Three days later the tears had dried, but Christina was still smarting from her husband’s blunt set-down. The injustice outraged her. How could he speak to her so harshly? Everything she’d done since arriving here had been to try to please him—even using wanton attempts to please him in bed. One minute they were sharing the most sensual experience of her life, doing erotic, wicked things that she could never have imagined. In those moments, she’d never felt closer to anyone. The next he was firmly putting her in her place. Distancing himself. Shutting her out. Making her feel like a shameless harlot for attempting to win him with her body.
Was passion all he was going to ever give her?
It certainly seemed that way.
She’d dreamed of so much more. If he would just open up a little, she knew it could be wonderful. He was so alone; he needed a little warmth in his life. But it was like trying to chip stone with a needle of bone—exhausting, and doomed to failure.
To Hades with him. The flash of anger surprised her. But if this was how it was going to be—if passion was all he would give her—she was going to take it and find a way to eke out a little happiness for herself.
And that didn’t include sharing him with Lady Janet.
Despite his warning, Christina could not let it go. He’d thought her a jealous, silly girl, which was appropriate, because that’s exactly how she felt. And her jealousy continued to fester with each day he was gone.
Of course it didn’t help that Lady Janet was absent as well. Curse him, what was she supposed to think?
If it weren’t for Brother John, she would have gone mad. He seemed to welcome her company as much as she did his, and they’d taken to walking together around the barmkin in the morning when the weather allowed; and often, such as today, when Rhuairi was busy elsewhere, she would join him in the solar as he transcribed the seemingly endless correspondence and accounts. No matter how hard she tried, her husband’s seneschal had not warmed to her, and something about him made her uncomfortable. He’d made it quite clear that he did not think she belonged in her husband’s solar.
If he knew that she could read, he’d be even more horrified. From the surreptitious reading that she’d managed, she realized she’d had no idea about the immense amount of work that went into being chief of a large clan. From the mundane, such as fixing leaking roofs in a villager’s cottage and collecting the rents for his vast holdings, to the lawdays spent presiding over disputes between clansmen or passing judgment for far more serious crimes, her husband had a hand in it all. No wonder he was so busy. Though she couldn’t help feeling proud, it was too much for any one man to handle and made her even more determined to help. There was more to life than war and duty, if only he could see it.
She’d hoped her husband would confide in her on his own, but since he wouldn’t, she was happy to learn about him any way she could.
She was tempted to confess her ability to read and write to Brother John—he could certainly use her help—but many of the documents were confidential and she worried that he would bar her from joining him if he knew.
Besides, she wanted to tell her husband first. She’d almost done so that night when he’d caught her eating figs and reading her book, but for some reason she hesitated. It wasn’t that she thought he would react like her father, but he was a proud man, and she didn’t know whether it would matter to him if he had a wife who was more educated than he was. Still, she’d begun to wonder whether her unusual skills might be the way to help him. Maybe it would help him see her in a different way—as more than just a bedmate.
The clerk finished his story and Christina laughed at his absurd description. “I’m sure it couldn’t have been as bad as all that,” she said kindly, handing him the new quill she’s just finished sharpening.
“I assure you it was worse,” he said, taking it with a grateful nod. “I was so scared I went running out of the dormitory wearing nothing at all. When the tutor finally opened the door the next morning, let us say he was not amused.”
“Did the other boys get in trouble?”
He looked affronted. “Or course not. I swore I’d walked in my sleep and somehow the door had locked behind me. The tutor told me to sleep in my robe from then on, lest I do so again.”
“That was very magnanimous of you. Those boys were terrible to scare you in your sleep so.”
His gaze dropped back down to the piece of vellum he was working on. “Not magnanimous,” he said uncomfortably. “I was a coward. I feared what they would do to me the rest of the time if I told.” His mouth curled. “Not that my silence mattered much.”
Christina’s heart went out to him. She, too, understood the shame of being a coward. Of being forced to confront your own helplessness against a much stronger foe. She and Brother John had much in common.
She placed her hand on his and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Sometimes surviving is the bravest thing of all.” A cold shadow crossed behind her, sending a shiver down her neck. She turned, but there was no one there.
He looked at her hand for a long moment. She was just starting to feel self-conscious about the unthinking gesture when he gave her a wry smile. “Do you know, I didn’t want to go into the church?”
“Really?” She removed her hand.
He shook his head. “I had three older brothers.”
She nodded her head in comprehension. There hadn’t been much left over for a fourth son. “What did you want to do?”
He gave her an uncertain look. “To be a great knight.” Color stained his cheeks. “Like Lancelot.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you know Chrétien?”
“They are my favorite stories.”
A broad smile spread across her face. “Mine, too.”
They laughed again and spent the next hour regaling each other with the exploits of Arthur’s greatest knight, stopping only when she realized it was well past time to break their fast.
Christina returned to her room for a moment to freshen up and approached the Hall alone. Later, she was grateful no one was there to witness her shock. Brother John, she knew, already felt sorry for her being ignored by her husband, and she wouldn’t have been able to hide the tumult of emotions.
At the opposite end of the Hall, near the main entrance, she caught sight of Lady Janet surrounded by a large retinue of men. Christina’s relief that the other woman had returned alone was short-lived. The group of men shifted, revealing the formidable figure of her husband. Her heart jumped the way it always did when she saw him. Unconsciously, she took a step forward. Had he just returned?
She came to a jolting stop. If so, he appeared to be leaving, freshly bathed and dressed in a clean leine that she’d mended only yesterday.
Her heart sank like a rock, realizing he’d come back the night before and not even told her.
And he meant to leave again without saying good-bye.
Her eyes blurred, not just with hurt, but also with outrage. Past caring, she was going to march over there and demand an explanation when the gorgeous blond Amazon put a hand on his arm.
Tor covered it with his. It wasn’t the touch but the look he gave her that ripped through Christina’s heart like a jagged knife. Tender. Kind. The meager sign of affection she’d sought for weeks dispensed so effortlessly to another.
God, it hurt! Her chest burned so badly it was difficult to breathe.
She watched him leave, standing there like a witless, stunned fool. Thus she didn’t miss the look of longing in Lady Janet’s gaze as she watched him go. Longing that matched her own. The twinge of empathy was hardly welcome under the circumstances. If there had been any doubt, there was no longer: The relationship was not over—at least not for one of them.
No longer hungry, Christina stepped back, intending to return to her room. Running away. Nay. She stopped, taking a moment to compose herself. She would not tuck her tail between her legs and run. Not this time. Not to let another woman have her husband. She knew the passion they felt for each other, and even if that was all he intended to give her, she wouldn’t relinquish him without a fight.
What does she have that I don’t?
Squaring her shoulders for battle, Christina marched into the Hall and took her seat at the head of the table. Plastering a charming smile on her face, she played the gracious lady of the castle, never giving any hint that inside, her heart had been ripped to pieces.
She was aware of the other woman the entire meal, but Lady Janet seemed to not even know she existed. When Christina noticed her rising to leave, she made her move. The flash of jealousy in the other woman’s eye as she approached did much to restore Christina’s flagging confidence. They understood each other.
“Lady Janet.” The other woman gave the obligatory curtsy. “May I have a moment?”
“Of course, my lady.” Her deferential tone didn’t hide the fact that she would clearly rather not.
Christina took a deep breath and met her gaze full force. “With the Yule celebration approaching in a few weeks, I was thinking about hanging the boughs this afternoon. I know you’ve been here for many years and hoped that you might be able to help with the placement. My husband values your friendship, and I should like for us to know each other better.”
Christina had decided to slay her foe with kindness. It would be much harder for Lady Janet to continue a relationship with her husband if they were friends, wouldn’t it?
It worked. Lady Janet appeared taken aback; the friendly offer had obviously confused her. Her beautiful blue eyes shifted away uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, my lady. I can’t. Not today. There is a matter I must attend to.”
Christina clasped her hands together until her knuckles turned white. Her pride was taking a vicious beating, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Does this matter involve my husband?”
If such a question had been put to Christina, her cheeks would have flooded with color. Lady Janet’s perfectly pale and serene expression, however, betrayed absolutely nothing. She stared at Christina for a long moment, until an embarrassing flush rose to her own cheeks.
“You’re very young,” Lady Janet said, as if just realizing it herself.
Humiliated, Christina felt every year of age difference between them in the other woman’s quiet confidence. What did Lady Janet have that she didn’t? Experience and maturity with which Christina could never hope to compete.
Christina didn’t think she could feel any worse. But she was wrong.
Lady Janet’s expression changed. It was clear that she understood the hurt that lay behind Christina’s question. “Tor”—she stopped herself—“The ri tuath has many responsibilities that demand his attention.”
And Lady Janet knew what they were. Misery rose inside Christina. Tor had confided in his leman but not in his wife.
Lady Janet seemed to weigh her words carefully. “We all help when we can. There is nothing for you to worry about.”
Could this get any more humiliating? Now her husband’s erstwhile mistress was feeling sorry for her.
Mustering what pride she could, Christina forced a carefree smile to her face. If it shook, the other woman was kind enough to pretend not to notice. “Perhaps another time.”
Lady Janet nodded and turned away. Christina watched her go, doing her best not to burst into tears.
Tor lifted his sword above his head and brought it crashing down on his opponent’s thick skull.
MacSorley—Devil take him!—merely grinned. “Careful, captain,” he tisked, “or I might think you really mean to take my head off with that thing.”
Not his head, but that damned knowing smirk. Tor clenched his jaw and swung again. It was a brutal, all-out attack, one that not many men could repel. The hulking Norseman might not know when to shut his mouth, but he did know how to handle a sword. All the men were superior swordsmen; at this level only the slightest variations in skill made the difference between victory and defeat.
MacSorley blocked the blow, though he needed both hands to do so. The clash of steel reverberated through the dull, wintry air. Tor pressed down on his sword until only inches separated their faces. “Had enough?”
MacSorley was still grinning through the grimace. He shook his head. “Not just yet.” His voice was tight, every muscle straining from the effort to keep Tor’s blade from slicing him in two. He pushed back, then in a deft balance relaxed just enough to roll free of Tor’s sword. “This is too much fun.”
Tor cursed, knowing he should have anticipated the move. But he was too mad to think straight. In a battle, not concentrating could get him killed. Worse, MacSorley knew it and was using it to his advantage, taunting him to make him lose focus. Normally, he was immune to such tactics, but he was pulled as tight as MacGregor’s bowstring and the men knew it.
Tor hadn’t lost a challenge in more than ten years, and damned if he’d listen to MacSorley boast about a victory for another ten. He pushed all other thoughts from his mind, refusing to think about the restless energy building and burning inside him like a volcano ready to explode. Refusing to think about the sound of his wife’s laughter as he walked past the solar this morning. Refusing to think about the tender way she’d placed her hand over the clerk’s or how comfortable they’d looked together. A clerk, for God’s sake! For one half-crazed moment he’d actually wanted to smash his fist in the churchman’s boyish face.
MacSorley circled around, sword poised to fend off another attack. “I hope your bride forgives you soon—for all our sakes.”
A black scowl twisted Tor’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
From beneath the steel nasal helm, MacSorley smiled goadingly. “You seem a little more … tense than usual after a return from the castle. Seems reasonable to assume that your current charming temperament might have something to do with that beautiful new bride of yours. Because I can’t imagine that sweet girl hurting a midge, I figured you were to blame.”
Tor kept his anger in check—barely. But even hearing another man speak of his wife’s beauty riled him. God, he was losing his grip.
His efforts to bury himself—and his men—in work weren’t working. He couldn’t stop seeing her face when he’d left. He wasn’t used to being pushed or questioned, and he’d reacted badly. Harshly. With the blunt truth that she didn’t want to hear. Though subtlety and softening the truth were foreign to him, if he was going to have any peace of mind, he was going to have to try. Christina managed to get to him like no one else.
Being distracted was bad enough. That the men had picked up on it, and guessed the source, was worse. He attacked again, this time keeping his mind honed on the task at hand—seeing MacSorley on his arse.
The Viking fended off the blows, but Tor could see that he was tiring. He smelled victory. Perhaps MacSorley did as well, for he tried one more time. “If I had a woman like that warming my bed, I wouldn’t be spending so many nights in this cold pile of rocks. I’d be happy to take your place—”
Tor lost it. His mind went black. A fierce pounding sounded in his ears. He had the blackguard on his back, blade to his neck, before MacSorley could finish. For once, the taunting grin had been wiped clean off his face.
Blood pounded through Tor’s veins. After years of battle, the urge to kill had become instinct. They stared at each other, both breathing hard and both realizing just how badly Tor wanted to sink that blade into MacSorley’s throat. MacSorley had prodded the lion one too many times. Every muscle in Tor’s body shook with barely repressed restraint.
He fought for control and slowly found it. Sanity ebbed through the madness. His mouth fell in a hard, unforgiving line. “Anything else you’d like to say?”
For a man on the edge of death, MacSorley appeared surprisingly nonplussed. He arched a brow, but then winced as if even the small movement pained him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “I see you’ve been practicing with Boyd.” He squinted into the sun. “Bheithir, is it?” he asked, referring to the inscription on Tor’s sword. Inscriptions were meant to enhance the sword’s power. “Never been close enough to read it before. But ‘thunderbolt’ is appropriate. I feel like I’ve been hit by one.”
Tor held perfectly still, as if he’d not yet decided on McSorley’s fate. After a long pause, he pressed the tip of his blade a little deeper, holding the other man’s gaze to his. “One of these days, that glib tongue of yours is going to be your downfall.”
MacSorley grinned—reckless, given his current position. “I do not doubt it.”
Tor tossed his sword aside and reached down his hand. MacSorley grasped his arm at the elbow, and Tor helped him to his feet.
The incident had shaken him. He’d almost killed a man he considered a friend over nothing—a ribald jest the likes of which he’d heard a hundred times before in long nights around a campfire.
A handful of the other men had finished their practice and had gathered round to watch the contest. From their expressions, it was clear they’d seen enough to know that the man reputed to have ice in his veins had lost his cool. It was also clear that they didn’t quite know what to make of it.
Neither did he.
Crossing his arms, he eyed them blankly. “So who wants to go next?”
After a moment of dead silence, MacSorley started laughing. “He’s jesting, lads.” A few of the men smiled hesitantly. Defusing the tension even further, MacSorley inhaled deeply. “Unless I’m mistaken, our beautiful cook is making beef stew. And I, for one, could use a drink to go along with it.”
MacSorley’s pronouncement was all the excuse they needed, and the men started to make their way back to the broch for the midday meal. Tor had noticed the Viking’s flirting, and though he knew Janet could take care of herself, he held him back. “Leave the lass be today,” he warned.
MacSorley frowned and then gave him an odd look. “I thought …” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you still had a claim on the lass. I meant no offense. A bit of harmless flirting, that is all.”
Tor frowned. MacSorley had jumped to the same conclusion as Christina. “I’ve no claim on the lass; Janet is free to do as she pleases.” Tor thought back to earlier in the day, when he and Janet had spoken in the Hall. He’d told her to take the day off, but she’d insisted on coming. “It will help me keep my mind off it,” she’d said. “Today is a difficult day,” he explained. “Janet’s husband was killed five years ago this day.”
“Ah,” MacSorley said. “I see.”
They had turned to head toward the broch when Tor noticed that Campbell had not moved. His senses seemed fixed on something. Watching him, Tor felt a chill sweep over him. Though useful, Campbell’s uncanny ability to sense things took a bit of getting used to.
“What is it?” he asked.
Campbell met his gaze. “We’re being watched.”
From her perch high in the tree, Christina moved a branch aside to try to get a better view over the wide stretch of brown moorland to the ancient broch a few hundred yards away. She wished she could get a little closer, but not wanting to risk discovery, she’d been forced to stay back in the copse of trees for cover.
When she’d made the spur-of-the-moment decision to follow Lady Janet, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. Rather than a secret love bower, she’d apparently stumbled on to some kind of training camp.
She should have been relieved. Her fears about her husband and Lady Janet appeared to be unfounded. And at first she was, but the longer she watched, the more certain she became that something odd was going on here.
Most of the warriors were armored for war in the Highland fashion—instead of mail, wearing simple leather war coats studded with metal, leines, and terrifying Norse-looking steel nasal helms that hid most of their face. One man, however, wore a habergeon of mail, a tabard, and a more typical steel helm with a visor. She frowned. The wyvern crest looked familiar.
Though she had grown accustomed to being surrounded by tall, well-muscled men, even for Islanders this group seemed … extreme. Yet despite the helms and the plethora of prime male specimens, she’d picked out her husband right away. It wasn’t just the noble bearing that gave him away, but the authority and command emanating from him.
As she watched the men go through various training exercises from archery practice, to spear throwing, to tossing boulders, to using ropes to climb to the top of the broch, Christina began to sense that something was odd. These were no ordinary warriors.
During the boulder toss, one of the men had lifted an enormous stone that must have weighed hundreds of pounds over his head as if it were hollow. Even Tor had strained to get it off the ground. When the other warrior laughed, her husband hadn’t seemed to mind and had laughed along with him.
Although Tor was clearly in charge, depending on the task a different man would take the lead. She’d first noticed it during the archery practice, when the man who was clearly better than the others moved to the forefront and started issuing instructions.
She’d been watching for an hour or so when the men broke off into smaller groups. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she probably should be getting back. It wasn’t that long a walk back to the village, but the terrain wasn’t easy, especially in the damp.
But then she saw Tor lift his sword from the scabbard at his back and decided to stay for a while longer.
The contest started out civilly enough—as civil as swinging heavy, razor-sharp steel blades at one another can be. It was brutal, and her heart still pounded, but without the deadly edge of the battle she’d witnessed with MacRuairi, she was able to watch it without feeling as if her knees were about to buckle.
It was almost like a dance, with each man taking turns attacking and evading the two-handed swings of the blade. She squinted into the distance, thinking that there was something vaguely familiar about his opponent. But with the steel helm on, she couldn’t make out his face.
After a few minutes, Christina’s heart started to beat a little faster. The exchange of blows grew more intense, the sound of steel crashing against steel louder. Suddenly, the practice didn’t look quite so friendly. She scooted forward and had to catch herself, forgetting that she was sitting on a branch.
She gasped and blinked when, in one smooth move, Tor wrapped his leg around the other man’s, grabbed the arm that had been moving forward in a strike, and flipped him over onto his back.
In the blink of an eye, Tor had his blade at the other man’s neck. For a horrifying moment she thought he meant to run him through. It was just like before. And just like before she made a small, involuntary sound. This time, thankfully, he didn’t hear her.
She sighed with relief when he reached down to help the other man to his feet.
Eyes glued to the drama unfolding on the practice yard, she hadn’t realized that a few of the other men had gathered around to watch as well.
But she did now.
She smothered the gasp of surprise with her hand. They’d removed their helms, and even from the distance, she recognized two of the men right away. Though perhaps she should have recognized Lachlan MacRuairi before from his distinctive lazy stance. If seeing her husband’s most reviled enemy wasn’t confusing enough, it was even harder to explain the presence of an Englishman. She’d met Sir Alex only once, a few years before her father was imprisoned, but the handsome young squire was not one a young girl would soon forget. Why was her husband training one of Edward’s knights?
The man who’d been fighting Tor took off his helm. MacSorley. She should have guessed. She’d almost forgotten how MacDonald’s henchman had followed Tor’s orders to sail after Beatrix without question.
Her gaze caught on another man and it took her a moment to catch her breath. Good gracious, what a face! He was masculine perfection—a bronzed Apollo with golden caramel hair and divinely chiseled features—easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He looked like he belonged on a pedestal.
The men started to move off toward the broch and Christina figured they were breaking for the midday meal. Tor lingered for a few moments, speaking with MacSorley and another man.
What was going on here?
Her husband’s warning came back to her. Was this the trouble he spoke of? She bit her lip, suddenly having second thoughts about following Lady Janet.
Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. She’d known he might be angry but at the time hadn’t cared. Pleasing him certainly hadn’t worked, so what did she have to lose?
“Do not leave the castle unprotected.” She chewed on her lip. A little late to remember her promise now.
Suddenly anxious to return to the castle, she ventured a look toward the yard, seeing that the rest of the men had gone inside. She breathed a sigh of relief and started down the tree. It was an easy climb and she jumped down the last few feet, landing softly on the muddy, leaf-spattered ground.
Her nose scrunched up and she wished she’d worn an older pair of sturdy boots. Her light leather slippers were not made for gallivanting across the rugged Highland landscape in the winter—summer either, for that matter.
She retraced her steps through the trees, feeling better about her adventure with each stride. She might not have all the answers, but at least she knew her husband was not leaving to be with another woman. And assuming no one paid undue attention to her absence, he would never know about her wee excursion.
As she picked her way through the trees, Christina felt a prickle of disquiet. A prickle she attributed to the eerie stillness of the forest. Quickening her step, she could just make out the edge of the tree line when the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was …
Before she could turn around, she was grabbed from behind and pulled harshly against a rock-hard chest. Icy panic washed over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but he clasped a hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear, “I wouldn’t advise it, wife. Not when I have my hands so close to that lovely neck of yours.”
Her heart stopped, then jumped again. Cold and hard as steel, his voice was without mercy. Any relief she might have felt to discover that the man who held her was her husband died under the terrifying prospect of his rage.
She’d never faced the warrior who struck fear across the Highlands, but she sensed that was about to change.
The moment of shock upon discovering that it was his wife who was spying on them was replaced by almost blind rage.
Disbelief. Fear. The possibility of betrayal. The divergent threads of emotions wound together, twisting and swirling inside him in a torrential storm just waiting to be unfurled. Every inch of his body strained against the pressure. His blood pounded, his skin flared hot, his heart hammered in his ears. Only the softness of the body pressed against his and the knowledge of how easily he could crush her held him in check.
Tor met Campbell’s gaze, saw him shake his head, and knew that at least she was alone. With a sharp nod, he gave the silent order for his men to leave.
When they were gone, he flipped her around and, holding her shoulders, forced a deep breath from his lungs. He stared into her dark eyes, trying to ignore the tinge of guilt he felt to see the white imprint of his hand on her mouth and the fear in her wide gaze.
She should be scared. Very scared.
“You’d better have a damned good excuse for spying on me.”
Her eyes widened even more. “I wasn’t spying on you. How could you think that?”
He didn’t want to, but damn it, he couldn’t ignore the possibility. “Maybe it’s the fact that I find you hiding in a tree watching me. Or the fact that you followed me. Or that I instructed you to stay out of matters that do not concern you.” His jaw hardened and his gaze sharpened. “Or maybe it’s that I recall the treachery that brought us together.” She flinched as if he’d struck her. She tried to pull away, but he wasn’t done. He leaned closer, forcing her gaze to his. “Did someone ask you to follow me, Christina?”
Despite the obvious threat, her little chin jutted up. He stood a hand over six feet and outweighed her by at least double, had killed hundreds of men on the battlefield, and was one of the most feared warriors in the land, but she looked at him as if he were smaller than a midge for the mere suggestion.
“Of course not. I would never betray you.” Everything about her voice and expression said that she told the truth. “I hoped you knew by now—no matter how our marriage started—that you could trust me.”
He trusted few, and none completely. Trust got people killed. “If you are not spying for someone, then explain how you came to be here alone in a tree.”
She bit her lip, color staining her pale cheeks. “I was in the village, taking some of Cook’s honey cakes to wee Iain, who’s sick—they’re his favorite, you know”—he didn’t—“when I saw Lady Janet and decided to follow her.”
The tic at his temple throbbed. She acted as if she’d done nothing more than gone for a pleasant stroll rather than ignored every instruction he’d given her. He took a step toward her, tightening his fists, fighting for patience. “So am I to understand that the reason I find you here is because in a fit of jealousy you decided to follow the woman you thought I was bedding, even after I told you that I was not, into the countryside … alone?” His voice shook with anger. When he thought of what could have happened to her … it made him damned near lose his mind. “God’s wounds, Christina, do you know the danger you could have been in?” Many of the possible consequences flashed through his head, including an image of her with that torn gown. “You promised me you would not leave the castle without a guard.”
He’d backed her up against a tree, and because she had nowhere left to retreat with him looming over her, she nodded with an apologetic wince.
She was too close. He could smell her sweet, flowery scent, and it stirred his anger hotter. Did she always have to smell so damned good? It must be some cruel test of restraint intended to drive him half-crazed.
“You make it sound so foolish, but what else was I to think? You tell me nothing about where you are going for days on end, yet it was clear that you had confided in your leman.”
Because he was trying to protect her, damn it. He didn’t want her anywhere near this. It chilled his blood to think what danger any inadvertent knowledge of Bruce’s guard could put her in. This was treason, and the fact that she was a woman would not stop Edward of England. “Janet cooks for us, that is all. I asked her and she agreed—without asking questions.”
But Christina ignored the jibe. “What is going on out here anyway?” she asked, wrinkling her tiny nose. He shot her a warning glance that she did not heed. “Who are these men, and why are you training them in secret?”
The cold in his bones could only be described as fear. “You will return to the castle, forget everything you have seen, and never come here again. Do you understand?” He was shouting. No one made him lose control like this. She shrank back, but he took her arm and forced her to look at him. The pounding in his heart would not subside. He wanted to shake her until she listened to him. “You are to never ask me about this again.”
Only inches separated them. He’d never tried to intimidate a woman with his size, but if it made her see the seriousness, then he would do whatever he had to. By all that was holy, she should be terrified. But it seemed his wee wife trusted him more than she should. Right now, he didn’t trust himself.
A mutinous look crossed her delicate features. “Perhaps I shall ask Sir Alex,” she said, meeting his black gaze without flinching. Hell, she’d recognized the bloody Englishman. “Or Lachlan MacRuairi.” She gave him a coy smile. “He said if I ever needed—”
Tor snapped. He pulled her hard against his chest, a dark emotion washing over him. “MacRuairi is a viper. Stay away from him.”
Eyes wide, she nodded. Whatever that black emotion was, she saw it—or heard it in his voice—and fear quieted any thoughts of argument.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said, her mouth trembling. “I will never mention it again, if that is what you wish.”
He froze. What was he doing? She was looking at him as if he might strike her. God’s wounds, not all men were like her father. He would never hurt her, he only wanted to protect her. It was just that she’d made him … jealous.
But he didn’t get jealous.
His chest was so tight he couldn’t breathe. He pulled her toward him, knowing it was the only way to get relief. He couldn’t fight it. She was too close, and the temptation was too strong.
Their eyes met; he was drowning. “God, what do you want from me?”
Her eyes widened at the raw emotion in his voice. But before she could answer, he bent his head and did what he’d longed to do since almost the first moment he’d met her. With a groan, he covered her mouth with his.