by Eliza Knight
The message wasn’t from Boyd at all—but from his uncle. Though he used a cryptic code name, Vulpes, which was only Fox in Latin, there was no mistaking it, for in the message he was offering up Toran, Camdyn, and Isla in exchange for the Fraser men in the garrison. The men who Toran knew were dead. So before he’d even gone to the garrison, his uncle had been dealing behind his back?
Good God… And now those men were dead, their lives on his conscience, and his uncle would seek more than to simply hand Toran and his siblings over. He’d want them to suffer—suffer a traitor’s death.
Given that the dragoons had still been in possession of the missive, Boyd wouldn’t yet know, but it was only a matter of time before his uncle reached out again. Was that the real reason why he’d insisted on Simon coming? Not because he needed him to spy but because he wanted to give them all over to the English?
Bile rose up his throat. How could the man who’d raised him so easily betray him? With the bitter taste of it still on his tongue, he burned the missive in the torch, igniting the gutting words in hopes of erasing them from his mind, but of course they were seared there forever.
He sneaked out of the stables and stared up at the sky, hands balled into fists at his sides, nostrils flaring. Every inch of him wanted to go back into those barracks and to beat Simon until he was as bashed and bruised as Toran’s mother had been. Betrayal lanced at his insides.
But he couldn’t do that, as much as he wanted to. He had to pretend he didn’t know in order to keep his siblings safe. He muttered a string of whispered curses and then headed around the back of the castle. He needed to find a way inside that was more discreet than simply walking in the front doors. As much as he wanted to murder Simon, he still needed to find out more about Mistress J and her traitorous clan. He wasn’t quite certain what he was looking for, other than to get a better lay of the land and as many details as possible about what Jenny was up to.
The kitchen door was open, and the scent of roasting meat came through. He wandered inside to find a spit-boy dozing by the fire, a large pig on the spit that he was supposed to be turning. Several other kitchen servants slept nearby, but none stirred as he passed them by. He slipped into the darkened alcove, winding up the circular stair, feeling his way along the cold stone wall until his hand came to air, and then sliding along a stone stair and arch. At the top he found a corridor with the very faintest of light coming from somewhere.
Silently he trespassed over the rugs that covered the floor. A torch had been lit at the end of the long corridor, and he suspected this was where someone, or more someones, slept. All of the doors were closed, and when he held his ear to the wood of one, silence greeted him. The likelihood of these door hinges being as oiled as those of the barracks was not as solid. Of all the handles he checked, silently pressing on the thumb latch, only one was locked. This either meant that only one person wished to remain in perfect solitude and safety and the others were less concerned or that only one person slept on this floor.
With no clues as to the inhabitants and not wanting to risk walking in on Lady Mackintosh, Toran decided to make his way up to the third level to learn more before potentially alerting the household to his presence. This corridor was also lit with a single sconce at the end of the hall. Again, all the doors were closed and not one locked.
Bloody hell.
His hands on his hips, he stared out the glass window that overlooked the distant loch. The moon and stars glittered off the water’s surface, shining like diamonds.
The cold press of iron at the nape of his neck wrenched his mind back to the present. Someone had a pistol on him.
He raised his hands slowly in the air and started to turn.
“Dinna move. What are ye doing up here, Fraser?” Though her voice was a low whisper, there was no mistaking Jenny. Who better to be sneaking about her own castle than the infamous Mistress J?
He grinned, coming up with an easy lie. “I couldna sleep.”
“And so ye thought it best to take a stroll through the castle?”
He shrugged. “Would ye believe I got lost?”
She snorted. “Ye were spying. I knew I couldna trust ye.”
“No more than what ye were doing in the barracks.”
“So ye admit it?”
“I was looking for something, aye. Or, rather, someone. My sister.” Quick thinking on his feet. “She oft has night terrors, and I meant to check in on her.”
Jenny scoffed. “I dinna believe ye.”
“I wouldna blame ye for holding that opinion. I am all but a stranger here. But I assure ye, I mean no harm.” He turned quickly, catching her off guard.
She faltered a moment but held the pistol steady, pressing the barrel to his chest instead of his neck. “One bullet is all it would take to fell ye.”
“I dinna think so. I’ve had one afore.” And it had hurt like bloody hell. He was running at the time, and glad for it, else things could have been a lot worse.
“Ye have?”
“Aye.”
“I saw no mark of a lead ball in the barracks,” she challenged him.
When he’d been only dressed in his trews. The scars on his torso were clearly from blades. “Ye wouldna have. The mark ’tis not on my chest or back.”
“Where, then?”
Toran grinned slowly. “My arse. Want to see?”
She arched a brow then, and he would have sworn he saw a fleeting flash of interest in her eyes. “No, thank ye. Your sister is just fine. And she’s not asleep on this floor.”
“Below stairs?”
“Aye.”
“Door locked?”
“Only mine.”
“Why’s that?”
“If I had a need to get in.”
He nodded. “And the lady?”
“Ye’re standing outside my mother’s chamber now.”
He glanced toward the locked door, noting that it was dark under the door. “Then we’re in danger of being caught in the dark, in the dead of night, and ye only in your nightgown.”
Jenny glanced down then, and so did he. He took in the thin white gown, the way the shadows and light played across the fabric. The moonlit illusion toyed him into thinking he could see the faintest outline of her nipples and the thatch of curls at the crux of her thighs that he desperately wanted to slip his fingers through.
If she were to cover up, he’d protest, but he didn’t think she would. Covering herself would require taking her pistol off of him.
“Go back to the barracks,” she hissed.
“And what if I want to stay?”
“There is nothing here for ye. And there’s no bed here for ye besides.” Her eyes shuttered, as if trying to hide her thoughts, but the slight flutter of those lashes was hint enough. He would not hesitate to climb into her bed if she asked, though he’d likely wake with her blade pressed to his neck, not that he couldn’t easily disarm her as he had at the croft.
“What if I was looking for ye?” he countered.
“’Tis the dead of night.”
“Seems we keep meeting like this.”
“The first time was by accident, and now ’tis on purpose.” Jenny licked at her lower lip. “But no matter the intent, I’d still tell ye to go back to the barracks.”
He grinned, feeling a sudden rush of boldness. “I’ll go back. If ye kiss me first.”
“What?” The harsh word came out higher than the whispers they’d been exchanging, and she glanced frantically at her mother’s door.
“Ye’d best hurry afore your mother wakes.” He stepped an inch closer, enjoying how easy it was to distract her and telling himself that was the only reason he’d suggested it.
She pushed against him with her pistol. “Ye canna command me to kiss ye.”
“Nay, I suppose ye’re right.” He wrapped his hand around the
barrel. “Ye’re Mistress J, so ye’ll have to command it of me.” Why was it so much fun to watch the play of emotions on her face?
“Ye’re talking nonsense.”
“Perhaps. ’Tis the middle of the night, and I did get my arse kicked earlier this evening.”
Her gaze roved over the swollen parts of his face. “I have it on good authority that was your own doing.” Her voice had softened, her outrage fading.
Toran let out a raspy chuckle and pushed her pistol down to her side. “Dirk has wanted to pummel me since he first saw me.”
“That is true. And so have I.”
“All right then. Instead of a kiss, how about I give ye a free shot?” He held out his arms to the sides and then tucked them behind his back to demonstrate the truth of his words.
“From my pistol?” She lined it up again.
“Your fist, lass. I’ll ask ye kindly to stop pointing your weapon at me.”
Jenny lowered her pistol and cocked her head. “’Tis clear I gain the satisfaction of having caused ye pain, but what do ye get out of it, Fraser?”
“Perhaps the satisfaction of feeling pain brought on by a beautiful lass barely clothed.” Good God, why did he have to point out the state of her undress—again—and why did he so badly want her to touch him, even if with a fist?
Her mouth fell open at his comment. “I am more clothed now than ye were in the barracks.”
“Well, if ye wish to take off your nightgown to even the score, by all means I’ll not stop ye.” His gaze roved over her chest and the outlines of her breasts against the linen. Perhaps Dirk had hit him harder than he’d realized, for he’d nearly forgotten how much he was supposed to hate her.
“Ye’re a rogue.”
“Aye, verra likely.” He lifted his gaze to hers.
“I’ll nay be kissing ye, and I’ll nay be hitting ye, either. Though I want to desperately.”
“Och, lass, I want ye to as well.” And he didn’t mean the latter.
Ballocks, but he was in serious trouble…
* * *
Go back to bed.
The words shouted in her head, demanding she heed them, but Jenny’s bare feet remained rooted to the floor. She’d been lying awake in bed and had gotten up to splash water on her face when a shadow had moved beneath her door.
Jenny had opened her door a crack when the shadow departed and watched him as he checked each door handle in the corridor. His footsteps were silent, and even the press of his thumb against her door handle had been quiet. She’d slipped out as silently as he had done once he’d gone up the stairs. She had followed. Toran wasn’t the only one who could be silent. She’d watched him check each door and snuck up behind him as he’d stared out over the moors and Cnàmhan Loch, the same way she’d done a thousand times.
He had no weapon drawn and didn’t seem to be in any hurry. So, while he was currently sneaking through her castle, she didn’t think he did it with intent to harm. Not in the moment, anyway. If he were spying, as she suspected, whatever information he passed on would put them all in danger.
But she hadn’t counted on the danger he posed to her senses, even knowing the threat he posed to her world.
She was too close to him, barely clothed. He was right, no matter how much she argued, that she was barely dressed. Her night rail was thin, the linen fine. If he were to tug on it, the delicate fabric would rend in two. Already a draft from the cracks in the window wound its way around her legs, circling up over her calves and thighs, pressing against her buttocks and the heated apex of her thighs. Her nipples were hard, and if the very faint light of the torch behind him were brighter, she was certain he would see the pebbled nubs jutting against the white fabric.
Worse still, she wanted to kiss him, to hit him, at the same time. It was utter madness, that was all there was to it. To feel what it was like when lips were pressed together in passion. To feel that desire she’d seen on the face of the woman in the drawing she’d found in the satchel. To hit him for making her think these thoughts, for wanting him. Men, desire, all the things that came with it—none of those were in the cards for Jenny, as much as she might want some part of that world. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The cost was too great, the cause too much a part of her. The prince’s importance, getting the redcoats out of their lands, it was all so much more important than settling down to familial discourse or even succumbing to a moment of rapture.
Desires of the flesh were a distraction.
Hadn’t she noticed that already? Every look he gave her. The very sight of him. The feel of him. His scent. All of it had her turning her head toward him like her hound on a bone. She wanted him, aye, to devour him whole. She wasn’t even certain what all those feelings meant or the various ways in which people could do such a thing. But licking him, holding him tight to her body, it sounded so very wicked and so very delicious.
And judging from the intensity of his blue stare, he was thinking much the same things. There was promise in his wicked eyes—promise of delights she could only imagine—and it made her tingle all the more.
Jenny swallowed hard, knowing full well that her silence spoke volumes and yet unable to make her tongue work. Her throat was tight, her body tighter.
“Lass…” Toran inched closer, and she was powerless to step back, couldn’t make her feet move. “Dinna look at me like that.” His voice was guttural, filled with the same hunger she felt deep in her core.
What was one kiss?
Nay! She couldn’t. And then she worried… Could he tell she wanted him desperately?
“I…” She cleared her throat, backing away from his advancing steps.
He reached for her, the backs of his fingers stroking over her cheek in a touch that was whisper soft. It sent another volley of shivers racing up her spine. Her hardened nipples tingled, and a place deep inside pulsed with need.
“Dinna come any closer,” she managed, knowing that if he did she would give in. She wanted to, maybe just once, to feel what it was like.
“Why?” Toran asked, startling her from her internal thoughts.
Why indeed…
“’Tis not decent,” she managed.
He grinned at her as though amused. “The lass who traipses across the countryside in trews, who snuck up on me in a nightgown with her pistol pressed to my heart, is worried over decency? Ye amaze me.”
The words could have been mocking, especially coming from him, but instead, in that moment and in his tone, the words were overlaid with admiration. Her throat went dry.
“I’ve never met another like ye, Mistress J. And I can see now why men follow ye.”
The words were meant as a compliment, she was certain, and yet she could hear how quickly they dropped off from what else he meant to say. What was it? Dare she imagine that he would follow her too?
“Tell me what ye were looking for up here,” she commanded. “The truth this time.”
“Ye.”
He didn’t hesitate when he said it, and given the expression on his face as the words came out, she wasn’t the only one surprised.
“Why?”
Toran shook his head, ran a hand through his wild hair. “I canna say.”
“Ye dinna seem like a man who acts without conviction.”
“Ye’re correct.” His gaze met hers then. “Ye distract me from myself.”
Was this another ploy? Was she going to find herself pinned to the floor again, him having disarmed her of her pistol?
“In another life,” he began, his gaze raking hotly over her. “In another life, I’d have taken ye to bed by now.”
“In another life, I’d have pulled the trigger.”
With a chuckle, he reached forward to tug lightly at a lock of her white-gold hair. “I’d not let ye kill me, lass, but I might have let ye wound me, if only to—” He stopped himself abr
uptly, and she was glad for it.
Because she was swaying closer. “I might have let ye,” she answered and then firmly took a step back and then another, putting distance between them until she was half a dozen feet away. She whirled on her heel, running toward the stairs, not caring if he stayed inside the castle or not. She only needed to get away from him. Away from the intensity, the thickness of the air.
When she reached her chamber door, she paused, looking over her shoulder to see him still standing in the archway. One crook of her finger and she knew he’d follow her into her bedchamber, lay her down on the mattress, and show her exactly all the things she desired.
And she’d let him.
So instead of breaking her promise to herself, her vow to her country, Jenny shoved through her door, shut it firmly, and locked it tight. As she did so, she knew that she was locking herself in rather than locking him out.
Nine
Jenny rose before the sun, if you could call it rising after the sleepless night she’d endured. She wished she could simply tell her mother she was wearing trews, but instead, she got herself laced into her stays and into the wool gown with the small side hoops beneath that made her hips look wider than they already were.
“Loosen my stays a touch, Sarah, I’m feeling too confined today.” Her skin was still hot from her encounter with Toran the night before, her stomach too unsettled. Wearing anything even the least bit snug was a new kind of torture.
“Aye, my lady,” Sarah said with sleep still in her voice.
“I’m sorry for rousing ye so early.” Jenny had not been able to fall asleep after escaping Toran. She’d lain awake in bed tossing and turning until she couldn’t take it anymore. When the clock on the mantel above her hearth chimed half past four, she’d decided enough was enough and risen, though she hadn’t roused Sarah until five.
