The Rebel Wears Plaid

by Eliza Knight

  He told himself that he was keeping busy to gain the favor and trust of the men. But in truth, he was avoiding Jenny. She was also the reason behind his lack of sleep. Every moment that passed, he questioned more and more whether she could have truly been involved in his mother’s death. She was obviously able to defend herself, but cold-blooded murder now seemed beyond her. Even condoning it. She was so protective of everyone within her clan and each of her rebels. Until he found out the truth, it was probably best he didn’t keep enjoying her company. The more distance he put between them, the better.

  The problem was he genuinely liked her. It went way beyond the desire to press her hot body to his and toss them both down onto the nearest surface where he could give her screaming pleasure. Nay, he liked her passion, her determination, her strength, her humor. The lass had already surprised him in so many ways, and, damn it, but he admired her too.

  It was no wonder the men fancied themselves half in love with her. Hell, if he spent any more time with her, he might get there himself. Jenny was beyond any man’s expectations of the perfect lass. She looked damn fine in trews or a gown or a night rail. And the way she handled a sword… Good God, it was as if his image of the ideal woman had been sent to the heavens and dangled before him as the ultimate prize. One he’d never win—because he should hate her.

  His conviction to seek his vengeance was wavering. And that was a problem. He couldn’t simply forget his mother or what she’d suffered because he was distracted by a lass.

  To make matters even more confusing, his siblings liked her too. They had found their places in the Mackintosh clan over the past few days. They were happier than he’d ever seen them before, which perplexed him. How could she possibly be so compassionate with Isla and Camdyn—with him even—if she were malicious? Even bloody Simon was smiling occasionally, which Toran was certain he’d never seen before in his life.

  Toran was supposed to hate Jenny. He was supposed to wrap his fingers around her throat and say, “Got ye,” before he snuffed out her life. And yet here he was avoiding her because he didn’t want to wrap his fingers around her throat, he wanted them around her breasts, her arse, dipping inside her warm, tight channel. He didn’t want to end her life, he wanted to enhance it. To give her pleasure and happiness. He wanted her crying out not in pain but in rapture.

  She couldn’t be guilty. That was what was eating away at him. And if she wasn’t, then who was?

  Bloody hell!

  He slammed his hands down on the stone of the wall, hoping the movement would jar him from his thoughts.

  “What is it?” Simon approached from a dozen paces away.

  “Nothing. A damned midge.” He swatted at nothing, hoping his cousin believed his lie.

  “Ye were gone an awfully bloody long time with that dolt.”

  Toran slid his cousin an irritated glance. “Did ye miss me so much?”

  “Tell me what ye did.”

  “None of your damned business.”

  Simon grunted.

  “What are ye doing here, Simon?”

  “Asking ye what ye were doing.”

  “Nay, not here as in standing in front of me but here at this castle. If ye’re here to kill me, get on with it. In fact,” Toran held out his arms to the side, “I’d like to give ye that opportunity right now. Kill me, ye slimy bastard.”

  Simon shook his head, a sneer on his lips. “I’m not going to kill ye.”

  “Nay? Ye’ll leave that to your da? To the dragoons?”

  Simon stopped smirking.

  “Punishment for getting the lot of them killed, eh?”

  Simon cocked his head. “Ye dinna know.” It wasn’t a question, and clearly Toran did not know.

  He ground his teeth, trying to form words, when the rage inside him was building up to a boiling point. But he wasn’t going to give away what he’d found in the missive. It was imperative to keep Isla and Camdyn as far away from this as possible. “Know what?”

  “They’re not dead.”

  Toran reared back. “What are ye talking about?”

  “The men at the garrison?” Simon shook his head. “They are not dead.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Ye’re a fool, just like your mama. And fools get themselves and the ones they love killed.” With that, Simon turned his back, prepared to march away, his head held high as though he’d just won some victory.

  Not so fast.

  Toran grabbed him by the shoulder, wrenched him around and slammed his fist into his face. The two of them fell to the ground, grappling with one another and landing blow after blow.

  Toran was going to kill Simon, right then and there, and be done with it. Send the body back to his darling uncle and tell him to bugger himself.

  Shouts from behind echoed in his ears, and then he was being wrenched off Simon, his blood still pounding through his veins, the need to kill strong in his fists. Dirk stood between the two of them, his fists curled into each of their shirts to hold them in place.

  “Ye’re a bloody madman,” Simon growled around Dirk, perhaps the most ironic thing Toran had heard to date.

  “Stay away from me and my family,” Toran warned, jabbing his finger toward Simon.

  “I am your family.”

  “Not anymore.” Swiping at his bleeding lip, Toran marched down the stairs and toward the barracks, wishing there was a tavern close by where he could drown his sorrows.

  “Back to your post, Toran,” Dirk ordered. “And ye, Simon, get the hell back to the barracks.”

  Simon muttered a string of nasty curses as he trudged away, but Toran refused to be moved by them.

  “Are the two of ye going to be a problem?” Dirk demanded.

  “Nay.” Any problem he had, Toran would handle it himself.

  “Mistress J will be most displeased,” Dirk warned as he disappeared to his post on the wall.

  Mistress J. Jenny Mackintosh. Mo chreach, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  Evidently no amount of time away from her was enough to lessen his interest. He dabbed the blood on his swollen lip with his thumb. When he’d met her nearly a sennight ago, he couldn’t believe his good fortune at coming face-to-face with the woman he’d always believed responsible for his mother’s brutal murder. And in all that time he’d not confronted her because a large part of him did not believe her guilty. Or was it that he didn’t want her to be?

  The thing was, he wasn’t so certain anymore. If his mother was as staunch a supporter of the prince regent as he’d believed, then perhaps her conviction had run as deep as Jenny’s. Jenny valued each man in her company. Took care of them. Hell, she’d taken care of him when he’d been a dangerous stranger. Could a woman guilty of murder still hold her clan and company so close? And why would they murder one of their own and claim them to be a traitor? Something wasn’t adding up.

  He shook his head. The evidence and testimonies presented to him thus far pointed to his mother being murdered by Jacobite rebels. It wasn’t as though his mother had sacrificed herself. That was a basketful of ballocks that needed to be burned.

  Moire’s death was Jenny Mackintosh’s fault.

  “How’s the view?”

  He whirled around at the sound of her voice behind him. No doubt she’d been informed of his fight with Simon. Toran gritted his teeth. She was so beautiful in the moonlight, silver slices dotting her eyes. The white of her teeth showed between full lips, which now parted in a genuine smile.

  “Vast.”

  She came up beside him, leaning her elbows on the stone and letting out a soft sigh as she rested her chin in her hands. “Are ye all right? I heard about your run-in with Simon.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. A little beating canna get a warrior down.”

  “’Twas not a beating.”

  S
he laughed, clearly teasing him. “I love looking at it. Our Scotland.”

  “Aye.” Why was she here? Why wasn’t he walking away?

  “To think her beauty could be marred by so much hate and violence.” The smile disappeared, and she glanced up at him, a note of sadness in the turn of her mouth. Not the mouth of a killer. Not the conscience of someone capable of such crimes.

  “’Tis a tragedy.”

  “And yet we’ve suffered it nearly a thousand years.”

  “Ye think we’ll suffer it another thousand to come?” Toran should leave. Every word out of her mouth slowly plucked away at his armor, and soon he’d be completely disarmed. And yet this was the conversation he’d been avoiding.

  She shook her head. “Nay, Prince Charlie will unite us.”

  “Ye truly believe it.”

  She glanced at him, arching a single brow. “Ye’re supposed to as well.”

  “I want to,” he confessed, watching the play of her thoughts carry across her face. “I’m not turning tail, if that’s what ye think.”

  Jenny rounded to face him, her elbow resting casually now on the stone, eyes assessing him carefully. “Are ye avoiding me?”

  Saints, but she didn’t hold anything back, did she? “Nay,” he lied.

  “Ye know your right eye squints just the barest bit when ye lie.”

  He grunted.

  “Why are ye avoiding me? No one likes night duty. Especially when they’ve been as busy as ye have during the day.”

  “I’m not avoiding ye.”

  “I’ve as much a stubborn streak as ye have, Fraser. I can go all night.”

  Dear God, dinna let her say more things that have me thinking of bedding.

  He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the center of her forehead when he really wanted to stare at her breasts. “I’m certain ye can.”

  “Will ye make me?”

  “Is that an offer?” He couldn’t help the words slipping out.

  That single, delicately arched brow rose again in question. “Ye do have a habit of propositioning me, sir.”

  This time, he let his eyes fall. Toran raked his gaze over her, taking in the way her breasts pushed up out of her dress, the shawl parted open enough to reveal just the barest hint of porcelain skin. He had to clench his fists to keep from running his fingers across the swells to see if they were as soft as he thought they might be.

  “I canna help it. Ye’re a passionate woman, Jenny.” God, he hated himself for saying it, for wanting her.

  “I have no’ given ye leave to use my given name in public.” The words in any other tone than the one she used could have been a rebuke, but spoken as low as they were, as huskily, they came off entirely different.

  “I am willing to take any punishment ye might give.”

  Her gaze moved to his lips, staring the way she had the night he’d encountered her in the corridor. There was no mistaking what she was thinking about. Mo chreach, but he wanted her to want him. At the look she was giving him, he felt his blood heat and funnel southward. The air around them thickened, as did the appendage in his trews. This was the one flaw in wearing them versus his kilt. His kilt and sporran might hide his arousal, but the breeches gave no leeway to his thickening shaft. If she were to glance down…

  “I should think ye would quite enjoy any punishment I were to mete out, meaning it was no’ a punishment at all.”

  He grinned. “’Haps.”

  “Perhaps the best punishment would be to leave ye to suffer in your brooding, sir.”

  “I suffer many things, Mistress.”

  “As I said.”

  Toran leaned forward, dragging in a lungful of her intoxicating scent. “Ye’ll kiss me one day.”

  “Upon your death, I’ll place a kiss right here.” She reached up and pressed a delicate fingertip to his forehead.

  “Will ye be the one to mete it out?”

  “Ye’re impossible.” Her lips curled with mirth.

  “Ye mean incredible.”

  “I think ye’re unique, Toran. Whether ye’re incredible has yet to be determined.”

  “In time ye will find just that.”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  He leaned against the wall more casually, not wanting her to go. “Tell me your plans.”

  She shook her head. “So forward.”

  “Come now. If I am to fight for ye, the least ye can do is tell me what I’m fighting for.”

  “Ye’re too curious for your own good. Besides, I’ve no’ shared them with everyone else. What makes ye special?”

  He leaned a few inches closer. “Does Dirk know?”

  “Will ye try to beat them out of him?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “I canna allow it.”

  “Ye’re both verra close.”

  She raised both brows at him now, a knowing smile curling her lips. “What are ye getting at, Fraser?”

  She only used his surname when she was irritated or taunting him. In this moment, he thought it might be a bit of both.

  “He cares for ye a great deal.” He let all the playfulness fall from his face as he studied her, wanted to know if she returned Dirk’s affection.

  “We are blood, Toran. Cousins. Like brother and sister. Like ye and Simon and Archie. We fight for the same cause.”

  “And that is all?”

  She let out a short laugh. “Ye want to know if we’re lovers.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  Fine, he’d be honest if it would gain him an honest answer from her. “Aye. I want to know.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, a sign she was closing off to him. “Perhaps that is none of your business.”

  “Ye’re right, ’tis no’. But I still want to know.”

  “And if he is?” She cocked her head.

  “Then I’ll challenge him.”

  “For what? A place in my bed?” She stiffened, and he sensed he was losing her.

  “No’ if that’s who ye’d prefer.”

  Her frown deepened, and he regretted his line of questioning immediately. Jealousy was not attractive on anyone, and it didn’t suit him at all. “I’m sorry, lass. I take it back.”

  “Ye canna take back that which is already spoken.”

  “I can try.”

  “Listen well, Fraser. Dirk is my cousin, my second-in-command, and my dear friend. I love him like a brother. I would kill for him, and he the same for me. I have no lover, and I dinna intend to take one. I am fighting for my country, and I have no time for distractions of any kind, especially no’ from ye.” She whirled around then, giving him her back as she stomped away, her gown swishing in short bursts that seemed to mirror her irritation.

  “Those are words ye may wish to take back some day, Mistress, and then ye will see what I mean,” he grumbled under his breath.

  He could sense the whip of her anger in the air. He didn’t doubt she was thumbing her nose at him as she moved out of sight.

  Toran turned to face out over the wall, irritated at himself for making her angry, for not grilling her about his mother.

  Mo chreach, the fire in her was mesmerizing and clearly made him forget himself. And he was pleased to have found out that she was not falling into Dirk’s arms every night. She might love the man like a brother, but it was plenty obvious to anyone with eyes that Dirk felt quite a bit differently.

  “She might slit your throat while ye’re sleeping, Fraser. Be careful.” The called warning came from another soldier on watch duty, followed by a snort of laughter and every other warrior within hearing distance laughing their bloody arses off.

  Though they jested, Toran didn’t doubt they were right. Probably why he wasn’t ready to confront her, to find out that she might actually be capable of murder.
And yet that very thought just didn’t sit right with him. Toran believed himself to be an excellent judge of character, and there was nothing in Jenny that made him think she could be guilty of any heinous crimes, especially what was done to his mother.

  The lass was all fire and ice, aye, but not evil. Holy hell, he wanted to melt her and douse her in wet heat at the same time.

  And blast it all, he’d been so distracted he’d not told her what he and Dirk had found.

  Twelve

  Jenny shouldn’t have gone up to the wall. She should have let the idiot keep on brooding as he’d been wont to do the past several nights, but she couldn’t help it. When she heard about the sudden brawl between him and his broody cousin, her feet had moved of their own accord. And she was halfway up the stairs before she’d even realized exactly what it was she was doing.

  Blast it!

  Seeing him standing there, staring out over the land, she had found it an effort not to run her fingers over his swollen eye, to wipe the droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth. Luckily for her, the man had the ability to make her temper flare as much as he made her desire ignite. What was she to do with him?

  And what the bloody hell was that line of questioning?

  Dirk? Her lover?

  She’d been considering allowing Toran to kiss her, dragging him into bed before they went off to war. It would have just been to assuage the want and in the hope it would keep her from thinking about him when the enemy was closing in, but the arrogance! Oh, she wanted to slap him. She wanted to punish him. And they were both right; the perfect punishment for him was for her to walk away and leave him there. Except it was a heady punishment for her too, one she wasn’t certain she’d survive.

  Toran was jealous.

  The notion struck her so hard, Jenny stopped short in her steps and stifled a gasp.

  All the feelings and emotions she’d been battling he must have also been… She shook her head and kept marching forward. This was ridiculous.