Chapter Seven
As Torr pounded across the field for the forest, the sound of horses’ hooves shaking the ground told him his men were close behind.
The enemy gave up their silent watch and rode through the trees, out onto the field, a poor strategic decision. He charged the leader, yelling for added effect, and threw his weight into an upward swing of his claymore.
Though the man’s sword blocked him from harm, he lost his balance and fell from his horse.
Torr spun Ceo around. There were but four enemies mounted, with others on foot, so he jumped from his horse to finish his attack.
The leader scrambled to his feet.
He studied the blond, beardless man. He’d not seen him before and from his dress, he was far from home, most likely from south of the Firth of Forth in the Lowlands. Damn, had the king’s enemies tracked him this far?
Though the clang of swords rent the evening air, he focused on his man, bringing his claymore to the front. The enemy ran at him. “Hamiltons! Through!”
He braced at the sound of his enemy’s war call. Their swords met. The man had skill, but not strength. Keeping the Hamilton on the defensive, he glanced at Kerr to his right, easily handling his adversary. They had trained together for years and he accepted they were nearly equals in battle, but he still worried.
The Hamilton tried a sharp under swing, but he slammed it down, noting the man’s heavy breaths.
As the Hamilton lifted his claymore, sweat ran along his hairline.
It was time to end this. He could allow no one to spread the news the king was near, and if he judged the gloaming correctly, he expected Robert to emerge from the north wood at any moment.
Going on the offensive, he battered the man before him until the Hamilton could barely lift his sword. As the man backed toward the forest, a warning shout rang out.
The pounding of hooves shook the earth as the king’s forces burst from the north trees and headed straight for them, but before the last man had cleared the forest, the Hamiltons turned for the woods.
Kerr snarled. “Cowards! Come back and fight like men!”
He touched his brother on the shoulder and shook his head. “Nay. Let them leave. I do not want them to know who has come to aid us.” He glanced at Evan and Ian, nodding once. His men immediately set to yelling and chased the Hamiltons, further ensuring they would continue their flight.
Robert came to a halt next to him.
He reached up to hold the bridle of his king’s horse. “It is good to see ye again, my liege.”
“It did not take much to scare your enemy away.”
“They were of the Hamilton clan. Luckily, they did not see who ye were.” He let go of the horse, walked to where Ceo patiently waited, and mounted.
Robert let out a low whistle. “This far north? That means Edward grows desperate. He would like nothing better than to have my head.”
That was his thought as well. He turned Ceo toward the castle and the king’s men fell into step.
Robert rode beside him, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “Did you find the traitor?”
“Aye, he is in the pit.”
“Who was it?”
He didn’t miss the tension emanating from Robert. The man had been betrayed so many times, it was a surprise he could still trust anyone. “Graham.”
The king nodded once. “And which clan did he hope to betray me to?”
“That is unclear as yet. But we should know in a few days. The runner was killed and buried, and there was no one else here who helped Graham.” He thought of Diana and his hands tightened on the reins. “At least none I am sure of. It is safe for now.”
“Good. I need a hearty meal and a warm bed.”
He clapped Robert on the shoulder. “That you shall have.”
As they entered the yard, the gloaming held long as it was wont to do in summer, and they made short work of stabling the horses. Once in the Great Hall, he breathed in the smell of roasted pig and grabbed a tankard of ale from Beth as she walked by. Robert joined him at the high table, food was brought, and a victorious mood filled the hall.
The men talked of the Hamiltons’ attempt and shared stories with the king’s men, but Robert himself was quiet, his high brow furrowed.
“Something holds my king’s mind tonight?”
Robert started from his reverie. “Aye. My wife.”
He stilled. There was nothing he could say that would ease Robert’s mind on that topic. The lovely Elizabeth was held prisoner by King Edward, just as his own brother was, but the hope, though feeble, was Elizabeth’s prison was less brutal than Carrnach’s, if he still lived.
Without thought, his gaze found Diana. She brought food to a table of men. Douglas’s gaze fastened on her until Ian elbowed him in the ribs.
He gripped his tankard hard. What if the true reason Douglas had joined his clan was to find a wife? That might be a proposition Diana would be interested in. The image of her with another made his arm itch to strike the man down, yet his doubts about her were just as strong.
When she sat with the women, she looked up and their gazes locked.
Though he couldn’t see the color of her eyes, he could imagine them, as bright as the south field. But as her gaze moved off him, it stopped for a moment before she returned her focus to her meal. He looked to his right to see Helen approaching. The lass was a comely widow who had agreed to share his bed tonight. Her lithe figure was smaller than Diana and her brown hair much darker. She stopped next to him, her doe-like eyes revealing her interest. “Ye wanted me this night?”
“Aye, I do.” He put his hand around her waist and pulled her to him.
Robert raised his tankard. “A lovely lass this is. Who may she be?”
“This is Helen. She is one of our weavers.”
The king drank, but did not look at the woman with any interest. He shifted his gaze to Torr. “I know you have plans this evening, but I wish to have your time as well.”
He nodded. “Of course. Helen, when ye are ready, go to my room. I will be there when I can.”
She nodded demurely and walked to her seat at the women’s table. He watched as she sat at the end, the women closest to her talking excitedly. But at the table’s other end, the conversation appeared much more serious, Diana obviously oblivious to his plans for the night. Though why he cared baffled him. He had more important problems to solve than the uniqueness of one possibly traitorous lass.
It was a long conversation with Robert in his room. One that had Torr concerned about his king’s flagging spirits. He strode to his own chambers and quietly opened the door. Helen was in the chair by the cold fireplace, asleep. She was a lovely woman who enjoyed his attentions. In her thin leine, her pert breasts were easily discernible and her trim ankles peeked from below the hem, a hint of the thin legs curled up under the material.
He stared his fill, waiting for his body to react, for lust to fill him, but nothing happened. He touched her long silky hair, remembering it playing across his chest but a fortnight ago. Still, he had no urge to wake her. He had no need.
Shaking his head at that oddity, he strolled to the bed. The smell of freshly washed wool penetrated his senses and the need to take off his clothes grew strong. To be naked on the clean woolens with Diana, her pale, light hair splayed across his pillow, her plump breasts bare and… He looked down at his leine. His need had finally awakened. Turning back to Helen, he found it waning again.
Damn!
…
Diana rolled over for the twenty-third time. What the great laird of the castle decided to do in his bedroom was none of her business. She’d had a physical day and needed her rest, but every time she closed her eyes, she pictured Torr’s arm around the weaver woman.
Just the night before he had brought her to orgasm without even undressing her and tonight he was naked with…he was naked. She’d seen the man shirtless and had no doubt as to the hardness of his upper body. His calves, clearly visible beneath his leine, were also hard and over-developed. That would mean between his legs would be a rather long, hard…
Ugh! She rolled over again. It didn’t matter. Rules were rules. They were made to be followed, so her parents had always said. Rules protected people. All TWI agents knew the rules.
Rule one: Don’t change history, only change it back.
Rule two: Never travel back to a period and place already visited.
Rule three: Travel no more than once in a day.
Rule four: Do not hint at anything in the future, which included verbal expressions and physical items.
Rule five: Do not make friends.
Normally, she had no problem with these rules, but the last one had become difficult in such a close-knit environment. She enjoyed Nessa’s open friendliness, Mairi’s quiet sweetness and even Ian’s youthful exuberance. She wanted to be their friend, share in their joys and frustrations.
She rolled over for the twenty-fifth time. Torr was probably rolling over his willing bedmate about now. Unreasonable irritation flowed through her. This was crazy. She couldn’t have sex with a man from 1306! It had nothing do with getting pregnant, because she’d had her hormone shot a few weeks back. No. It was that she couldn’t change history.
But she already had. Just the fact that Torr had pursued her, a person who didn’t actually exist in 1306, meant something had changed, but that didn’t mean she could make matters worse.
Yet to have Torr’s massive bulk, naked and covering her. His strength surrounding her, protecting her. His hardness rubbing against the inside of her thigh as he positioned himself to take her. His tongue searching out every crevice of her mouth, exploring, tasting. Holy Hamlet!
She sat up, her breath shallow, her own readiness heating between her legs. This wasn’t working. Without her usual quiet movements, she quickly left the Great Hall and stepped outside. The slightly cooler air helped, and she inhaled deeply.
With her brain functioning again, she sat on the ground and leaned against the castle. Had she really arrived only four days ago? It felt like a month. Probably because she was never alone.
Since she couldn’t sleep anyway, she might as well enjoy her time to herself.
A shimmer of air to the right of her feet caught her attention, and she groaned quietly. Within seconds, Go-Lucky appeared.
“How you doing tonight, Diana?”
So much for being alone. “I’m not sure how I’m doing. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job on this assignment.”
“Really? You can’t be messing up that bad because there’s been no word from the Time Keeper that the Stream has been altered.”
“I’m glad to hear that. This place is so small, it’s impossible to keep from being noticed. I just hope nothing I do here causes more than a hiccup.”
Go-Lucky crossed his legs at the ankles as he leaned against the wall next to her. “You’ve come a long way since the day we met in the lobby of your parents’ hotel.”
“TWI has taught me a lot, especially about how connected we are. I understand how doing what feels good and right can have dire consequences, though I still don’t like it.”
Go-Lucky reached over and placed his hand on hers. “I know. The raw pain I saw in your eyes that day when I told you saving your parents would mean millions of people would die of cancer in the future…” He paused to shake his head. “I almost caved in, no matter what Jules said, or the consequences to those nameless millions.”
She raised her gaze to him and nodded. He, at least, understood what she had gone through. Had her dad lived, he would have been given a grant from his university to study a newly discovered temple in Greece instead of where the money eventually went, which was to a professor in the biology department who would find a cure for skin cancer one day. She’d made the right decision for mankind, but for herself, she still fought the urge to go back and save the only family she ever had.
The small MacPherson clan was too much like a family, like the one she’d created at Stonehaven after her parents passed. She couldn’t find the distance she needed. She glanced at Go-Lucky. “Do you think Mouse might be available to take over?”
He stepped out and peered hard at her. “No can do. Mouse is in medieval France a couple centuries later than this. Why do you want to give up already? You haven’t been here that long. This isn’t like you.”
She sighed. No, it wasn’t, but she’d never met a man like Torr who made her blood heat and her heart melt. “I know. It’s just a more intimate society than I am used to. I feel like everything I do could affect the future, and it’s impossible to obey rule five.”
Go-Lucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “So do any of your new friends like short men?”
“I’m afraid all the women here are either married or in love, or far too old for you.”
Go-Lucky’s shoulders fell.
“But I haven’t met all of them yet. There is this widow…” Yeah, who was exactly where she wanted to be right now.
Go-Lucky put his hands out in front of him as if to ward her off. “You look like you want to kill this widow. What’s wrong with her?”
She shook her head. Telling Go-Lucky wouldn’t help, and he might let it slip to Jules.
He dropped his hands. “Come on, Diana. Something is seriously up. I know my girls. You’re hiding something. If looks could kill, that woman would be dead right now. You’re always calm and balanced. What’s going on?”
“She’s sleeping with Torr right now.” She covered her mouth with her hand. Shakespeare! She’d said that out loud.
Go-Lucky studied her. “You want this guy, don’t you?”
She was in for it now. She didn’t say anything, clamping her jaw tight to keep from spilling her guts.
He started to pace, his head not clearing the shadow from the stone castle, so there was no chance of him being seen. “This is the man who will be killed in a little over a week if you do your job, correct?”
She nodded. Where was he going with this?
“Well, if you have sex with him and then he dies, I’m not sure how that could have any effect.”
“Go-Lucky!” She hissed loudly. What was he thinking?
He stopped and faced her. “Listen, like me, you have no love life in your own time because you aren’t there long enough. You find a guy you want to shag in a different time who is going to die anyway. So what’s the harm?”
She stilled. Could she? “What about not making friends?”
He grinned. “Sex with a man has nothing to do with making friends.”
Wow, the way men rationalized things always amazed her. “I’m not sure I could do that then watch him die. I’m not like Katz.”
“No, you’re not. I’m just saying it shouldn’t be the end of mankind if you gave in to your physical attraction. Maybe I could sidetrack this widow. Is she pretty?”
The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the widow. “I suppose.”
Go-Lucky raised his hands. “Just trying to help.” He glanced around as if making sure they were alone. “Do you have any suspects for the Disruptor?”
“You would think with so few people here that I would, but I can’t find a single woman who has been here less than six months and the one who arrived then is married. Either the woman is staying in the village and influencing the outcome from there or…”
“Or what?” Go-Lucky’s blue eyes lit with interest.
She should drag it out by changing the subject, something he always did, but she wasn’t in the mood for games on this assignment. “Or a time traveler is bringing men to do the work of changing history. Can we transport people through the Timestream?”
He pulled his arm across his body and cracked his shoulder as he thought. “I can’t remember anyone ever doing that. It would be a risk. What if she lost the man in the middle of transport?”
She couldn’t imagine what a mess that would cause. “Unless Mouse is right and somehow there are male time travelers.”
He shook his head. “I simply refuse to believe there are other men out there as special as I am.”
Though he said it in jest, she could tell the idea bothered him. It would certainly undercut his position. She shrugged. “I doubt that’s the case, but it couldn’t hurt to tell Jules what I’m up—”
Go-Lucky changed to a shimmer and was gone.
She clamped her mouth shut. A figure strode down the wall-walk opposite her. The night guard. Scrambling up, she ducked back inside the keep and watched from the shadows as the figure paused then continued toward the northwest corner.
Letting out her breath, she turned toward the Great Hall. There was no need for anyone to know she couldn’t sleep at night, or rather anyone but Torr. She looked up the open stair and paused, her hands forming fists of their own accord at the thought of the widow sleeping contentedly in his bed.
By rote, she found her way back to her blanket and lay on her back, but thanks to Go-Lucky her body kept craving Torr as if that was acceptable. She rolled to her side. Oh, Shakespeare, what a mess.
…
“Diana. Ye need to come outside. Yer leine is drenched through.”
At Nessa’s comment, Diana looked down and found she was indeed soaked with sweat. Great. She’d just washed these clothes the day before, and there would be no washing until Monday. Maybe she could simply take her bath in the evening with the dress on. She glanced at the pegs in the wall. At least her brat was still clean.
“Come.” Nessa hooked her arm around hers for the fifth time that day, and she finally gave in. The bakery was stifling hot, despite the two window openings and door, but she hadn’t wanted to leave for fear of running into Torr. She was angry and hurt. How could he have taken the widow to bed when he claimed to want her? She was stupid for letting her feelings get in the way of her mission, but they were.
As she and Nessa stepped outside into the afternoon sun, she breathed deeply. Despite the heat of the day, it was far cooler than the bakery. The chickens ran away from them across the yard to the relatively cool shade of the keep wall where they proceeded to scratch the hard earth looking for bugs. Nessa walked her to the well and pulled up a bucket of cool water. She took the proffered cup of water and splashed it in her face.
Nessa laughed. “I told ye to come out earlier. Why did ye not?”
She grabbed another cup of the cold water and scanned the yard. Only women milled about, so she let her gaze roam to the training area and froze. Torr demonstrated a side swing with the claymore. His torso, wet with sweat, mapped every muscle movement as he handled the two-handed sword with ease. Her body temperature rose again, and she gulped more water. She needed to remember he’d slept with the widow last night. He refused to stay attached to just one woman. She knew that.
“Diana, did ye hear me? What is wrong with ye today?”
She shrugged, but couldn’t tear her gaze from Torr. He lunged with the side swing again as Ian and Evan watched. Torr’s thighs bulged with his effort. When he stood straight again, he rested the flat of the sword on his shoulder, his brown hair a mess of tangles against his damp shoulder blades. Despite its appearance, her hands itched to grasp it. What happened to her common sense?
“Diana!” Nessa pinched her arm.
“What?”
“What is wrong with ye? Are ye ill?”
She forced herself to look at Nessa. “Yes, a little, but I’ll be fine.”
Nessa took her cup and poured more water into it. “I think ye are too hot. Here. Drink more water.”
She gratefully accepted and drank slowly, watching Torr over the edge of the cup. He clasped Ian’s shoulder in congratulations. The young man must have learned the move well.
Despite his propensity for being emotionally unavailable, Torr was a good man, basically, and the more she focused on her mission, the more she hated her job. She’d never had an issue with it before. What would all these people do without him in their lives?
A familiar pull in her gut stilled her. Something was wrong with how her mission was playing out even more than her own tangled feelings, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She thought back to her last three assignments. In England, she had simply made sure two people met so they could marry. True, they weren’t in love, but that was how life was then. Before that it had been the Revolutionary smuggler. She had to make sure he was caught and imprisoned by the British. That had been hard because his family depended on him, but his arrest was the trigger that caused Thomas Paine to write the Rights of Man, which fueled revolutionary unrest.
And before that? Sometimes it was hard to remember the order. Oh yes, it was in 1845 and she had to keep a young man from meeting Susan B. Anthony. The Disruptor had managed to introduce Carlton Stanwick to Susan and she’d fallen in love, marrying him and living quietly with her five children, setting the women’s rights movement back decades.
There was a pattern of some sort. She was sure of it. But what was it? What did it have to do with Torr dying in battle?
Unable to grasp the elusive insight, she let it go…for now, and handed the cup back to Nessa. “Thank you. I’m feeling better now.”
“Good. Ye were so flushed, I was afraid ye had a fever. Do ye want to take time and sit out here?”
“No. Let’s get back to the bread. I think it’s time for it to come out of the oven now.”
Nessa sighed and looked at the training men. “Very well.”
She laid her hand on Nessa’s arm. “I can take it out. Why don’t ye stay a while longer.” She winked at Nessa’s hopeful expression.
“Aye. I think I will.”
“Good.” She turned and headed back to the bakery building. It was hot, but a safe place away from Torr. Hopefully, he wouldn’t approach her at the evening meal. As much as she wanted to enjoy their time together, she couldn’t keep her heart out of it. Katz was good at that, often going out for a one-night stand when she was home.
She had never been that way. She’d always had strong feelings before allowing any kind of physical intimacy. She’d enjoyed good relationships with her past boyfriends, and what she felt for Torr was already at that level, but it wasn’t mutual, obviously, not if he could sleep with the widow. Worse, they were both destined to leave Gealach on completely different journeys.
She stepped into the warm building and grasped the wooden paddle used to retrieve the bread. After setting it to cool, she wiped her brow. Already she had a hard time facing the fact Torr would die next week. Having sex with him would only make it worse. She had a mission to achieve, and she had never failed to complete her mission. She wasn’t about to start now.
Pulling the dough they had set aside to rise from its shelf, she pounded it back down. She needed to talk more with Ian. His being upset over his cousin following him may actually have nothing to do with a young man wanting independence. It could be he was working with the Disruptor, or was the Disruptor, though she hoped that wasn’t the case. She liked him.
She doubted Douglas was anything more than a lonely man, but she should still see what else she could discover. Graham, on the other hand, had been labeled a spy and imprisoned. What if he hadn’t been spying for the English? What if he had been meeting with the Disruptor the first night and with the other clan the second night when they caught him? Since no new people, men or women, had come to Gealach, she was left with only those three.
She finished shaping the dough and set it to rise again. Sweat trickled into her eye and she rubbed at it with her sleeve. When she could see again, her gaze found the open window and rested on a small corner of the practice field where two men watched the others. At the moment, all the men were with Torr for his daily training. If she wanted to speak to Graham, now would be the perfect time. Taking one of the warm loaves of bread, she left the bakery.
Crossing the yard to the Great Hall, she hurried through the massive room and into the northeast tower stairs. She ripped off a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth as she descended to the bottom level. The darkness was relieved by a single torch set in the wall. The round room at the bottom was empty except for a square hole in the middle of the floor with an iron grate across it. Braigh stood with his back to her, practicing moves with his sword, his dark brown hair loose about his shoulders.
She concentrated on old Arthur’s information and understood that Torr’s dungeon was nothing more than a pit, a common way to hold prisoners. A simple hole dug beneath the castle with no way out and too deep to escape without a ladder. Graham was supposed to be down there, but it was very quiet.
“Braigh?”
His reflexes were fast and he swung around, but she easily stepped aside. His dark brows drew down. “What are ye doing down here?”
She shrugged, taking on an air of innocent curiosity. “I wanted to see what a traitor looked like.” She craned her neck as if to look beyond him.
He shook his head, all business. “Ye should not be down here.”
She placed her hands on her hips, despite the loaf of bread in her hand. “Why not?”
Braigh’s eyes followed her hand with the bread. She had to be careful. He was older than Torr, and like him, not easily fooled. “Because it is no place for a lass.”
She smiled. “Would you like a piece of this bread? I just pulled it from the ovens.”
“Aye. That I would.”
“Me, too.” The raspy voice came from the pit.
She stepped to the square hole, but couldn’t see anything. She looked over her shoulder at Braigh. “Is he really down there?”
He rolled his eyes. “Aye.”
She enjoyed playing the silly female. Turning, she broke the bread in half and gave it to Braigh. “If you want ale to go with that, I can stay here until you get back.”
He bit into the bread, savoring the taste, then he looked at her and the stairs.
“Oh, don’t worry. The laird is training the men, as usual.”
He swallowed before nodding. “Aye. I will grab a tankard. Do not leave while I’m gone.”
“I won’t.” She watched as he took the steps two at a time before turning to the hole.
She tried to peer into the blackness through the grates in the floor, but she couldn’t see anything. “Graham?”
“Aye. Who is that?”
“Diana. Would you like some bread, too?”
“Aye lass. It would be most appreciated.”
Of course it would. “Could you tell me something first?”
The silence was telling. The man had probably not revealed anything to Torr. “Graham?”
“It depends on what ye want to know.”
She sat on the floor next to the hole and let the scent of the fresh baked bread waft down into the pit. “I want to know who you think will be the king of Scotland ten years hence?”
“Silly woman. It will be King Edward, of course.”
“And do you think laird Torr will be alive then?”
“I am no soothsayer, lass. I don’t know what will happen to him, but if he continues his current activities, it will not be the arrow that gets him. Now, can I have the bread?”
Not exactly the answer she had hoped for. What did it matter whether Torr died by an arrow or by a sword? “Why did you betray the laird?”
For a man with so small a voice, his sigh filled the room. “Because it was my duty.”
“But who—” The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted her. Quickly, she tore a piece of bread off and dropped the rest through the grate.
“Thank ye, lass.”
Braigh appeared and frowned at her. “What are ye doing next to the hole? I told ye to stay away from there.”
She scrambled back as if it was on fire and took a small bite of the bread she still held in her hand. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see what it looked like down there.”
Braigh relaxed and offered his hand to help her up. “It is best that ye not. There are rats and other vermin in there, and he has not eaten in two days.”
She widened her eyes. “Oh.”
He nodded. “Thank ye for the bread, but ye best go above now. This is my duty, not yers.”
“Yes, I better get back to the bakery before Nessa misses me.” She started toward the stairs.
“Diana.”
With one foot on the first stair, she froze. Did he realize she’d given Graham bread? Her heart pounded inside her chest as she looked over her shoulder.
“Thank ye for befriending me wife. It has been difficult for her, coming to a new clan.”
She relaxed at his words. “She is a lovely woman. You are very lucky.”
“Aye. I know.” He smiled, something she’d never seen this particular man do. Her chest hurt at the love in his eyes for his wife. It was so much, she wanted to cry, and her vision blurred. Turning, she raced up the stairs. She was too close to these people already, feeling too much for them. She stepped onto the main floor and directly into a broad chest.
“Whoa, lass. Where ye be going in such a hurry?” Hands grasped her shoulders.
She looked up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Puck, it was Douglas.
As he recognized her, his face turned cold and his gray eyes darkened to the color of a stormy sky. “Were ye pleasing the guard downstairs as well now?”
She shook her head. “What? What do you mean?”
“Thought ye were too full of grief to lie with anyone.”
His anger radiated from him and it had a desperateness that cautioned her. She tried to pull back, but his fingers bit into her muscles. It was an easy hold to break, but her method would only anger him more. She held onto his arm, forcing herself to think of the mountains surrounding Gealach at midnight. Peaceful, calm thoughts.
She lowered her eyes in mock deference. “I only brought bread for Braigh, nothing more.” She didn’t elaborate, letting him think what he would. It worked. He let her go.
“Ach, I thought ye were different.” He turned and strode away, his disappointment rolling over her like a cold nor’easter.
She shivered. She shouldn’t be causing these kinds of emotions in people or having such strong ones of her own. This was her job, not her life. With a need for familiarity and control, she strode to the bakery, careful to avoid anyone else.
Nessa’s warm voice met her at the door. “There ye are. Where were ye?” Her friend turned her back and pulled another two loaves from the ovens.
Shakespeare, she’d forgotten the bread she’d put in! “I brought Braigh some bread. He has to watch over the prisoner.”
Nessa shook her head, her restless red hair brushing across her forehead. “I would not want that chore. I’d be so angry I would probably yell the spy to death.”
She chuckled. Nessa’s upbeat personality helped her find her equilibrium again. “Maybe you could offer your services to the laird?”
“Ach, I think not. Evan is the man for me.”
“No, I mean your service of yelling at the prisoner. Maybe then he would talk.”
Nessa grinned, her freckles meeting together as she scrunched her nose. “Aye, I just may do that.” She winked before moving to the shelf where the breads had finished their second rise. “Now, if I could use the same technique to get Evan to ask me to wed, I would be happy.”
They laughed together, and her stress eased. She wanted to talk to Torr about Nessa’s situation, but she wasn’t about to go near him. She didn’t want him to ask her to stay the night because she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to turn him down and after he’d been with the widow, it would make even more of a mess of her emotions. Besides, she needed to stay out of the clan members’ problems and concentrate on her mission. Too bad her heart continually ignored that.
“Diana, can ye help me with this?”
She looked over to find Nessa balancing too many loaves of bread and quickly divested her of a few. She was too involved in too many clan issues. She had to stay focused and somehow ignore the laird.
Yeah, right.