“Braya!” Torin’s voice tore through the great hall as he entered with the priest and two other men. One of them was the plaid-wearing Highlander, who ran to his wife to make certain she hadn’t been harmed. The other looked almost exactly like him with shorter, curlier hair and a squarer, dimpled jaw. Their eyes were the same color, deep blue and silver, with brows that dipped lower in the center and flowed naturally upward at the outer corners—much like Torin’s. He was also dressed in a plaid, but underneath he wore a blue coat and black pants with shiny boots.
The three of them were more handsome than all the men Braya had ever seen in her life. The Highlander slanted his mouth at her in a curious fashion that made her look at Torin. He smiled as well! The only one not smiling was the Highlander’s neater, less amused twin, though on closer inspection, he appeared a little younger.
Braya was so happy to see Torin she didn’t care who was smiling. She forgot everyone else and ran into his arms. “I did not know where they had taken you,” she cried, crushed against him. “I did not know if they had killed you.”
“Why would we kill him?” the brutish Highlander asked her.
“I do not know,” she retorted, lifting her head from Torin’s warm chest. “Why would you practically break my friend’s back?”
“He attacked me,” the savage defended.
“I attacked you,” Braya argued softly, “and you did not try to break my back. Although I will admit, I thought you had broken my wrist when you swept around me.”
“What is this?” the Highlander’s wife gaped at her. “You attacked him?”
Braya didn’t care if this woman was six months into pregnancy, part of her was afraid. “He attacked us first,” she defended, hoping it was enough.
The Highlander’s wife smiled at her and then turned to her husband and gave his arm a hard pinch. He writhed and glowered at his wife, then clamped his jaw to hold back his anger.
“How could you let someone who attackedyouinto Lismoor, unaccompanied straight through this hall, where your wife sat grieving, too unwell to even care for your own son for overlong?”
Though her voice rose from a murmured growl to a fevered snarl, her husband didn’t back down. “They were not unaccompanied. Amish and Father Timothy were with them.”
“Amish has been stabbed in the leg and Father Timothy ran to find you.” She turned to the priest. “Thank you, by the way, Father.”
The priest smiled, forgiving her instantly.
“Adams?” Torin plunged ahead, letting her go.
“I had him taken to a room to be looked after,” said the raven-haired beauty, stopping him. “I will have you taken to him after one of you tells me what is going on.”
“My beloved wife, Aleysia,” the Highlander said, back to smiling.
Torin had already backed up, taking Braya with him. Now, he tried to shove Braya behind him.
She held her ground and turned to him. “Go on. Introduce me.”
Torin laughed and suddenly reminded her of a predator that had just discovered its prey. He introduced her to the Highlander, Commander Cainnech MacPherson.
Commander MacPherson tilted his head at her and smiled. “Ye will tell me later how ye managed to stab my commander. There is only one other warrior besides me who can take down Amish, and that is my wife.” He turned and smiled at her. “I am impressed with yer skill.”
She swallowed and her eyes instinctively went to Torin. He winked at her. He understood what it meant to her to have her skill be acknowledged by a man—a warrior. He had understood from the first moment they were in the same hall together and the warden had ignored her presence. He knew what it meant to her to have her father praise her for helping to save her family against the Armstrongs.
She smiled at him then spread it to the commander. “Thank you, my lord.”
“The Earl of Rothbury,” Torin continued with the introduction. “Nicholas MacPherson, Cainnech’s brother.”
“Nicholas MacPherson?” Braya asked, confused. “I thought William Stone was the earl.”
“He is,” said Rothbury. “I am.” He smiled slightly and began to start over, but Aleysia, the Highlander’s wife, stopped him.
“Why have you intruded on this family at this difficult time?” she asked Torin matter-of-factly.
Braya looked away. None of them had known of the tragedy that had befallen the earl, or Lismoor. She felt terrible for being here and for fighting Lismoor’s men.
“I need the earl’s help with matters regarding Scotland,” Torin told Aleysia.
She stared at him, studying him, and if Torin was lying, he would have succumbed to her scrutiny, Braya was sure of it.
