The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  “My name is Grimm.”

  “How do you plan to be explainin’ the name on the banners to your wife?” Ronin asked.

  “She’s not my wife,” Grimm evaded. He hadn’t figured that out yet.

  “What?” Outraged, Ronin nearly rose to his feet in the stirrups. “You’ve brought a woman here in dishonor? No son of mine cavorts with his mate without offerin’ her the proper union.”

  Grimm buried his hands in his hair. His world had gone mad. This was the most absurd conversation he could recall holding. “I haven’t had the time to marry her yet! I only recently abducted her—”

  “Abducted her?” Ronin’s nostrils flared.

  “With her consent!” Grimm said defensively.

  “I thought there was a wedding at Caithness,” Ronin argued.

  “There nearly was, but not to me. And there will be one as soon as I can. Lack of time is the only reason she’s not my wife. And you”—he pointed furiously at Ronin—“you haven’t been a father to me for fifteen years, so doona think you can start acting like one now.”

  “I haven’t been a father to you because you wouldn’t come home!”

  “You know why I wouldn’t come home.” Grimm spoke furiously, his eyes blazing.

  Ronin flinched. He drew a deep breath, and when he spoke again he seemed deflated by Grimm’s anger. “I know I failed you,” he said, his eyes brimful of regret.

  “Failed me is putting it lightly,” Grimm muttered. He was badly thrown off balance by his da’s response. He’d expected the old man to rage right back, maybe attack him like the batty bastard he was. But there was genuine regret in his gaze. How was he supposed to deal with that? If Ronin had raged back, he could have released his pent-up anger by fighting with him. But Ronin didn’t. He simply sat his horse and gazed sadly down at him, and it made Grimm feel even worse.

  “Jillian is ill,” Grimm said gruffly. “She needs a warm place to stay.”

  “She’s ill?” Balder trumpeted. “By Odin’s spear, lad, did you have to wait until now to say the most important thing?”

  “Lad?” The way Grimm uttered the single word made his threat clear.

  But Balder was unruffled. His mouth twisted with a sneer. “Listen up, son of the McIllioch, you doona frighten me. I’m far too old to be put off by a young pup’s growl. You won’t let me call you by your God-given name, and I refuse to call you that ridiculous appellation you’ve chosen, so it’s either goin’ to be ‘lad’ or it’s goin’ to be ‘arsehole.’ Which do you prefer?” The older man’s grin was menacing.

  Grimm caught himself on the verge of a faint smile. If he hadn’t been so hell-bent on hating this place, he would have liked blustering old Balder. The man commanded respect and clearly took guff from no one.

  “You can call me lad on one condition,” he relented. “Take care of my woman and keep my secret. And make sure the villagers do the same.”

  Ronin and Balder exchanged glances and sighed. “Done.”

  “Welcome home, lad,” Balder added.

  Grimm rolled his eyes.

  “Aye, welcome—” Ronin began, but Grimm raised a warning finger.

  “And you, old man,” he said to Ronin. “If I were you, I’d be giving me a lot of breathing room,” he warned.

  Ronin opened his mouth, then closed it, his blue eyes dark with pain.

  CHAPTER 30

  JILLIAN COULDN’T STOP SMILING. IT WAS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE not to in the midst of such excitement. How Grimm managed to continue looking so somber was beyond her comprehension.

  She spared a glance at him, which she nearly begrudged because everywhere else she looked she found something enchanting and Grimm looked so miserable it depressed her. She knew she should feel more compassion for his plight, but it was difficult to feel empathy when his family was so overjoyed to welcome him back into the fold. And what a magnificent fold it was.

  Gavrael, she corrected herself silently. Rather than motioning her to join them after he’d greeted his da, he’d sprinted back to get her so they could ride in together. Surrounded by the cheering crowd, he’d explained to her that when he’d left Tuluth years ago he’d assumed a new name. His real name, although he insisted she continue calling him Grimm, was Gavrael Roderick Icarus McIllioch.

  She sighed dreamily. Jillian Alanna McIllioch; said aloud it was a tumble of l’s that rolled euphonically. She had no doubt that Grimm would marry her once they’d settled in.

  Grimm tightened his grip on her hand and whispered her name to get her attention. “Jillian, come back from wherever you are. Balder’s going to show us to our chambers, and we’ll get you warm and fed.”

  “Oh, I feel much better, Grimm,” she said absently, marveling over a beautiful sculpture that adorned the hall. She trundled after Balder and an assortment of maids happily holding Grimm’s hand. “This castle is enormous, breathtaking. How could you have ever thought it was dark and dreary?”

  He gave her a glum look. “I haven’t a blethering clue,” he muttered.

  “Here’s your room, Gavrael—” Balder began.

  “Grimm.”

  “Lad.” Balder stared him down levelly. “And Merry here will see Jillian to hers,” he said pointedly.

  “What?” Grimm was momentarily dumbfounded. Now that she was his, how could he sleep without Jillian in his arms?

  “Room.” Balder gestured impatiently. “Yours.” He turned abruptly to a dainty maid. “And Merry here will show Jillian to hers.” His blue eyes reflected a cool challenge.

  “I will see Jillian to hers myself,” Grimm begrudged after a tense pause.

  “As long as you see yourself right back out of it, lad, go on ahead. But you’re not married, so doona be thinkin’ you can act like you are.”

  Jillian flushed.

  “No reflection on you, lass,” Balder hastened to assure her. “I can see you’re a fine lady, but this boy is randy as a goat around you and it’s plain to see. If he seeks the joys of wedded bliss, he can wed you. Without a weddin’ he’ll be havin’ no bliss.”

  Grimm flushed. “Enough, Balder.”

  Balder arched a brow and frowned. “And try to be a bit nicer to your da, lad. The man did give you life, after all.” With that he turned and blustered down the hall, his proud chin jutting like the prow of a ship breaking waves.

  Grimm waited until he had disappeared from sight, then sought directions from the maid. “I’ll escort Jillian to her chambers,” he informed the elfin-looking Merry. To the cluster of maids he said, “See to it that we have a steaming tub and”—he glanced at Jillian worriedly—“what kind of food might your stomach tolerate, lass?”

  Anything and everything, Jillian thought. She was famished. “Lots,” she said succinctly.

  Grimm smiled faintly, finished giving the maids instructions, and escorted Jillian to her rooms.

  As they entered the rooms, Jillian exhaled a sigh of pleasure. Her chambers were every bit as luxuriously appointed as the rest of Maldebann. Four tall windows graced the west wall of the bedroom, and from there she could watch the sun set over the mountains. Snowy lambskin rugs covered the floors. The bed was carved of burnished cherry that had been polished to a vibrant luster and canopied with sheer white linen. A cheery fire burned in an enormous fireplace.

  “How are you feeling, Jillian?” Grimm shut the door and drew her into his arms.

  “I’m much better now,” she assured him.

  “I know this must all be quite shocking—”

  Jillian kissed him, silencing further words. He seemed startled by the gesture, then kissed her back so urgently it caused her toes to curl with anticipation. She clung to the kiss, spinning it out as long as she could, trying to imbue him with courage and love, for she suspected he’d be needing it. Then she forgot her noble intentions as desire sizzled between them.

  A sharp rap on the door dampened it quickly.

  Grimm pulled back and stalked to the door, unsurprised to find Balder standing there. “I forg
ot to tell you, lad, we have supper at eight,” Balder said, peering beyond him at Jillian. “Has he been kissin’ you, lass? You just tell me and I’ll take care of it.”

  Grimm closed the door without replying, and locked it. Balder sighed so loudly outside the door that Jillian nearly laughed.

  As Grimm walked back to her side, she studied him. The strain of the day was evident; even his usual proud posture seemed bowed. When she considered all the man had been through in the past few hours, she felt terrible. He was busy tending to her when he could probably use nothing more greatly than some time alone to sort through all the shocks the day had delivered. She brushed his cheek with her hand. “Grimm, if you don’t mind, do you think I could rest a bit before I meet any more people? Perhaps I could take dinner in my room tonight and face the castle tomorrow?”

  She hadn’t been wrong. His expression was a mixture of concern and relief.

  “Are you certain you doona mind being on your own? Are you certain you’re well enough?”

  “Grimm, I feel wonderful. Whatever was wrong with me this morning has passed. Now I’d just like to relax, soak in a long bath, and sleep. I suspect you probably have people and places you’d like to reacquaint yourself with.”

  “You’re remarkable, do you know that, lass?” He smoothed her hair and tucked a stray tendril behind her ear.

  “I love you, Grimm Roderick,” she said intensely. “Go meet your people and see your home. Take your time. I will always be here for you.”

  “What did I do to deserve you?” The words exploded from him.

  She brushed her lips against his lightly. “I ask myself the same question all the time.”

  “I want to see you tonight, Jillian. I need to see you.”

  “I’ll leave my door unlocked.” She flashed him a dazzling smile that promised the moon and the stars when he came.

  He gave her one last tender look and left.

  “Go to him. I can’t,” Ronin said urgently.

  The two men peered out the window at Grimm, sprawled on the wall in front of the castle, gazing out over the village. Night had fallen, and tiny lights in the village twinkled like a reflection of the stars that dotted the sky. The castle had been constructed to provide an unimpeded view of the village. A wide stone terrace lined the perimeter, east and west. It sloped in tiers down to the fortifying walls, the terrace itself surrounded by a low wall at such a height that from atop it one could look straight out over the valley. Grimm had been sitting alone on the wall for hours, alternating his gaze between the castle behind him and the valley before him.

  “What would you like me to be sayin’?” Balder grunted. “He’s your son, Ronin. You’re goin’ to have to speak with him at some point.”

  “He hates me.”

  “So speak with him and try to help him get past it.”

  “It’s not that easy!” Ronin snapped, but in his blue eyes Balder saw fear. Fear that if Ronin spoke with his son, he might lose him all over again.

  Balder eyed his brother for a moment and then sighed. “I’ll try, Ronin.”

  Grimm watched the valley batten down for the night. The villagers had begun to light candles and pull shutters, and from his perch on the low wall he could hear the faint strains of parents calling their children into cozy cottages and farmers rounding up animals before venturing to bed themselves. It was a scene of peace and harmony. He stole an occasional glance over his shoulder at the castle, but not one gargoyle lurked. It was possible, he conceded, that at fourteen he’d been fanciful. It was possible that years of running and hiding had colored his perceptions until all seemed desolate and barren, even a past that had once been bright. His life had changed so abruptly on that fateful day, it might well have skewed his memories.

  He could accept that he’d forgotten what Tuluth was really like. He could accept that the castle had never been truly menacing. But what was he to make of his da? He’d seen him with his own eyes, crouched over his mother’s body. Had he, in his shock and grief, misconstrued that event too? Once the possibility presented itself, he studied it from every angle, his confusion deepening.

  He’d found his da in the south gardens in the early morning, the time Jolyn strolled the grounds and greeted the day. He’d been on his way to meet Arron to go fishing. The scene was painstakingly etched on his mind: Jolyn beaten and battered, her face a mass of bruises, Ronin crouched above her, snarling, blood everywhere, and that damned incriminating knife in his hand.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Balder interrupted his internal debate.

  “Aye,” Grimm replied, mildly surprised Balder had joined him. “I doona remember it like this, Balder.”

  Balder placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “That’s because it wasn’t always like this. Tuluth has grown tremendously over the years, thanks to your da’s efforts.”

  “Come to think of it, I doona remember you either,” Grimm said thoughtfully. “Did I know you when I was a lad?”

  “No. I’ve spent most of my life wanderin’. I visited Maldebann twice when you were young, but only briefly. Six months ago the ship I was sailin’ broke up in a storm, washin’ me ashore old Alba. I figured that meant it was time to check on what remained of my clan. I’m your da’s older brother, but I had a fancy to see the world, so I bullied Ronin into bein’ laird, and a fine one he’s made.”

  Grimm scowled. “That’s debatable.”

  “Doona be so hard on Ronin, lad. He’s wanted nothin’ more than for you to come home. Maybe your memories of him are as discolored as your memories of Tuluth.”

  “Maybe,” Grimm allowed tightly. “But maybe not.”

  “Give him a chance, that’s all I’m askin’. Get to know him again and make a fresh judgment. There were things he dinna have time to explain to you before. Let him tell you now.”

  Grimm shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “Enough, Balder. Leave me alone.”

  “Promise me you’ll give him a chance to talk to you, lad,” Balder persisted, undaunted by Grimm’s dismissal.

  “I haven’t left yet, have I?”

  Balder inclined his head and retreated.

  “Well, that dinna last long,” Ronin complained.

  “I said my piece. Now do your part,” Balder grumbled.

  “Tomorrow.” Ronin procrastinated.

  Balder glared.

  “You know it’s foolish to try talkin’ about things when people are tired, and the lad must be exhausted, Balder.”

  “Berserkers only get tired when they’ve been in a rage,” Balder said dryly.

  “Quit actin’ like my older brother,” Ronin snapped.

  “Well, quit actin’ like my younger brother.” Two pairs of ice-blue eyes battled, and Balder finally shrugged. “If you won’t face that problem, then turn your mind to this one. Merry overheard Jillian tellin’ the lad she’d leave her door unlocked. If we doona come up with somethin’, that lad o’ yours will be samplin’ the pleasures without payin’ the price.”

  “But he already has sampled them. We know that.”

  “That doesn’t make it right. And bein’ denied may encourage him to wed her all the sooner,” Balder pointed out.

  “What do you suggest? Lock her in the tower? The boy’s a Berserker, he’ll get past anythin’.”

  Balder thought a moment, then grinned. “He won’t be gettin’ past righteous indignation, will he, now?”

  The hour was past midnight when Grimm hastened down the corridor to Jillian’s chambers. Merry had assured him that Jillian passed a restful evening with no further bouts of illness. She’d eaten like a woman famished, the elfin maid had said.

  He let his lips curve in the full smile he felt whenever he thought of Jillian. He needed to touch her, to tell her that he wanted to marry her if she would still have him. He longed to confide in her. She had a logical mind; perhaps she could help him see things he couldn’t make sense of by dint of being too near the subjects involved. He stood firm on his position that she must nev
er know what he really was, but he could talk with her about much of what had happened—or seemed to have happened—fifteen years ago, without betraying his secret. His gait quickened as he turned down the hall leading to her chambers, and he nearly sprinted around the corner.

  He halted abruptly when he spotted Balder, energetically plastering a crack in the stone with a mixture of clay and crushed stone.

  “What are you doing here?” Grimm scowled indignantly. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  Balder shrugged innocently. “Tendin’ this castle is a full-time job. Fortunately, I doona require much sleep anymore. But come to think of it, what are you doin’ here? Your rooms are that way”—he leveled a half-full trowel in the other direction—“in case you’ve forgotten. You wouldn’t be lookin’ to spoil an innocent young lass, now, would you?”

  A muscle twitched in Grimm’s jaw. “Right. I must have gotten turned around.”

  “Well, turn back around, lad. I expect I’ll be workin’ on this wall all night,” Balder said evenly. “The whole night.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jillian poked her head out the door. “Balder!” She tugged her wrapper about her shoulders, peering at him peevishly.

  Balder grinned. She was lovely, flushed with sleep and obviously intent upon sneaking to Grimm’s room.

  “Do you need somethin’, lass?”

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  He gave her the same lame excuse he’d given Grimm and plastered heartily away.

  “Oh,” Jillian said in a small voice.

  “Do you wish me to escort you to the kitchens, lass? Can I give you a wee tour? I’m usually up all night, and the only thing I plan to do is plaster here. Wee cracks between the stones can become great cracks in the blink of an eye if left untended.”

  “No, no.” Jillian waved him away. “I just heard a noise and wondered what it was.” She bid him good night and retreated.

  After she’d closed the door, Balder rubbed his eyes. By the saints, it was going to be a bloody long night.