Jessie was too worried to laugh. MacBain and his men remained sullen and kept to themselves at the end of one table. They often had their heads together, no doubt planning some sort of revenge against Torrin.
"You're quiet," Torrin said beside her.
"Are you not concerned that MacBain might stab you in the back when you least expect it? You embarrassed him, and he's likely to seek revenge."
"I'm ever vigilant, and I have good bodyguards." He glanced at the two men standing behind him.
That was all well and good, but 'twas doubtful he could have two bodyguards with him every moment. And what if MacBain and his men attacked at a time when Torrin was outnumbered?
"I'm truly flattered and honored that you're so worried about my safety, m'lady," Torrin said.
Warmth spread over her. "I simply don't want any bloodshed here at Dunnakeil."
Lifting a brow, he gave her a charming, lopsided grin, obviously seeing through her lie.
She focused on eating and pretended to ignore him, but her awareness of him grew more acute with each passing moment, just as the struggle within her grew more annoying. Of a certainty, he was attractive, but was he a good man or a malicious man?
Jessie excused herself and slipped away to the kitchen. Aside from Torrin making her tense, the great hall was too loud, and now Aiden was playing his pipes, which sometimes screeched at her nerves. She simply craved calmness and quiet, the splash of the sea's waves and the wind rustling through the grasses.
While the men were eating tarts, drinking ale, and listening to Aiden's music, she slipped out the kitchen door, through the postern gate, then hurried down to the golden sand beach. One of her knees was black and blue from her fall the day before, but walking did not pain her.
How much longer would the
MacBains
and the
MacLeods
remain at Dunnakeil? She was sick of them vying for her attention. She had been as cold as possible to MacBain, but naught dissuaded him. Short of insulting him and telling him to leave, she had little recourse.
As for Torrin, she could not decide how she felt about him. Every time his green gaze caught hers, something mysterious passed between them. His eyes and faint, enigmatic smiles told her he was a sensual devil. Sometimes she imagined what his lips might feel like on hers. One part of her hated such musings, while another was fascinated by the idea.
She stopped and gazed out over
Balnakeil
Bay. The sunset was a blend of yellow and orange with wee traces of red at the edges. Incredibly beautiful. She smiled, then imagined Torrin standing beside her, admiring it. She shook her head, ousting that daft thought from her mind. He created too many conflicting feelings within her. She didn't understand him. On the one hand, he seemed like a good man, honest, protective, but on the other, she knew what she'd seen all those years ago. It was him who'd chased
Lyall
and killed him. Of course,
Lyall
had a sword, but '
twould
have been clear to anyone he didn't have a chance against the taller and stronger MacLeod, who'd had no mercy on him, even after he'd disarmed him.
Every time she remembered what she saw, horrid, gruesome feelings overtook her… which did not now fit with the Torrin she had gotten to know over the past few days.
On the beach, she strode toward the cliffs and headland, trying to walk off the tension and confusion.
Faraid
Head, where Dirk had almost been murdered many years ago, was two miles out. She never walked that far; the high cliffs made her dizzy. The beach here at
Balnakeil
Bay was far more pleasant. She also loved the beach at Sango Bay with its huge boulders jutting from the sand and would sometimes walk the two miles there to spend a few hours when no one would miss her. With so many guests about now, that was impossible to do.
A thump sounded behind her in the dunes. She turned, seeing naught but the long green beach grasses blowing in the wind. The waves crashing and sliding onto shore with the incoming tide covered most sounds. Sea birds were always about, screeching. The thumping sound could've been a red stag stamping his huge foot. Sometimes she saw them or their tracks on the beach.
How she missed her sweet old deerhound at times like this. Ossian had died just over a month ago. He had been her constant companion, especially anytime she went outside. In truth, she missed him all the time for he'd been a good friend since she'd returned from the
Keiths
years ago. Certainly more trustworthy than any potential husband she'd ever met.
Few people here at Dunnakeil knew she'd been betrothed when she'd been staying with the
Keiths
the summer she was eighteen. Of course, her father had approved and signed the documents, but when the groom had run off the night before the wedding, hardly anyone spoke of it afterward.
Was something wrong with her? Was that why men deserted her? Nay. They were all daft sheep. She had no use for any of them. To her, a husband would be like a noose around her neck. Strangling. And then he would kick the block from beneath her feet, leaving her hanging while he ran after some other woman.
She continued forward, past her brother's galleys, their polished wooden hulls gleaming in the golden light of sunset. Where were Dirk, Isobel, Keegan, and the rest of their party now? She had truly not wanted to travel south with them, mainly because she knew they were going to stop at
Torrin's
keep. But now he was here, which was worse, and he didn't seem inclined to leave anytime soon.
Every time she looked into his eyes, things whirled around inside her like mad. Not just fear, but also attraction. Aye, she'd been highly aware from the evening she met him that she found him physically appealing. But that couldn't change what she'd seen him do all those years ago. Had he murdered anyone else since then?
Running footsteps approached, thumping across the sand. Her heart vaulting into her throat, she yanked her dirk from the scabbard at her waist and turned. Four men charged her, surrounding her.
MacBain's
men.
"Stay back!" She forcefully slashed her weapon at the closest one. He jumped back, but two more rushed her from the left. She stabbed the blade at one of them, but missed when he leapt out of the way. The other grabbed her arms from behind.
"Let go of me, you bastard!" Still having some movement, she spun the dirk in her hand and jabbed her weapon backward into his gut.
He howled into her ear and shoved her away. "The bitch stabbed me! Grab her dagger!"
She kicked the man in front of her in the groin, sending him sprawling backward and slashed at the next man to approach. She cut his sleeve and he scuttled away.
"Where is that cowardly MacBain?" she yelled. Was he so afraid of her he would send in all his men and remain hidden himself?
Surprising her, another man grasped her knife hand in a strong grip, twisted it behind her back and squeezed her wrist. Pain shot through her arm. She swung her leg around behind, hoping to hook it behind his knee and knock him off his feet, but she missed.
"Bastard! Unhand me!" Grinding her teeth in determination, she held onto her dirk. But the pain in her arm became overwhelming. "Nay!" She could hold the weapon no longer and it dropped to the sand. She screamed and yelled, hoping to alert the MacKay guards posted on the ramparts.
"Calm down, sweet Jessie."
'Twas
Gregor
MacBain's
unnerving voice. He came around from the right and stopped in front of her. One of his men still held her restrained.
"You bastard! What do you want from me?" she growled.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I but want to marry you so we may have a lifetime of happiness." He gave her a broad smile which was clearly false.
"Do you think this is going to cause me to want to marry you? Nay, just the opposite."
"A lot of men kidnap their future wives. It has a long history of success in the Highlands," he said, his grin now smug.
"Not here. All you want is my dowry, and the land my brother will give you. You don't care one whit about me."
"Now, you ken that is not true, m'lady. I care a great deal about you," he said in a placating tone.
She knew he was lying, for he'd only shown up again after he'd gotten wind of her increased dowry. Why had Dirk done that? Did he want her married off so badly to whoever was greediest? That was the same reason Torrin had come. He was land-hungry, too. Although 'haps not as much as MacBain.
"Come quietly and no one will be harmed." MacBain glanced over his shoulder, toward the castle. "Bring her to the horses," he told the man restraining her.
MacBain led them between the sand dunes, the high grasses providing extra cover from anyone who might be watching from the castle's battlements.
She screamed again as loud as possible. "Help! Help me!"
"Be quiet," MacBain said through clenched teeth. "You leave me no choice." He dragged a handkerchief from inside his doublet.
"Nay!" She shoved her knee upward into his groin.
"
Umph
!" He doubled over clutching at his stones which she had hopefully smashed into dust.
She tried to twist from the other man's grip, but his hands only tightened on her wrists.
Raising up, MacBain slapped her hard across the face. "You witch! Don't you ever do that to me again."
Pain sliced through her cheek. One thing he could be certain of—if he forced her to marry him, she would soon be a widow, for she would kill him.
"Edward! Help him hold her," he commanded.
MacBain's
two men held her firmly in place while MacBain tied the gag through her mouth. Ugh! It tasted salty with his sweat. Gagging and coughing, she bent forward, hoping she didn't actually vomit.
"Bring her this way," MacBain said.
She pretended to comply for a couple of minutes. When she felt her captor's hands loosen a tiny bit around her wrists, she elbowed him in the stomach and yanked her arms. One of her wrists slipped from his grip. She wrenched away from him and ran through the dunes, her feet digging into the soft sand.
"Capture her!" MacBain ordered.
Tugging off the disgusting gag and throwing it, she raced through the grasses and gorse bushes, thorns tearing at her clothing and skin, leaving burning scratches. Her right foot sank deep into the sand. She stumbled and fell to her knees.
Blast!
"Ha!" One of the men on her heels grasped her
arisaid
from the back. "Got you, lass."
She slid her hand to her ankle and pulled the small
sgian
dubh
hidden there from the sheath. She turned and stabbed his shoulder.
"
Ow
! Bitch!"
Two more men joined him, tackling her to the ground, almost crushing her beneath their combined weight. One yanked the knife from her hand.
"Get off me!"
"Don't force us to hurt you," MacBain warned, standing somewhere over her while the others held her face-down, the sand cutting into her cheek. She wanted to hurt him. Badly.
"Release me! I refuse to marry you. You cannot force me."
"Aye, indeed, I can." He chuckled. "I only need tell the minister we were in a trial marriage which was consummated. You ken how they hate those trial marriages and want them made legal and binding in the eyes of God as soon as possible."
"That makes no difference." She kicked at one of the men. "No minister would agree that this sort of abuse is allowed."
"I'm not abusing you. Only disciplining my disobedient wife. You're the one hurting yourself by fighting us. Tie her hands and her ankles and carry her to the horses."