He looked away. She had good reason to hate his kind. Her entire family did, evidently. It had to be why they’d aided Bennett when the Scots had invaded five years ago. “You were close to him?”
“Aye, he—” She stopped speaking and looked around.
Torin turned to see what silenced her. Every man in the stronghold who was finally awake and walking around, ready to start their day, had stopped what he was doing to stare at her.
“Does this happen every time you come here?” he asked Braya.
“Sometimes,” she said, settling her hand over the hilt of her blade. “When I’m here without my father and Galien.”
Torin’s blood boiled. His sudden urge to protect her was so unexpected and unfamiliar that, for a moment, it was almost worrisome.
She didn’t need protection—unless she was alone in a military stronghold filled with English soldiers.
Hell, he was supposed to wait until a certain amount of time passed before he could start killing. But Torin reached up for his blade. If these bastards needed convincing that she wasn’t alone, he’d happily oblige.
“Miss Hetherington!” They both turned at the sound of Bennett’s voice. He walked toward them, pausing very slightly when Braya faced him.
Bennett wore a long tunic with hose underneath. There were at least four blades of various lengths dangling from his belt. His dark hair dangled to his shoulders and was tied back at his graying temples. He sported a long scar across the bridge of his nose and below his eye, to his cheek. He might appear fearsome to some, but Torin hadn’t seen him practicing yet, and a good fighter needed to practice every day.
“I was not expecting to see you here,” Bennett said, keeping his gaze on Braya. He walked past Torin and moved to take Braya’s arm. “I can take her from here.”
“I’m not here to see you.” She pulled her arm out of his reach, not afraid of him either.
“Oh?” Bennett asked. “Who are you here to see then?”
“Sir Torin,” she advised him boldly.
The warden slid his gaze to him, looking at him for the first time. Torin was supposed to be making friends with him, not making him jealous of a woman he could never have.
Well, there was nothing to be done of it now. He offered Bennett a rueful smile and placed his hand on Braya’s back to escort her back out of the keep. “We will speak of it later, my lord. I promised Miss Hetherington something to fill her belly. Since it does not look as if the castle is a safe place for Rowley Hetherington’s daughter to eat, we will have to find someplace else to go.”
“We will speak of it now, Knight,” Bennett demanded, reaching out to stop Torin from moving. “I do not care if you both eat or not. Why are you meeting here alone? What is going on between you?”
Torin wanted to take out his dagger and swipe it across Bennett’s throat rather than be questioned by him. Would Braya help him fight when the warden’s men came after him? No. It was too soon. They wouldn’t get out alive. There were too many men. He needed to wait until the Scots were standing at the doors as planned.
Torin didn’t care if the warden knew the truth. It could work toward his advantage. “Her father requests that Rob Adams and I stand before him and ask for forgiveness for killing his family.”
“Plead forgiveness from reivers! Ridiculous! They are beneath us!” Bennett closed his eyes and tossed back his head with laughter. He didn’t see Braya’s quick hand free her dagger and jab it at him.
Torin caught her and pulled back her outstretched arms just as Bennett quit laughing and opened his eyes to look at them.
“Her father has promised to bring war to Carlisle if Adams and I do not go to him,” Torin told him.
How much easier would it be to take the castle after the reivers were done with it? He could incite them to war with each other and his duty would be half-done. But he would have to fight against them—against her.
“I do not think ’twould be wise to engage in battle with the reivers when the Scots are possibly coming here.”
Bennett furrowed his dark brows and cast him a worried look. “Have you heard something?”
“Same as you,” Torin assured him, barely concealing his growl. “They have taken every other stronghold. How long do you think ’twill be before they come here?”
“Aye, you are correct,” Bennett thankfully said after thinking about it. “You will go to their village with Adams. Do as her father says.”
Torin nodded, dreading that he might have just sealed his men’s fate when they arrived. How many reivers could Hetherington call upon? Bennett knew he needed their help. He was willing to do anything for it.
“Now,” Torin told him, leaning in a bit closer, “if you will notice the men staring at your guest.” He gave the defender a moment to look around. “If I’m to beg a man’s forgiveness for something I think was right to do—if I must do that to avoid a war, I promise you, I will not tolerate any man tossing my hard work away because he could not keep his hands to himself.”
Bennett smiled at him, not giving a damn about his threat against the men. He rested his dark gaze on Torin first, and then on Braya. “I will make certain the men understand she is not to be touched.” His smile widened into a smirk. “Of course, that rule applies to you as well.”
Torin stared at him for a moment, thinking about carrying her to the nearest glade and lying with her in the grass. “Of course,” he answered, and then left the castle with her at his side.
