Chapter Eight

L ittle escaped Torsten's notice. As commander of a large army, one who led men into war, it had become second nature to observe everything, to be attuned to the smallest details that might affect the order and efficiency of his domain. Thus, over the next few days, he was aware of even minute changes within Lochlan Hall. The great hall began to fill with trestles, boards, and benches, fires were laid daily in the hearths, and the corridors were lit with small torches affixed inside iron rings in the stone walls. He'd entered their bedchamber midday yesterday, needing a change of clothes, only to find the large bed stripped of all linens; in the bailey, he'd noticed half a dozen young women, Raina included, tending to the laundry over a large steaming cauldron; where before only lads were known as servants, rarely seen but at meal time, now a bevy of young lasses scampered about the keep at all hours of the day.

He was aware as well of Raina's busyness and her hand in these changes, and silently applauded how she'd embraced the task with such determination. He gave praise easily to his men, a high morale constantly needing to be upheld, but wasn't sure he needed to afford any similar appreciation to Raina for simply tackling a role that she should have assumed years ago. Still, he did know a grudging respect—and admittedly, a wee bit of surprise—for how she'd leapt in with both feet, taking on the role of chatelaine with what seemed an eagerness.

If he encountered his wife during the day lately, she was most often garbed in an apron and wore a kerchief over her hair. He thought she appeared more animated even, much less the timid little mouse he married. He couldn't be entirely sure, however, having spent little time in her company over the last two days. She'd sent a message to him last night and the night before, by way of the lad, Crispin, advising she would not be supping in the little hall, having too much work left in her day. And as he'd made a point to only seek their shared chamber late at night when he felt certain she should be asleep already and because he rose and was gone before she woke, Torsten scarcely saw her at all. When he did it was from a distance or in passing.

While Raina busied herself with her newfound duties, Torsten familiarized himself with Lochlan's cattle and fishing operations. He spent his mornings inspecting the herds, noting their condition and the methods employed by the herdsmen. The cattle were well-kept, evidence that while MacQueen practiced frugality elsewhere as if he believed he might be smote by lightning if he did not, he'd shrewdly invested in and cared for that which made him money.

In the afternoons, Torsten turned his attention to the fishing operations. He visited the beach, observing the fishermen as they brought in their daily catch. The process was efficient, the men experienced and hardworking. He visited the docks, built south of the beach where the River North Esk met the sea, noting some areas that were in need of repairs and imagining ways to expand the harbor if he should desire one day to expand the fishing trade .

Torsten's presence was met with a mix of curiosity and caution by the peasants of Lochlan. Though he offered a nod here and a word there and frequently spoke at length to those in charge of the cattle and the fishery, he made no effort to engage with others, expecting that he would soon be gone.

He'd dispersed his army round Lochlan, both to ensure defense and maintain order. Small contingents patrolled the village and the surrounding headlands. Others guarded the perimeters of Lochlan Hall, fortifying the stronghold against any potential threats, their presence a stark visual representing the new power overseeing the region. The blooming heath at the approach of Lochlan Hall was now a sea of tents, wagons, and horses. The officers made house in Lochlan's barracks and soldiers drilled rigorously upon the training grounds, a section of land appropriated between the grassland and the pasture.

On the fourth night as a newly wed man, he arrived at Raina's bedchamber close to midnight, expecting as had been the case the last two nights, that his bride would be fast asleep. Instead, he found that she was not, but seated at the small stool in front of the dressing table, combing out her long hair. Her hand went still when he entered, only for a moment, before she resumed the strokes down the vast wealth of dark hair.

Torsten paused at the threshold, captivated by the sight of her profile illuminated by the soft glow of a single candle. She wore only her shift, her bare feet tucked under the stool, which she now subtly shifted in response to his presence. Slowly, he closed the door behind him, his gaze lingering on her as she performed such a quintessentially feminine task.

Often obscured beneath layers of dread and timidity, Raina's beauty shone now in the intimate solitude of the bedchamber. Her dark hair, draped over one shoulder as she combed through the locks, gleamed like silk as candlelight was caught in its depths. Even the hint of rigidity in her features, wrought by his arrival no doubt, could not harden the delicacy of her face.

Neither said a word.

Torsten crossed the room and began to doff the many layers of clothes. Keenly aware of her in his periphery, he knew when she tied the length of her hair with a ribbon and rose from the stool, padding across the floor on bare feet. She extinguished the candle on the table flanking her side of the bed with a sharp puff of air before slipping beneath the covers. A brief glance over his shoulder showed that she lay on her side, her back to him.

Though he was seldom troubled by any need to fill awkward silences, he was plagued now by some sense that he should exchange some words with his wife. However, no ideas came to him regarding what he might say. He continued to undress, unsure how to break the quiet that enveloped them and soon enough a frown lowered his brows, wondering why he should want to. Shaking off so uncharacteristic an urge, he snuffed the candle on the table closest to him and climbed into bed.

He lay on his back, his eyes adjusting to the charcoal gray light, and stared at the timber ceiling inside the chamber. Fairly quickly, he pushed off the heavier furs as covers. Through the open shutters of the lone window, the unusually warm night air drifted in, bringing with it the faint scent of the sea. Waves breaking against the shore easily relaxed him. He'd already decided he enjoyed the soothing sound of the sea in the night. Honestly, he believed he slept better here at Lochlan than he had anywhere else, at any time .

When he felt Raina shift next to him, he turned his head on the pillow to face her.

She was still on her side, facing away.

"I expect that tomorrow," she said over her shoulder, her voice quiet and sweet, "we will be ready to open the great hall for supper."

"Verra guid," he said, for lack of any other idea as a response. Truth be told, though, this was much sooner than he'd anticipated. ?Twould not be easy to feed so large an army, and the villagers, too, if they should come. "That'll need more tables and benches that what's there now," he said then, as that occurred to him.

"Those were recovered from the cellars," she told him. "The carpenter, Bernard, said he'd have half a dozen finished by tomorrow—apparently several of your soldiers are lending a hand there—and twice that by next week."

"Hm, verra guid indeed." He scratched his hand back and forth on his naked chest.

"With so large a number to feed," Raina went on, "it will require that we stagger the seating, if you will. I asked Rory to assign the first hour to half your men and the second hour to the others."

He nodded and then realized she couldn't see that. "A guid idea." And even more remarkable, that she'd taken it upon herself to approach Rory to set the schedule with him.

After a moment of silence, he felt her settle again, her face no longer angled toward him.

Again, for reasons yet unknown, he searched his brain for something to say .

"Ye've been industrious these last few days," he finally managed, his tone awkward with what he believed a feeble attempt at conversation.

Raina didn't move when she responded. "Yes. It's been good for me. And for Lochlan, of course."

He found himself unexpectedly drawn to the gentle cadence of her voice—whispered honey, he thought, giving rare life to a wee bit of fancy. Small talk, however, was most certainly not his forte, and he could imagine no other conversation to engage her. Probably for the best, he decided, puzzled by whatever bug had bit him that made him suddenly want to talk with his wife.

A moment later, Torsten heard a soft, whispering flutter near the window, followed by what seemed a more frantic swish and a knock against the shutters. Instinctively, he turned, reaching for the hilt of his sword at the side of the bed, muscles tensing with readiness. His hand hovered over the weapon, poised to defend against any intruder that dared enter their chamber, even as he imagined the likelihood impossible for the window being so high upon the wall.

The fluttering sound grew louder, more urgent, and Torsten's grip tightened on the sword as a black silhouette tore through the air, flying into the chamber.

"Good gracious, what is it?" Raina asked, sitting up in the bed.

"A bat," he answered calmly, knowing his sword would be of little use to either kill or capture the uninvited visitor.

Raina yelped and ducked under the blankets when the bat flew by her head.

Disoriented, the bat darted all around, back and forth across the room, though never so fortunate as to go near the open window. It was fast, but only a grim shadow darting, the swish of its wings frantic. Torsten ducked at the same time he swung out his hand as the bat came right at him.

He hurried to relight the candle and smacked at the creature when it zig-zagged over the bed again, seeming to be aiming specifically at Raina. Wisely, she tossed the heavy furs at the panicked creature just before she scrambled and scooted across the bed, hopping off near Torsten. The fur had missed, and the bat continued to circle the room erratically.

While Torsten surveyed the chamber, wondering what he might use to capture the bat or how he might steer it toward the window to exit, Raina sidled behind him, gripping his arm and yipping again when it flew too close, the swish of its wings loud as it neared. Torsten backhanded the flying creature, knocking it to the floor. Dazed, the bat flipped and flopped and Raina panicked, wanting to be far away from it. At the same time as she began to back away from it, distancing herself from Torsten even, the bat found its wings again. Raina yipped again and turned to run. Torsten pivoted and wrapped a steely arm around her waist, hauling her back against his chest just as the bat gained altitude; if he'd not stopped her, she'd have collided with the bat.

When he set her on her feet, she turned instinctively into his chest, burrowing in fright. He wrapped his arms around her, covering her head while the bat continued to flit around the chamber.

"Dinna move," he said, his breath against her hair. "It'll land eventually if it perceives nae threat." He would deal with it then, and more easily than he could while it was flitting around in a panic. "Wait, lass. "

Raina went still in his arms, her hands tucked between them, pressed against his chest as was her face. She turned, laying her cheek against his chest and arm, likely wanting to keep track of the flying menace as Torsten studiously did.

Despite his concentration on the flight of the bat, in no time Torsten became acutely aware of the feel of Raina in his arms. Her warmth pressed against him and her soft breath brushed his bicep as she clung to him. The bat's frantic fluttering faded into the periphery of his awareness as he focused on the delicate curve of her body and the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. He tightened his hold on her as the bat flew close once more, wanting to shield her, and in doing so found himself more attuned to her than the chaotic movements of the bat.

Though she was of average height, she was slender, amazingly soft, he knew now, and damn if she didn't fit perfectly in his arms. And Jesu , she smelled good. Lavender? Roses? He wasn't sure. Beguiling though, that much he knew for certain.

"Daft wee goblin," Raina murmured with annoyance, her voice muffled.

Seized by an unexpected amusement, Torsten chuckled at her name-calling. "Aye, but he's slowing down, seems less frantic now, aye?"

"Dead or gone would be so much better than less frantic," she reasoned.

Another chuckle rumbled along his chest. "We agree on that."

They were made to stand like that for several long minutes, the bat mostly avoiding them now, the candle's light beside them likely keeping it at bay. His arm held prisoner the tail of her hair, his hand reaching the far side of her back. He inhaled deeply, his chin just atop her hair, drawing in again the fresh and delicate scent. Suddenly ungovernable, his body responded, heat quickening in his groin.

Bluidy hell.

Torsten recognized the exact moment when Raina's apprehension about the bat shifted to an awareness of him and the sensation of being held in his arms. She stiffened and didn't move a muscle for an entire minute before slowly lifting her face from where it had been pressed against his arm. Gradually backing away in his arms, she removed her hands from his chest.

Torsten glanced down at her, at her downward face. Her lashes were long, swept against her cheeks, very noticeable now. It took her a moment but eventually she raised her face to him, her eyes wide with some heretofore unknown anxiety over the intimacy of their embrace, he bare-chested and she garbed in only her shift.

"Sorry," she murmured, the still-flitting bat apparently forgotten. Lifting a furtive hand, she brushed a lock of disheveled hair from her cheek.

"I only meant..." he began.

"No, it's..." she started and stopped, then started again. "It's fine. I think... we're safe now. He's definitely less agitated."

Torsten cleared his throat, straightening fully. His hands slid away from her. He wore a ferocious scowl. "Aye."

Still, it seemed there were two bats inside the chamber—the actual creature and the sinister shadow of it that raced all about the walls and ceiling. It was another few minutes before the bat finally landed, choosing to wedge itself into a darkened corner, where the timber ceiling met the stone wall .

"Perfect," he said, stepping around Raina and retrieving his plaid.

It wasn't perfect, though, not really. The walls were long and the ceiling high.

"Perhaps use the stool to stand on," Raina suggested, possibly understanding that he meant to use the plaid as a net, trapping the creature inside.

"That'll nae hold my weight."

"I sit on it every night," she said even as he moved toward the larger chairs before the hearth. "It holds me."

"Ye dinna weigh half what I do," he guessed. He considered the height of the upholstered chair's seat and then the position of the bat, judging that he should be able to reach.

Tossing the breacan onto the chair, he lifted the hefty piece of furniture and slowly walked it over to the corner, not wishing to startle the bat into another crazed flight around the chamber.

"Be careful," Raina cautioned nervously as he slowly stepped up onto the chair.

"Mayhap take cover, lass," he suggested, steadily raising himself upward from a crouch.

When he was standing straight, and the bat was still another two feet above his head, he unfolded the plaid a bit and positioned it in two hands and lifted his arms. Just as he stretched to capture the bat in the wool, the creature startled, and his wings flapped. At the same time Torsten thrust his arms upward he heard a loud crack. He'd just trapped the bat against the corner when the chair gave way beneath him. He cursed foully as he tumbled to the floor atop a heap of splintered wood and unmoored cushion. Raina squeaked as the bat darted around the chamber in a renewed frenzy .

Grimacing, rolling off the broken chair, Torsten saw Raina running across the chamber, shrieking, covering her head with her arms as she ran to the door. She flung it open and concealed herself behind it, and it struck Torsten as absurd when she called out from her hiding place, "Are you all right?"

Grumbling something unintelligible, he flopped onto his back and took a deep breath, watching with annoyance as the damn bat continued to spin about the room.

And then, as if she'd planned it, and had not only thought to shield herself, the bat proceeded to fly straight out of the chamber via the door Raina had opened.

"Is it gone?" She asked. "Did it just fly away?"

"Aye. Close the door."

She did so promptly, dropping the latch in place. As if the daft wee goblin might know how to unlock doors.

A second later, she was standing over him, her bonny face etched with concern.

"Torsten?"

"Aye, I'm fine," he said. He heaved in a great big breath and brought himself upright to a sitting position.

Raina glanced at the pieces of the broken chair and bit her lip, her gaze returned to him.

"I would advise," he growled, "that ye make nae remark that the stool would nae have broken."

And the most amazing thing happened in response to his very serious and very dangerously uttered warning.

Raina fought against it at first but lost the battle eventually. A smile blossomed on her face, hesitant at first, before it evolved, becoming genuine and radiant, if a wee shy. It lit up her features, transforming her usual reserved expression into something truly captivating. Torsten forgot about the bat, the broken chair, and the ache in his back from where he'd landed on one of its legs. All he knew at that moment was Raina's smile, the first he had ever seen from her. He was both startled and shockingly enchanted.

As quickly as the enchantment had settled in, he forced it away, replacing it with frustration. Grumbling under his breath, he pushed himself to his feet, brushing away Raina's hands as she tried to help.

"The mess can wait until morning," he said gruffly, avoiding her eyes as he dusted himself off.

Raina's smile faltered and she stepped back, allowing him space.

"Of course," she replied.

Torsten turned away, trying to ignore the pull he felt toward her, trying to focus on anything but the way her smile had made him feel.

"Let's get some rest," he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he moved back to the bed, his mood still darkened by the unexpected attraction he'd felt.

Raina followed, quietly slipping into bed beside him.

Torsten snuffed out the candle once more.

Staring at the ceiling again, he understood he was hardly humiliated by the fall and his inability to capture the nuisance bat. What did he know of wrangling a demon? Nae, his current frustration had everything to do with his sudden awareness—stark and overwhelming—of his wife.

He tried, he really did, to put the entire episode from his mind. He didn't dwell on what he'd felt, how it affected him, that she'd initially run toward him, her husband, seeking the shelter of his arms. Clearly, he wasn't foolish enough to reimagine the feel of her in his arms, the way his body had responded to her.

He'd felt fairly sure then—was fairly certain still—that he was fiercely attracted to his young wife.

RAINA AND PEIGI HAD spent quite a busy week together. They conducted interviews with each girl brought into service, afterward deciding where best to place them in the household. They agreed to keep on only Cook and one lad, the youngest, making him the charboy. When he was old enough to assume other duties, he'd be replaced by his younger brother. They visited the granary and the smokehouse, the cellars, pantry, and larder, taking stock of Lochlan's provisions, trying to imagine how they would feed an army. They deduced they needed no less than ten in the kitchen—subject to change, they knew—and invited Nell to join the staff after Peigi said she had no business working as one of the fishers. Nell had laughed in Raina's face, saying she'd rather go hungry than step foot inside Lochlan Hall.

Seòras had since been released from his confinement and returned to his duties, but was scarcely helpful, seeming to hold a grudge against Torsten and every de Graham, and now even Raina. And then one day, shortly after his release, he simply disappeared. Rory said to Raina that the steward was seen walking away from Lochlan Hall with a satchel under his arm.

"And guid riddance to him, the mean auld goat," was Peigi's thought on the matter.

The morning after the incident with the bat, Raina could think of little else—not the bat actually, but of Torsten's brawny arms around her, how safe and cherished she'd felt in those moments. She was ridiculous, of course, to imagine herself cherished, but she allowed the fantasy to persist throughout the day.

She was certain of one thing, though, and it was not imagined: she lost a little bit of her fear of Torsten. She wholly believed a man who held her as tenderly, as protectively as he had would not ever harm her.

At length, she thought about what Peigi had said, about needing her husband to consummate their marriage so that she might have children and secure her place at Lochlan for the rest of her life. Twenty-four years she was and should by now have been wed and already gladdened by several children. Little did she know about what the actual bedding required or entailed. But she knew this: whatever dread and fear she'd imagined initially was nowhere to be found. If coupling proved as titillating as simply being held in his arms, she rather thought she might insist that Torsten make her his wife in truth.

Her spirits improved dramatically, and not only with any recollection of Torsten's arms around her. She had a friend to talk to now, to share thoughts and anecdotes with, telling Peigi of the adventure inside her bedchamber with the bat.

After Peigi's initial astonishment about the bat and the broken chair, Lochlan's new housekeeper took Raina to task, disgruntled that she hadn't used any part of the incident to her advantage, to steal a kiss or provoke a kiss.

"Laughter, ye ken, is an aphrodisiac."

"I did not know—how was I supposed to...work a kiss into that scenario?"

"Ye should have leapt upon him when he fell," Peigi said impatiently, as if that should have been obvious, "gushing with concern over him, whether he was injured or not. At the very least, ye could have enjoyed a feel, touching those meaty arms under the guise of looking for injuries—men do it all the time."

"I don't...this isn't making sense to me, Peigi."

Peigi sighed. "Aye, I can see that, can tell by the look of confusion befuddling yer face. Aye, mayhap we'll have to put all our hopes in him, hoping night after night lying next to a bonny lass—his wife, nae less—will cause him to finally act on it, when he can stand it nae more. He's nae the marauding kind, hasn't plowed his way through any and every willing and available lass at Lochlan—and mark my words, there'd be more than only a few. So aye, he's got to get it somewhere eventually. My guess: he soon turns to ye."

Raina nodded as if she understood, but she was in fact a little hazy on the details of Peigi's argument.

Her improved disposition was only briefly challenged that same morning after the bat had entered her chamber. She'd visited her father, as she had not in days. While he watched her with sharp but hooded eyes, she'd said, "I...I know that you're dying and I'm sorry for that—for you—but I hope you know some relief. Aye, Donald is gone, but I'm still here and a MacQueen will remain at Lochlan Hall. I'm fairly certain, Father, that my marriage to Torsten de Graham will not be in vain. I almost begin to believe it will...that something good might come of it."

Wishful thinking, of course. But truth be told, it had been so long since she'd found anything to which she might attach hope, so that she rather seized on her marriage and Torsten's first demonstration of kindness as something worthy of optimism.

Her father, however, disagreed. He hadn't spoken in weeks but managed to mouth one word at that moment.

"Whore. "

Raina's heart clenched at the cruelty of the word, but she refused to let it shatter the possibility of a brighter future.