Torin left Avalonon the other side of the clearing and watched Braya from behind the thick bramble.
For the first few moments while she waited for him, she paced the clearing, looking a bit worried. Was she doubting her good senses as he was? Why would she? She wasn’t the one doing the deceiving and misleading. He hated himself for allowing her to get under his skin and make him care. But hell, he was helpless against it. Like a torrent, it washed over him, sapping him of reason and good judgment. Because of her, he spent the last hour thinking about what would become of her family, who were already hungry, after the Scots finished with Carlisle. War, even if they had no part in fighting it, was going to hurt them. Braya knew it.
If they did fight against the Scots—against him—and he killed any of them, he would be plagued by what their mothers would say to him.
Hell, the Hetheringtons weren’t his dilemma to fret over. He was keeping his promise. He was doing his duty. Since when didn’t his duty come first?
He gazed at her through the leaves while she studied the patches of beautiful common mallow flowers and then bent to bring one to her nose.
He smiled and stepped forward where she could see him.
She looked up from beneath her long lashes and smiled back. “They smell good,” she said in her dulcet voice.
He moved closer to her, drawn by unseen tethers, and reached his hand out to her cheek. He wanted to kiss her. It was all he’d thought about since he kissed her last. He’d wanted to kiss her last eve when he feared he’d lost her. He wanted to ride into Armstrong territory and kill more of them. He cared for her. He wouldn’t let it prick at him now. Not now.
He dipped his gaze to her neck, washed clean of blood but stained with red and purple bruises. “How is your throat, lady?”
“It pains me a little.” She lifted her slender fingers to it. “Nothing I cannot bear. I’m grateful to be alive to feel it.”
He looked into her eyes and saw that the spark of fire that usually lit her gaze had gone dark. Will Noble had told him what his wife shared with him. Braya had told Millie that she was about to die before Torin got there.
He ran his hand over her head and then cupped the back of it and pulled her into his tight and tender embrace. She went in willingly, yielding immediately to his touch. He wanted to comfort her from the memory of being at the edge of death. It wasn’t the same as fighting to live. When the fight was over and one looked death in the face—when the cold, black emptiness of it overwhelmed, there was nothing more terrifying.
He held her until she pulled away just enough to look up at him.
Was that his heart pounding like a drum against both their chests? What the hell would she think of him that he would fall for a lass so quickly? Give in to her every want and desire?
“I owe you much,” she whispered, lifting her hand to his cheek.
“You owe me nothing.”
He let her lead his face down to hers and covered her mouth with his. She opened to him and he plunged his tongue inside her, letting a thread of fire lance down his back.
She parried his tongue in a dance that made him as tight as a bowstring. No one before her had ever made him feel like he could snap in two. He spread his splayed hand down her spine and cupped her backside.
When she closed her soft lips around his tongue as he withdrew it, he thought he might go mad with the need for her. He didn’t stop kissing her, but tasted her and teased her, and breathed her in as if he would perish if he didn’t.
He thought he would perish.
He wanted more of her and dipped his mouth to her throat. His kisses were gentle against her bruised skin. He wouldn’t be too forward with her, as things might escalate too quickly and he wouldn’t put her in a position of shame when he left.
Hell, he wasn’t staying here. He could if he wished it after the Scots took Carlisle, but there was no future with Braya.
He might have to fight her.
She must have sensed his sudden unease for she withdrew slightly and smiled.
He basked in the sight of her red, puffy lips and flushed cheeks.
He had to find a way to resist her so that he would remain strong to his duty, strong to his promise. Make them pay. Make them all pay.
“I spotted some mulberry bushes not far from here,” she said, letting him go slowly. Her arms slipping down his shoulders and away from him tempted him to reach for her and pull her back.
“Come, let us pick some.” She broke away, tossed him a bright smile, and hurried off.
Torin watched her for a moment, his brows flaring upward at the edges, along with his lips. He took off after her through the bramble, listening to the sound of her laughter through the trees.
She was playful and deadly, and so damned alluring. She made him feel primal, instinctual. He wanted to chase her down, catch her, and take her against a tree. Or keep playing with her.
