Chapter Twenty-Five
From her placehidden in the trees with her father and brother, Braya watched the Scot’s army enter Carlisle’s massive outer gate after it was opened from inside. She still didn’t know if it was right for her family not to fight for Carlisle. What if a Scottish warden was worse than Bennett?
Oh, but how could anyone be worse than Bennett? Her heart wrenched within for Torin, for his brothers. To remember a man by a sickly sweet endearment he had called his mother was too hard to comprehend, so Braya gave up trying.
Torin had so many demons to give up, so many shadows. Would finding the man who was guilty for Torin’s life and killing him be enough? And what of her and Torin? Could she forgive him for not telling her he was her enemy? Her father’s enemy?
She turned Archer toward him now, so thankful that he lived. “Father, you have not yet told me what you think of Torin.”
“He is a spy.”
“Aye, he is.”
“I assume Bennett and his men killed his family.”
“He was five,” Braya told him. “Orphans raised him until he was ten.” Was any of it true? Aye. It was difficult for him to speak of it. And after seeing the fury he’d kept leashed for so long released, she believed him.
Her father and brother were quiet.
“Do you think he is dead?” Galien asked, his eyes searching the battlements.
No. She shook her head. “He is an expert fighter.”
They both nodded, probably remembering how quickly he took hold of Bennett and disarmed him—in every sense of the word.
“Where is Mr. Adams?” she asked. “Do you think he will fight Torin?”
“I do not know where he is,” her father replied, then spit out a little blood. “My tooth is loose.”
“I have never seen so many Scots,” Galien said on a dreadful breath. He spotted a rider approaching and held up his sword.
Braya watched and saw that it was Cainnech MacPherson.
“Torin wants me to escort ye all home,” he called out, coming closer.
Braya shook her head. “I am not going home. Where is Torin? He lives then?”
“Aye, he lives,” he said, reaching her.
“Good. I can still kill him,” she muttered.
The Highlander smiled.
“What if they follow us?” Galien asked. “We will stand no chance.”
“No one is goin’ to follow ye,” Cainnech assured and shooed them forward. “There is nothin’ fer ye to do here.”
“I am not going home, Commander.” Braya squared her shoulders. “And I do not appreciate your brother ordering me about. I am not his wife. I do not belong to him.”
“Braya—” her father implored.
“No. Father, he broke my heart because, aye, I do have one—and I do sometimes let it rule me. Perhaps ’tis ruling me now, but I want to speak to him. I have things I would say to him. I am not going.”
“He will come to ye,” MacPherson insisted.
She shook her head. “I wish to go to him. Where is he?”
The commander laughed. It struck her how beautiful and menacing the brothers were. “I find no humor in this, Commander. I ask you again, where is he?”
