He laughed, a bit shocked, and dripping wet. “What are you doing, Braya?” He kicked back.
She turned and bolted across the calf-high water, laughing and teasing him as she went. He chased her, bending to scoop up water in his hands to shovel it at her.
She responded by soaking him—being the more experienced of the two, in splashing.
When he reached for her to stop her, he missed at first. But then he grasped her elbow and pulled her back, into his arms. She laughed, falling into them, but sobered when he caught her gaze in the stillness of his own.
“You continue to bewitch me, lady.” He didn’t think about her pulling out a dagger and pointing it at his groin. He didn’t think she would stop him when he bent his head to hers and planted a series of slow, sensual kisses over her lips. He was correct. She didn’t stop him.
He pulled her in closer, reveling in the shape of her body pressed to his. She smelled of the morning sun and…cattle. He breathed her in deeper, liking that she was not afraid to help with the livestock she’d helped rob. He crooked one arm around her waist and cupped her nape in the other hand, tilting back her head.
He wasn’t any more skilled in the art of kissing than she. He didn’t care. It didn’t stop him from kissing her senseless, until she went weak in his arms and he felt too weak to stand.
She raked her hands through his hair. He wanted to remove her clothes. But no. He wouldn’t do that to her. If he left her with a child and she died…he broke their kiss and opened his eyes slowly to look into hers.
“Let us dry off before we head back,” she suggested, smiling dreamily at him.
“Aye.” It wasn’t what he wanted. He doubted it was what she wanted either. But it was best, and best she didn’t know why.
He let her go with great reluctance and watched her hurry over the stones, back to their cloaks.
“You did a good thing by talking your father into accepting my apology, though you were quite bold in your assumption that I would offer it.” He smiled, sitting next to her. “Sometimes peace is better than fighting.”
Her startling blue eyes delved deeper into him than anything he’d ever felt before. What if she found him buried beneath his shame and yanked him out by the collar and exposed him to all the world?
“But sometimes,” he continued, fighting to remain strong, “war comes anyway.”
She said nothing but bolted forward and pressed her palms on each side of his face. “I do not want to lose anyone I care about. Not anyone, Torin.”
He curled his fingers around her creamy throat and pulled her forward for a kiss. He knew he shouldn’t, but hell, he didn’t give a damn about any of the reasons—not when the pout of her lips made them even more plump, more delectable. When the sound of her voice saying his name made it finally sound right to his ears.
But no! An alarm sounded in his head. She is English! She doesn’t know you are a Scot! She doesn’t know that you knowingly led her cousins to their deaths.
He groaned along the seam of her mouth, agonizing over things he’d never given a moment’s thought to before. Why was she any different? He’d deceived hundreds, including Bennett last eve while they drank together and laughed, and planned the celebration to reconcile the leader of the Hetheringtons with the warden.
“Braya…”
“Torin,” Her breath fell like sweet wine across his lips, “what is it that troubles you so?”
He shook his head and moved away from her a bit. “I…would not have you think me a brute by taking leave to kiss you whenever the mood strikes me—which would be often, I fear.”
She smiled, almost doing him in. “I have not objected, my lord.”
That was another thing. He wasn’t a damned knight. He was a warrior, a cold-hearted killer. He planned on killing every guard in Carlisle Castle, possibly Bennett himself, and if it weren’t for Braya, most likely her family.
His belly knotted with pain, but he ignored it. He wasn’t born to have a woman, a family, peace. Everything about him was a lie and, soon, Braya would find out. When King Robert came, the Hetheringtons were going to stand with Bennett. Hell, Torin was making sure of it now. He rose up, tugging at his hair, his collar.
But what else could he do? Not attend the town hall meeting to give his apology? Fight them now?
He looked at her sitting on his cloak, her beautiful face tilted toward his, waiting for him to finish speaking. He would rather put it off and fight them later. He needed time to think of a way to save her.
“Braya, I’m not the—”
Avalon came hurtling toward them from out of the trees and stopped when she came to Torin.
Someone called Braya’s name. It was a woman’s voice echoing through the trees.
“That is my cousin, Lucy!” she said, bounding from the ground and hurrying for her shoes. She called out to her. “Here, Lucy!” She picked up her cloak and whirled it around her shoulders.
