Then there was the intrepid Ramsay Logan. Nobody had to convince Jillian the black-clad Ramsay was dangerous. He dripped peril from every pore.
Grimm Roderick was another matter. He would certainly not push for her hand, but his simple presence was bad enough. He was a constant reminder of the most painful and humiliating days of her life.
Three barbarians who had been hand-selected by her own da to seduce and marry her lurked in her home. What was she going to do? Although it appealed to her immensely, fleeing didn't make much sense. They'd only come after her, and she doubted she'd ever make it to one of her brother's homes before Hatchard's men caught up. Besides, she brooded, she would not leave her home just to get away from him.
How could her parents do this to her? Worse yet, how could she ever go downstairs again? Not only had two of the men seen her without a stitch of clothing on, they were obviously planning to pluck the overripe, or so her parents had concluded without so much as soliciting her opinion, berry of her virginity. Jillian squeezed her knees together protectively, dropped her head in her lap, and decided things couldn't get much worse.
* * * * *
It wasn't easy for Jillian to hide in her chambers all day. She wasn't the cowering sort. Nor, however, was she the foolish sort, and she knew she must have a plan before she subjected herself to the perils of her parents' nefarious scheme. As afternoon faded into evening and she'd yet to be struck by inspiration, she discovered she was feeling quite irritable. She hated being cooped up in her chambers. She wanted to play the virginal, she wanted to kick the first person she saw, she wanted to visit Zeke, she wanted to eat. She'd thought someone would appear by lunchtime, she'd been certain loyal Kaley would come check on her if she didn't arrive at dinner, but the maids didn't even appear to clean her chambers or light the fire. As the solitary hours passed, Jillian's ire increased. The angrier she became, the less objectively she considered her plight, ultimately concluding she would simply ignore the three men and go about her life as if nothing was amiss.
Food was her priority now. Shivering in the chilly evening air, she donned a light but voluminous cloak and pulled the hood snug around her face. Perhaps if she met up with one of the oversized brutes the combination of darkness and concealing attire would grant her anonymity. It probably wouldn't fool Grimm, but the other two hadn't seen her with clothes on yet.
Jillian closed the door quietly and slipped into the hallway. She opted for the servants' staircase and carefully picked her way down the dimly lit, winding steps. Caithness was huge, but Jillian had played in every nook and cranny and knew the castle well; nine doors down and to the left was the kitchen, just past the buttery. She peered down the long corridor. Lit by flickering oil lamps, it was deserted, the castle silent. Where was everyone?
As she moved forward, a voice floated out of the darkness behind her. "Pardon, lass, but could you tell me where I might find the buttery? We've run short of whisky and there's not a maid about."
Jillian froze in mid-step, momentarily robbed of speech. How could all the maids disappear and that man appear the very instant she decided to sneak from her chambers?
"I asked you to leave, Grimm Roderick. What are you still doing here?" she said coolly.
"Is that you, Jillian?" He stepped closer, peering through the shadows.
"Have so many other women at Caithness demanded you depart that you're suffering confusion about my identity?" she asked sweetly, plunging her shaking hands into the folds of her cloak.
"I didn't recognize you beneath your hood until I heard you speak, and as to the women, you know how the women around here felt about me. I assume nothing has changed."
Jillian almost choked. He was as arrogant as he'd always been. She pushed her hood back irritably. The women had fallen all over him when he'd fostered here, lured by his dark, dangerous looks, muscled body, and absolute indifference. Maids had thrown themselves at his feet, visiting ladies had offered him jewels and lodgings. It had been revolting to watch. "Well, you are older," she parried weakly. "And you know as a man gets older his good looks can suffer."
Grimm's mouth turned faintly upward as he stepped forward into the flickering light thrown off by a wall torch. Tiny lines at the corners of his eyes were whiter than his Highland-tanned face. If anything, it made him more beautiful.
"You are older too." He studied her through narrowed eyes.
"It's not nice to chide a woman about her age. I am not an old maid."
"I didn't say you were," he said mildly. "The years have made you a lovely woman."
"And?" Jillian demanded.
"And what?"
"Well, go ahead. Don't leave me hanging, waiting for the nasty thing you're going to say. Just say it and get it over with."
"What nasty thing?"
"Grimm Roderick, you have never said a single nice thing to me in all my life. So don't start faking it now."
Grimm's mouth twisted up at one corner, and Jillian realized that he still hated to smile. He fought it, begrudged it, and rarely did one ever break the confines of his eternal self-control. Such a waste, for he was even more handsome when he smiled, if that was possible.
He moved closer.
"Stop right there!"
Grimm ignored her command, continuing his approach.
"I said stop"
"Or you'll do what, Jillian?" His voice was smooth and amused. He cocked his head at a lazy angle and folded his arms across his chest.
"Why, I'll…" She belatedly acknowledged there wasn't much of anything she could do to prevent him from going anywhere he wished to go, in any manner he wished to go there. He was twice her size, and she'd never be his physical match. The only weapon she'd ever had against him was her sharp tongue, honed to a razor edge by years of defensive practice on this man.
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Tell me, lass, what will you do?"
Jillian made no reply, mesmerized by the intersection of his arms, the golden slopes of muscle flexing at his slightest movement. She had a sudden vision of his hard body stretched full length above hers, his lips curving, not with his customary infuriating condescension but with passion.
He sauntered nearer, until he stood mere inches from her. She swallowed hard and clasped her hands inside her cloak.
He lowered his head toward hers.
Jillian could not have moved if the stone walls of the corridor had started crumbling around her. If the floor had suddenly ruptured beneath her feet, she would have hung suspended on dreamy clouds of fantasy. Mesmerized, she stared up into his brilliant eyes, fascinated by the silky dark lashes, the smooth tan of his skin, the aquiline, arrogant nose, the sensual curved lips, the cleft in his chin. He leaned closer, his breath fanning her cheek. Was he going to kiss her? Could it be Grimm Roderick might actually kiss her? Had he truly responded to her da's summons—for her? Her knees felt weak. He cleared his throat, and she trembled with anticipation. What would he do? Would he ask her permission?
"So where, milady, pray tell, is the buttery?" His lips brushed her ear. "I believe this ridiculous conversation began by my saying we're out of whisky and there's not a maid about. Whisky, lass," he repeated in a voice oddly roughened. "We men need a drink. Ten minutes have passed and I'm no closer to finding it."
Kiss her, indeed. When pine martens curled up on the hearth like sleepy cats. Jillian glared at him. "One thing has not changed, Grimm Roderick, and don't you ever forget it. I still hate you."
Jillian pushed past him, retreating once again to the safety of her chambers.
* * *
CHAPTER 5
the moment jillian opened her eyes the next morning, she panicked. Had he left because she'd been so hateful?
He's supposed to leave, she reminded herself grimly. She wanted him to leave. Didn't she? Her brow furrowed as she pondered the illogical duality of her feelings. As far back as she could recall, she'd always suffered this vacillation where Grimm was concerned: hating him one moment, adoring him the ne
xt, but always wanting him near. If he hadn't been so unkind to her she would have consistently adored him, but he'd made it painfully clear that her adoration was the last thing he wanted. And that obviously hadn't changed. From the first moment she'd met Grimm Roderick, she'd been hopelessly drawn to him. But after years of being brushed away, ignored, and finally abandoned, she'd given up her childhood fantasies.
Or had she? Perhaps that was precisely her fear: Now that he was back she would make the same mistakes again and behave like an adolescent fool over the magnificent warrior he had become.
Dressing quickly, she snatched up her slippers and hastened for the Greathall. As she entered the room, she halted abruptly. "Oh, my," she murmured. Somehow she'd managed to forget there were three men in her home, so consumed had she been with thoughts of Grimm. They gathered near the fire, while several maids cleared dozens of platters and dishes from the massive table centered in the Greathall. Yesterday, safe behind the balustrade, Jillian had been struck by how tall and broad the three of them were. Today, standing only a few feet from them, she felt like a dwarf willow in a forest of mighty oaks. Each man stood at least a foot taller than she did. It was downright intimidating to a woman who was not easily intimidated. Her gaze wandered from one man to the next.
Ramsay Logan was an inch short of terrifying. Quinn was no longer the stripling son of a Lowland chieftain, but a powerful laird in his own right. And Grimm was the only man not looking at her; he stood gazing intently into the fire. She took advantage of his distraction and studied his profile with greedy eyes.
"Jillian." Quinn moved forward to greet her.
She forced herself to drag her gaze away from Grimm and concentrate on what Quinn was saying. "Welcome, Quinn." She pasted a cheerful smile on her lips.
"It's so good to see you again, lass." Quinn took her hands in his and smiled down at her. "It's been years and… och, but the years have been generous to you—you're breathtaking!"
Jillian blushed and glanced at Grimm, who was paying no heed to the conversation. She stifled the urge to kick him and make him notice that someone thought she was lovely. "You've changed yourself, Quinn," she said brightly. "It's no wonder I've heard your name linked with one beautiful woman after another."
"And just where would you be hearing that, lass?" Quinn asked softly.
"Caithness isn't exactly the end of the earth, Quinn. We do get visitors here on occasion."
"And you've asked them about me?" Quinn probed, interested.
Behind him, Ramsay cleared his throat impatiently.
Jillian sneaked another glance at Grimm. "Of course I have. And Da always likes to hear about the lads he fostered," she added.
"Well, although I wasn't fostered here, your father did ask me to come. That must count for something," Ramsay grumbled, trying to jostle Quinn aside. "And if this dolt would recall his manners, perhaps he'd see fit to introduce me to the loveliest woman in all of Scotland."
Jillian thought she heard Grimm make a choking sound. Her gaze flew to him, but he hadn't moved a muscle and still appeared oblivious to the conversation.
Quinn snorted. "Not that I don't agree with his assessment of you, Jillian, but beware this Highlander's tongue. He's got quite a reputation with the lasses himself." Reluctantly he turned to Ramsay. "Jillian, I'd like you to meet—"
"Ramsay Logan," Ramsay interrupted, thrusting himself forward. "Chieftain of the largest keep in the Highlands and—"
"My ass, you are." Quinn snorted. "The Logan scarcely has a pot to"—he broke off and cleared his throat—"cook in."
Ramsay jostled him aside and moved into his place.
"Give it up, de Moncreiffe, she's not interested in a Lowlander."
"I'm a Lowlander," Jillian reminded.
"Merely by birth, not by choice, and marriage could correct that." Ramsay stepped as close to Jillian as he could without actually standing on her toes.
"Lowlanders are the civilized lot of the Scots, Logan. And quit crowding her, you're going to back her right out of the hall."
Jillian smiled gratefully at Quinn, then flinched as Grimm finally looked sidewise at her.
"Jillian," he said quietly, nodding in her general direction before turning back to the fire.
How could he affect her so intensely? All the man had to do was say her name, one word, and Jillian was unable to form a coherent sentence. And there were so many questions she wanted to ask him—years and years of "whys." Why did you leave me? Why did you hate me? Why couldn't you adore me like I adore you?
"Why?" Jillian demanded before she knew she'd opened her mouth.
Ramsay and Quinn gazed at her, puzzled, but she only had eyes for Grimm.
She stomped over to the fire and poked Grimm in the shoulder. "Why? Would you just tell me that? For once and for all, why?"
"Why what, Jillian?" Grimm didn't turn.
She poked him harder. "You know 'why what.'"
Grimm glanced reluctantly over his shoulder. "Really, Jillian, I haven't the faintest idea what you're blathering about." Ice-blue eyes met hers, and for a moment she thought she glimpsed a blatant dare in them. It shocked her to her senses.
"Don't be ridiculous, Grimm. It's a simple question. Why have the three of you come to Caithness?" Jillian quickly salvaged the remnants of her pride. They didn't know she'd overheard her father's despicable scheme, and she'd soon discover if any of them would be honest with her.
Grimm's eyes flickered strangely; in another man Jillian might have called it disappointment, but not in his. He scanned her from head to toe, noting the slippers clutched in her hands. When he looked at her bare toes she curled them under her gown, feeling oddly vulnerable, as if she were six again.
"Put your slippers on, lass. You'll catch a chill." Jillian glared at him.
Quinn moved to her side and offered his arm for her to lean on while she donned her slippers. "He's right. The stones are cold, lass. As to the why of it, your da summoned us to look after Caithness in his absence, Jillian."
"Really?" Jillian said sweetly, adding "liar" to the list of nasty names she was calling men in the privacy of her thoughts. She stuffed one foot in a slipper, then the next. She doubted Grimm would care if she died of a chill. Put your slippers on, he ordered, as if she were an unruly toddler who couldn't complete the simple task of dressing herself. "Is there trouble expected in these parts of the Lowlands?"
"It's better to be safe than sorry, lass." Ramsay offered the platitude with his most charming smile.
Safe, my arse, she thought mulishly. Safe certainly wasn't this, surrounded by circling warriors who were inflamed by the mere scent of a woman.
"Your da didn't wish to take the chance trouble might befall Caithness in his absence, and now seeing you, lass, I understand his concern," Ramsay added smoothly. "I'd select only the finest to protect you too."
"I'm all the protection she needs, Logan," Quinn said dryly. He took her by the hand and led her to the table. "Bring breakfast for the lady," he instructed a maid.
"Protection from what?" Jillian asked.
"From yourself, most likely." Grimm's voice was low but still carried clearly in the stone hall.
"What did you just say?" Jillian whirled around in her seat. Any excuse for an argument with him was a welcome excuse.
"I said protection from yourself, brat." Grimm met her gaze with a heated one of his own. "You're forever walking into danger. Like when you wandered off with the tinkers. We couldn't find you for two days."
Quinn laughed. "By Odin's spear, I'd forgotten about that. We were nearly mad with worry. I finally found you north of Dunrieffe—'
"I would have found her if you hadn't insisted I go south, Quinn. I told you they'd gone north," Grimm reminded him.
Quinn glanced sideways at Grimm. "Hell's bells, man, don't brood about it. She was found, and that's all that matters."
"I wasn't lost to begin with," Jillian informed them. "I knew exactly where I was."
The men laughe
d.
"And I am not always getting into danger. I just wanted to feel the freedom of the tinkers. I was old enough—"
"You were thirteen!" Grimm snapped.
"I was fully in control of myself!"
"You were misbehaving as usual," Quinn teased.
"Jillian never misbehaves," Kaley murmured as she entered the room and caught the last of the conversation. She placed a steaming platter of sausage and potatoes in front of Jillian.
"A shame, if it's true," Ramsay purred.
"Then there was the time she got stuck in the pigpen. Remember that one, Grimm?" Quinn laughed, and even Grimm couldn't begrudge him a smile. "Remember how . she looked, backed into the corner, jabbering away to the enraged mama pig?" Quinn snorted. "I swear Jillian was squealing louder than the sow was."
Jillian leapt to her feet. "That's quite enough. And quit smiling, Kaley."
"I'd forgotten that one myself, Jillian." Kaley chuckled. "You were a handful."
Jillian grimaced. "I'm not a child anymore. I'm twenty-one years old—"
"And why is it that you haven't wed, lass?" Ramsay wondered aloud.
Silence descended as all eyes, including several curious maids', focused on Jillian. She stiffened, mortification staining her cheeks with a flush of pink. By the saints, these men held nothing back. Not one of her past suitors would have dared such a direct frontal attack, but these men, she reminded herself grimly, weren't like any men she'd ever known before. Even Grimm and Quinn were unknown variables; they'd become dangerously unpredictable.
"Well, why haven't you?" Quinn said softly. "You're beautiful, witty, and well landed. Where are all your suitors, lass?"
Where, indeed? Jillian mused.
Grimm turned from the fire slowly. "Yes, Jillian, tell us. Why haven't you wed?"
Jillian's eyes flew to his. For a long moment she was unable to free herself from the snare of his gaze and the strange emotions it incited in her. With an immense effort of will, she averted her gaze. "Because I'm joining the cloister. Didn't Da tell you?" she said cheerfully. "That's probably why he brought you all here, to escort me safely to the Sisters of Gethsemane come fall." She studiously ignored Kaley's reproachful look and plunked down in her seat, attacking her breakfast with newly discovered relish. Let them chew on that. If they wouldn't admit the truth, why should she?
Beyond the Highland Myst Page 34
