To Tame a Highland Warrior (32 page)

Jillian St. Clair was marrying Quinn de Moncreiffe. He’d cursed furiously. How long had she waited? Two days? He hadn’t slept that night, consumed by a rage so violent that it had threatened to release the Berserker without any bloodshed to bring it on.

The rage had only intensified, goading him to Occam’s back, sending him in circles around the Highlands. He’d ridden to the edge of Caithness, turned around, and come back, ripping down banns all the way, ranging like a maddened beast from Lowland to Highland. Then he turned around again, compelled to Caithness by a force beyond his understanding, a force that reached into the very marrow
of his bones. Grimm tossed his braids out of his face and growled. In the forest nearby, a wolf responded with a mournful howl.

He’d had the dream again last night. The one in which Jillian watched him turn Berserk. The one in which she laid her palm against his chest and looked into his eyes and they connected—Jillian and the beast. In his dream, Grimm had realized the beast loved Jillian as deeply as the man, and was just as incapable of ever harming her. In the light of day, he no longer feared that he might hurt Jillian, not even with the threat of his da’s madness. He knew himself well enough to know that not even in the wildest throes of Berserkergang could he harm her.

But in his dream, as Jillian had searched his blazing, unholy eyes, fear and revulsion had marked her lovely features. She’d extended a hand palm out to stay him, begging him to go far away as quickly as Occam could carry him.

The Berserker had made a pathetic sound while the man’s heart slowly iced over, cooler than the ice-blue eyes that had witnessed so much loss. In his dream, he’d fled for the cover of darkness to hide from her horrified gaze.

Once Quinn had asked him what could kill a Berserker, and now he knew.

A thing so slight as the look on Jillian’s face.

He’d woken from the dream filled with despair. Today was Jillian’s wedding, and if dreams were portents, she would never forgive him for what he was about to do should she ever uncover his true nature.

But need she ever know?

He would hide the Berserker inside him forever if necessary. He would never again save anyone, never fight, never view blood; he would never reveal himself. He would live as a mere man. They would stop at Dalkeith, where the
Hawk stored a considerable fortune for Grimm, and, with enough gold to buy her a castle in any country, they would flee far from the treacherous McKane and those who knew his secret.

If she would still have him.

He knew what he was about to do was not the honorable thing, but truth be told, he no longer cared. God forgive him—he was a Berserker who likely suffered his da’s madness somewhere in his veins, but he could not stand by and permit Jillian St. Clair to wed another man while he still lived and breathed.

Now he understood what she’d known instinctively, years ago, the day he’d stepped out of the woods and stood looking down at her.

Jillian St. Clair was his.

The hour was approaching noon and he was no more than three miles from Caithness when he was ambushed.

Y
E GODS
!
J
ILLIAN DRIFTED BACK FROM HER WANDERING
thoughts, alarmed. The pudgy priest was almost to the “I do” part. Jillian craned her neck, searching frantically for her father, with no success. The Greathall was crammed to overflowing; guests angled up the staircase, hung over the balustrade, and were stuffed into every nook and cranny.

Fear gripped her. What if her mother had made up the story of her father’s plan merely as a ruse to get her to stand up in front of the crowd? What if her mama had deliberately lied, wagering that once they got to the vows, Jillian wouldn’t have the nerve to dishonor her parents and Quinn, not to mention herself, by refusing to wed him?

“If there are any here today who know some reason why these two should remain separate, speak now or forever haud yer wheesht.”

The hall was silent.

The pause stretched over the length of several heartbeats.
As it lengthened intolerably into minutes, people began to yawn, shuffle their feet, and stretch impatiently.

Silence.

Jillian puffed at her veil and peeked at Quinn. He stood ramrod straight beside her, his hands clasped. She whispered his name, but either he didn’t hear or he refused to acknowledge it. She peered at the priest, who seemed to have fallen into a trance, gazing at the bound volume in his hands.

What on earth was going on? She tapped her foot and waited for her da to say something to bring this debacle to a screeching halt.

“I said, if there are any here who see some reason …” the priest intoned dramatically.

More silence.

Jillian’s nerves stretched to breaking. What was she doing? If her da wouldn’t rescue her, to hell with him. She refused to be cowed by fear of scandal. She was her father’s daughter, by God, and he’d never genuflected to the false idol of propriety. She puffed at her veil, flipped it back impatiently, and scowled at the priest. “Oh, for goodness’ sake—”

“Don’t get snippy with me, missy,” the priest snapped. “I’m just doing my job.”

Jillian’s courage was momentarily quaffed by his unexpected rebuke.

Quinn caught her hand in his. “Is something wrong, Jillian? Are you feeling unwell? Your face is flushed.” His gaze was full of concern and … sympathy?

“I—
can’t marry you”
is what she started to say when the doors to the Greathall burst open, crushing several unsuspecting people against the wall. Her words were swallowed in the din of indignant squeals and yelps.

All eyes flew to the entrance.

A great gray stallion reared up in the doorway, its breath frosting the air with puffs of steam. It was a scene from every fairy-tale romance she’d ever read: the handsome prince bursting into the castle astride a magnificent stallion, ablaze with desire and honor as he’d declared his undying love before all and sundry. Her heart swelled with joy.

Then her brow puckered as she scrutinized her “prince.” Well, it was almost like a fairy tale. Except this prince was dressed in nothing but a drenched and muddy tartan with blood on his face and hands and war braids plaited at his temples. Although determination glittered in his gaze, a declaration of undying love didn’t appear to be his first priority.

“Jillian!” he roared.

Her knees buckled. His voice brought her violently to life. Everything in the room receded and there was only Grimm, blue eyes blazing, his massive frame filling the doorway. He was majestic, towering, and ruthless.
Here
was her fierce warrior ready to battle the world to gain her love.

He urged Occam into the crowd, making his way toward the altar.

“Grimm,” she whispered.

He drew up beside her. Sliding from Occam’s back, he dropped to the floor next to the bride and groom. He looked at Quinn. The two men gazed at each other a tense moment, then Quinn inclined his head the merest fraction and stepped back a pace. The Greathall hushed as five hundred guests stood riveted by the unfolding spectacle.

Grimm was at a sudden loss for words. Jillian was so beautiful, a goddess clad in shimmering satin. He was
covered with blood, mud-stained and filthy, while behind them stood the incomparable Quinn, impeccably attired, titled and noble—Quinn, who had all he lacked.

The blood on his hands was a relentless reminder that despite his fervent vows to conceal the Berserker, the McKane would always be there. They’d been lying in wait for him today. What if they attacked when he was traveling with Jillian? Four had escaped him. The others were dead. But those four were trouble enough—they would round up more men and continue hunting Grimm until either the last McKane was dead, or he was. Along with anyone traveling with him.

What could he hope to accomplish by taking her now? What fool’s dream had possessed him to come here today? What desperate hope had convinced him he might be able to hide his true nature from her? And how would he survive the look on her face when she saw him for what he really was? “I’m a bloody fool,” he muttered.

A smile curved Jillian’s lip. “Yes, that you’ve been on more than one occasion, Grimm Roderick. You were most foolish when you left me, but I do believe I might forgive you now that you’ve come back.”

Grimm sucked in a harsh breath. Berserker be damned, he had to have her.

“Will you come with me, Jillian?”
Say yes, woman
, he prayed.

A simple nod was her immediate response.

His chest swelled with unexpected emotion. “I’m sorry, Quinn,” Grimm said. He wanted to say more, but Quinn shook his head, leaned close, and whispered something in Grimm’s ear. Grimm’s jaw tensed, and they stared at each other in silence. Finally Grimm nodded.

“Then you go with my blessing,” Quinn said clearly.

Grimm extended his arms to Jillian, who slipped into his embrace. Before he could succumb to the urge to kiss her senseless, he tossed her on Occam’s back and mounted behind her.

Jillian scanned the worried faces around her. Ramsay was gazing at Grimm with a shocking amount of hatred in his eyes, and she was momentarily flustered by the intensity of it. Quinn’s expression was a blend of concern and reluctant understanding. She finally spotted her da where he stood with her mother a dozen feet away. Elizabeth’s face was grim. Gibraltar held her gaze a moment, then nodded encouragingly.

Jillian leaned back into Grimm’s broad chest and gave a small sigh of pleasure. “I would live any kind of life I had to live, so long as I lived it with you, Grimm Roderick.”

It was all he needed to hear. His arms tightened around her waist, he kneed Occam forward and together they fled Caithness.

“Now that’s my idea of how a man takes a woman to wife,” Gibraltar observed with satisfaction.

T
HEY RODE HARD UNTIL EARLY EVENING, WHEN
G
RIMM
drew Occam to a stop in a copse of trees. Upon leaving Caithness, he’d tugged a plaid from his pack and secured it tightly around Jillian’s body, forming a nearly waterproof barrier between her and the elements.

He hadn’t uttered a word since then. His face had been so grim that she’d kept her silence, allowing him time and privacy to muddle through his thoughts. She’d nestled back against him, contentedly savoring the press of his hard body against hers. Grimm Roderick had come for her. While such an inauspicious beginning might not be the perfect way to start a life together, it would do. For Grimm Roderick to steal a woman from her wedding, he must intend to care for her the rest of her life, and that’s all she’d ever desired—a life with him.

By the time he drew Occam to a halt, the freezing rain had abated but the temperature had plummeted. Winter was encroaching, and she suspected they were headed
directly for the Highlands, where the chill winds gusted with twice the vigor as in the Lowlands. She clutched the plaid snugly around her, sealing out the cold air.

Grimm dismounted, lowered her from the saddle, and held her for a moment. “God, I missed you, Jillian.” The words exploded from him.

She tossed her head, delighted. “What took you so long, Grimm?”