips were on hers, his tongue exploring. Raina nearly went out of her skin at the feel of their chests pressed together, soft round globes cushioned in coarse black hair and solid muscle. She returned his kiss with a wildness that stunned her, and which put to shame what she only thought was desire prior to this moment .

But then he disappeared again, taking his lips from hers, branding her chin and neck with his lips and tongue before he sat back on his heels again.

"Christ, Raina," he breathed coarsely, "but ye are magnificent."

Casually, as if she would not be made to feel awkward, he studied her at length, examining her with hooded eyes and searching hands. Forcing down the leg she'd lifted and bent over the other with a fresh blush, he ran his hand up her shin and over her knee, mirroring the action with his other hand on her other leg.

Raina's breath caught as he stroked over her thighs and higher, but he did not pursue that tuft of dark curly hair between her legs, where pleasure knotted and pooled. He went further, over her hip bones and abdomen and then, most fantastically, filled his hands with her breasts.

Raina whimpered incoherently, her gaze locked on his face, in awe of the chiseled contours carved by longing, as he grazed his thumbs over the taut peaks of her nipples.

"I will die," she presumed, feeling weakened and awakened all at once.

A wicked grin curled Torsten's beautiful lips. "Ye will nae. Ye will live and ye will feel."