With a fearsome grimace and a loud growl, MacBain rushed Torrin, who easily evaded his blade.
"What's going on here?" a deep voice yelled through the portcullis.
Who was that? At first she thought it might be some of the MacKays returning from their long journey. But, nay, she didn't recognize the dark-haired man revealed by the late afternoon sunshine.
Everyone stopped and stared. Torrin stepped back several paces but kept MacBain within his sights.
"Iain Stewart, is that you?" Torrin called.
"Of course." The man drew close to the iron bars, his smile evident.
"What the devil are you doing here?"
"Ran off and left me while I was passed out, aye? Some friend you are. I couldn't resist hunting you down and watching you make a damned fool of yourself." He chuckled.
Torrin glanced around, looking a bit chagrinned, his eyes meeting Jessie's for a couple of moments, then he headed for the portcullis. Until he'd glanced up at her, she hadn't realized he knew she was watching.
Who was Iain Stewart, and what had he meant about Torrin making a damned fool of himself? Courting her?
"I hope this skirmish here isn't serious, but if 'tis, I've arrived just in time," Iain said.
"'Tis called practice," Torrin said, then turned to face her again. "Will you allow this knave entrance, m'lady? Although he is a scoundrel of the worst order, I claim him as a foster brother and a friend… sometimes."
"Who is he?"
"Iain Stewart, heir to the chiefdom of Stewart and Barony of Appin."
"Aye, if he allows Erskine to disarm him," she said. He didn't seem like the type who would cause trouble, but she could take no chances with so many different clans visiting, and MacBain being contrary.
Torrin gave a courtly bow, then faced his friend again. "You heard the lady. Give up your weapons."
"Gladly. But I want in on this practice session. Looked like you were losing. And by the way, I have four men with me." He motioned them forward.
"They must all disarm themselves," Torrin said.
More men? 'Twas a good thing their storeroom shelves had been stocked full not long ago.
While the newcomers were removing their weapons, Jessie noticed MacBain whispering to a couple of his men. What was he cooking up? His dark, malicious expression changed to a forced friendly one when Torrin introduced Iain Stewart to him.
"Been at this for days, have you?" Iain asked, eying MacBain with his swollen nose and black and blue eyes.
MacBain clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but made no comment.
"Don't tell me you two are vying for the same lady's hand." Iain grinned, turning to Torrin.
"Not exactly."
Iain laughed.
"Enough talk, MacLeod," MacBain said. "Let's get on with the practice."
Everyone stepped back, leaving Torrin and MacBain in the center of the circle. MacBain launched himself at Torrin instantly. Torrin scrambled to deflect the blade slashing toward his chest.
Jessie held her breath. Though she didn't trust Torrin, neither did she wish to see him hurt or killed.
The practice was quickly shifting from a mock battle to a real one. Should she order them to stop? Would they even listen to her? What if someone ended up dead before this was over?
Jessie raced down the steps, across the great hall, and out into the bailey. She pushed her way through the crowd of male spectators. The two men were in the heat of battle, their blades smashing and clanging. No matter that the weapons were dull; they could still kill. Someone grabbed her arm, holding her back.
"Halt!" she yelled.
Torrin paused, his gaze darting to her. MacBain swung his blade again. Torrin leapt out of the way at the last second, but MacBain continued his assault.
"MacBain! That's enough," she ordered.
But he wasn't listening. His face was a red mask of rage.
"Keep her back," Torrin said.
Erskine held onto one of her arms. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but you must stay back. You'll be hurt."
"Make them stop," she demanded, terrified beyond all reason that Torrin would be killed or hurt badly. But Erskine ignored her just as the other men did. If Dirk were here, he'd order them to cease their battle. What if one of them died while she was acting as lady of the castle? Was it not her responsibility to keep the peace and make sure everyone was safe?
In the next second, a sword flew into the air and Torrin caught the hilt of it. To her surprise, he stood before the slack-jawed MacBain and held up a sword in each hand.
"I win," Torrin said in a dry tone.
Several men laughed and a raucous cheer went up. Not from the MacBains of course; they merely glared, some of them red-faced. His look of shock fading, MacBain glowered at Torrin and those celebrating his victory.
Relief surged through her, and Erskine released her. She wasn't celebrating anyone's victory; she was simply glad no one had been killed. She disliked the way men competed, and she especially hated them fighting over her. Though no one said that was what this mock battle was about, she knew it was. Each of them wanted to look superior to the other. The more powerful stallion.
They were ridiculous. She turned and strode back into the great hall.
***
"What the devil have you gotten yourself into, Torrin?" Iain asked in a low voice, as the rest of the chuckling men disbursed in the bailey, leaving them alone to talk. Torrin glanced about for Jessie, but didn't see her, though she had been there minutes ago, demanding that they halt their practice. He was fair certain that she'd been afraid he was going to get hurt. He grinned. That meant she cared a wee bit.
Iain snorted. "Saints, you're madder than a stag in rut."
"I have no need for your lowly opinion on it."
"Who is this MacBain, and why is he so irate with you? I'm certain the bastard was trying to kill you."
"You guessed the right of it. He's trying to win back Lady Jessie's hand, and I'm always getting in his way." Torrin smiled. "You see, they were handfasted for a year and a day, three years past, but he sent her away. Now, he's back for another go, but Lady Jessie wants naught to do with him."
"Canny lady."
"Indeed."
"And beautiful."
"Keep your eyes off her," Torrin warned in a mock severe tone.
"Ha! I couldn't help but look. She stormed through the crowd like a goddess of fire, demanding that you stop the fight."
Satisfaction curled through Torrin. "Aye, clearly afraid I'd be injured."
Iain shook his head. "So, she is smitten with you already, is she?"
"Not quite, but I'm gaining ground."
"Well, you have naught to worry about from me. I would never try to steal your lady."
"I ken it well."
"Why did you hasten out of Lairg so quickly while I was sleeping off the drink?"
"Well, you had that lovely milkmaid with you, and I figured you had better things to do than watch me court a lady."
"Nay, I do not. I sent Mary back to her cows. I'm certain this will be grand entertainment, especially since both your offers of marriage to Lady Jessie have been refused."
Torrin narrowed his eyes. "Laugh at my misery if you will, but I'm determined in this. She will agree to marry me before this is over."
Iain grinned. "I've never seen you so smitten with a lass."
"Nay, you haven't."
"Well, when do I get to meet her?"
***
Jessie stood near the stairwell to the kitchen, overseeing the male servants setting up the tables, as everyone gathered into the great hall for supper. Torrin and his newly arrived friend entered from the bailey and strode toward her. Torrin's friend was only an inch or two shorter than him and built like a trained warrior, although she remembered Torrin had said he was Iain Stewart, heir to the Stewart chiefdom. He wore a belted plaid of a weave she'd never seen before.
Torrin's intense green gaze lit on her. "Iain, I'd like for you to meet L
ady Jessie MacKay."
"'Tis an honor to meet you, sir." Jessie curtsied.
"The pleasure is all mine." Iain grinned, his dark blue eyes gleaming with humor. He kissed her hand. "I beg of you, m'lady, please do not break this man's heart." He slapped Torrin on the shoulder. "He's been in a lovesick stupor for months."
She sucked in a surprised breath, heat racing over her, head to toe. Lovesick? Surely he exaggerated.
"Bastard," Torrin said under his breath.
Iain snorted with laughter.
"Might I escort you to the high table, Lady Jessie," Torrin asked, offering his elbow. "'Twill be best if you sit far away from Iain."
She took his arm, hoping her fiery blush would subside soon, but her fingers pressing into the hard muscles of Torrin's arm, just above his elbow, ignited another type of heat within her. She was not yet accustomed to touching him, and she found that every time she did, her body reacted in disturbing ways.
"You would deprive me of this lovely lady's company?" Iain protested behind them as they proceeded to the dais.
She was not used to so many men's attention or the compliments they doled out, especially in the last three years. The disaster with MacBain had made her shy away from men. But now, she found she liked the attention, though it made her uncomfortable.
Torrin pulled out a chair for Jessie, then took the one beside her.
"You cannot get rid of me that easily," Iain said, sitting beside Torrin.
"Sometimes he reminds me of a leech," Torrin murmured aside to her.
She gave a slight smile but grew uncomfortable beneath his perceptive gaze. "I thank you for preventing any bloodshed today. I think MacBain went mad for a few minutes."
"Indeed, he was possessed of a battle rage." Torrin shrugged. "Truth is… he wants rid of me in the worst way so he can get to you, but I intend to protect you from the knave."
She didn't truly want Torrin acting as her shield, but she was grateful to him. Still, she could've handled MacBain on her own. "I feared the practice would get out of hand." She glanced down at the low table where MacBain sat with his men—unusual, for he usually sat at the high table as was his right by rank. He gave Torrin an evil look which concerned her greatly.
Supper was served. All the men were especially boisterous with their outlandish stories mixed with plenty of drink. Two men, a MacKay and a MacLeod, acted out the skirmish that had happened earlier, except they used the wee lads' wooden swords and added a more dramatic and entertaining finale. Laughter abounded.
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.
My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5) Page 5
