The Chief (32 page)

Tor looked mildly annoyed to see him. “Not all men heed the sanctuary of the church.”

“Which was why your men insisted on guarding the door rather than joining the others. I was in no danger, truly.” She'd been terrified, but given his present mood, she decided to save that information for later. “Even if they violated sanctuary, Brother John had me hidden under the seat of the confessional. They never would have found me.”

Tor turned to the clerk, and though it looked as if it pained him, he said, “It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

The praise flustered the young churchman. An embarrassed flush rose to his thin, freckled cheeks. “I only wish that we'd been able to return to the castle in time. I can't tell you how happy we were to hear you and your men arrive. It sounded like you had an army with you.” He looked around and frowned. “Where did they go?”

“I returned early and was able to gather men from the castle,” Tor explained. “They've gone after the attackers.”

A dubious frown wrinkled the clerk's forehead. Christina feared Tor's explanation had not satisfied him. “I see,” Brother John said.

“Who were they?” Christina asked. “Why would they attack us like that?”

“I don't know,” Tor said grimly. “But I intend to find out.”

From the merciless look on his face, Christina almost pitied the man responsible when he did. She'd carefully avoided looking at the ground behind him but could not escape the horror completely. The sickly scent of death hung in the air. She didn't need to look at the bodies to know they were there.

Tor seemed to remember their surroundings at the same time. Taking her by the arm, he attempted to steer her away. “Come—”

She jerked back, her eye catching something that made her look down.

God, she wished she hadn't.

“Don't.” He tried to pull her away, but she yanked her arm from his hold.

“No,” she gasped. Her stomach curdled, bile rising up the back of her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could hold back the nausea that threatened. She took a few steps forward and dropped to her knees, horror and despair washing over her.

The body of a woman lay facedown across the body of a small boy. She knew them both. The reeve's wife and son. Trembling, she reached out and smoothed her hand over
the child's blond, silky hair. It was still warm from the sun. Tears burned her eyes. She looked up to her husband, stacked with muscle and armor, a looming shadow against the sun. How could he do this? How could he surround himself with death all the time? How did he not die from the horror of it? “What kind of monster would do such a thing? Who could harm a child?”

He shook his head grimly.

All of a sudden she had a horrible thought. One that made the pressure in her chest burn. God, was this her fault? “Could it have been MacDougall?”

Tor's jaw hardened as if he knew what she was thinking. Had he thought it, too? “Possibly. But there are others as well.”

She looked back to the mother and child, tears sliding down her cheeks, praying that this had nothing to do with her.

“Come.” Tor carefully drew her away. “Don't think about it.”

She turned on him, outraged, staring into that brutally handsome face. Not one flicker of emotion traversed his stoic expression. Surely, he could not look at the body of an innocent child and remain so unaffected. “How can I not think about it? What is wrong with you? Does nothing affect you?”

He gave her a hard look, his blue eyes glacial. “I can't let it. But just because I don't show emotion doesn't mean I am incapable of feeling.”

The truth smacked her. This was how he functioned. For the first time, she understood why he might need to be so cold. How burying emotion could protect you in such hideous, brutal conditions.

She barely knew the woman and child before her yet she was stricken with overwhelming grief, sadness, and horror. What would it be like to see friends, men you'd fought beside for years, brutally killed before your eyes?

She shuddered. Ice was a protective shield he needed to survive.

Her heart went out to him. He might not show compassion, but he felt it. That he'd kept emotion inside was hardly surprising given his past. She just needed to be more patient with him.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly.

He nodded. She allowed him to lead her away, but the ground seemed to be moving under her feet as if she was walking down the deck of a ship in a storm. Her stomach rolled and heaved. Perspiration dampened her forehead.

She didn't feel well.

“Why did you leave the castle?” he asked. “What were you doing in the village?”

She swayed.

“Tina, what's wrong?”

She heard the alarm in his voice even though it sounded distant, as if he was underwater. Her head spun, and when she looked up at him he looked fuzzy, unfocused.

“I don't…” she managed before everything went black.

She woke the first time to darkness. Her eyelids fluttered, but they felt so heavy she kept them closed. And why was it so hot? She felt as though she was sleeping atop a fire. She tossed off the sheets, writhed around, and tried to find elusive comfort.

She was aware of a big, soothing hand on her head. Of deep murmuring. The covers were over her again. She mewled a complaint, settling only when the voice started again. She sighed, contended, before darkness pulled her under again.

When Christina woke the second time it was morning. Her eyes opened more easily this time, lids fluttering a few times before settling open. She stretched, feeling refreshed after a deep sleep.

A frown pinched her brows. Sleep? How had she gotten back to her chamber? The last thing she remembered was…

Hearing a sound, her gaze shot across the room. Tor was shifting in a wooden chair, a blanket wrapped around him, trying—unsuccessfully, it appeared—to get comfortable. He swore, and something about his angry, flustered expression made her giggle.

Tossing the plaid to the floor, he jumped to his feet and was at her side in a heartbeat. “You're awake.”

She smiled at the obvious. He, on the other hand, looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. He'd changed and washed the stains of battle away, but the lines of strain and fatigue were not so easily erased. His dark, golden hair was mussed, looking as if he'd raked his hands through it repeatedly; his clothes were rumpled, and his jaw was shadowed by more than a week's worth of stubble. Yet he still managed to look heartbreakingly handsome.

Her gaze flickered back to the chair and her nose wrinkled. “Did you sleep there?”

He frowned. “You were ill.”

Really? She felt fine. Though she did remember feeling strange and lightheaded right before she'd blacked out. The first time they'd shared the night together and she didn't remember any of it. “For how long?”

“Two days.” He shot her an angry glare. “You are never to be ill again.” He crossed his arms, looking very chiefly. “I won't permit it.”

She blinked and realized he was actually serious. He'd been worried about her. A bubble of happiness burst inside her. She started to smile, but seeing him glower, she quickly smothered it. “I shall do my best,” she said soberly.

His eyes narrowed as if he knew she was teasing him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, studying her intently, as if to assure himself that she was really recovered. “Why would you go to the village when you knew there was a fever?”

She lifted her chin, not liking his tone. “I wanted to help, and it was not a serious one. Besides, it is my duty as Lady of the Castle to tend the villagers. You made it quite clear that I was to restrict myself to certain tasks.”

He winced. “I might have spoken harshly—”

“Might have?” she interrupted, arching a brow.

He frowned at her again, but she was becoming quite immune to those black looks. Who would have thought that the girl who cowered in the shadows a couple of months ago would be standing up to the most feared warrior in the Highlands?

“I'm used to speaking bluntly, and I was angry,” he said. “I'm also not accustomed to someone ignoring my orders.”

“Are you trying to apologize?”

He frowned as if the notion surprised him. “I suppose I am. You were right in some of what you said. Not everything is about my duty to my clan, but I've grown so used to keeping my thoughts to myself, I'm not sure I know how to be any other way.”

Christina was shocked that her words had made an impact. “Haven't you ever wanted to have someone to talk to? Someone to listen to? Being responsible for so many people, it must be an incredible burden to shoulder alone. Having someone to talk to might make it easier.”

He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “Why is sharing your thoughts so difficult for you?”

He held her gaze. From his silence, it appeared he was waging some kind of internal debate. She was pleased when he answered her. “Because it is my duty as chief to keep my own counsel. I know only too well the harm that can come when I do not.”

“What happened?”

“I told you of the raid on Dunvegan that killed my parents?” She nodded. “My father was betrayed by a man he
thought a friend—a kinsman. The Earl of Ross used information he'd tricked from my mother to order the attack that killed my parents and nearly destroyed my clan. Women, children—no one escaped the bloodletting. It was a slaughter.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, horrified. She hadn't realized when he'd told her before. “You were there.”

He nodded, his eyes bleak. “Aye. Hidden in the chapel with my brother and sister. My father lived long enough to tell me what happened.” He paused. “My mother was not so fortunate by the time Ross's men had finished with her.”

She gasped, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

But Christina was not fooled. He lived with the legacy of that day even today. It was why he kept himself detached. Alone. Her heart went out to him. To the little boy who'd seen his parents killed and his clan nearly destroyed, and was burdened with the weight of putting it all back together. “And afterward, you were left to pick up the pieces?”

He looked at her as if it should be obvious. “I was chief.”

“But you were only ten,” she said, appalled. It was far too much responsibility for any one person, let alone a child so young. He wouldn't have stayed a child for long.

“I managed.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Quite well, it seems. Your clan is fortunate to have you.” He was an amazing man. She'd known it before, but hearing what he'd gone through made her even more proud of him. And determined. After the selfless devotion to his clan for years, he deserved some happiness for himself.

She sensed this was all she was going to get out of him for now. The fact that he'd opened up even just a little bit was quite an achievement—a miracle, really. Seeing him struggle and get all prickly, she was hard-pressed not to
throw her arms around him—he looked so adorable. But the world was not made in a day, and neither would her husband change a lifetime of silence.

“I'm sorry, too,” she said. “I was so focused on you confiding in me, I never stopped to think about what I was really asking for. I wish you could confide in me, but I understand why you cannot.”

“I am trying to protect you, Christina, not hurt you.”

“I know that.”

“I don't want you interfering because it is dangerous. I need you to trust me on this.” His eyes fixed on her intently. “Can you do that?”

She nodded, though she wished the trust were mutual.

He seemed to consider something. When he spoke it was very carefully, as if the words did not come easily. “I would like to suggest a compromise.”

Her eyes widened to exaggerated proportions. “Compromise? I didn't think you knew that word.”

He gave her a sharp look. “It's not one I've used very often, but for you I'm prepared to make an exception.”

He was teasing her. She couldn't believe it. “I'm duly honored,” she said with an exaggerated bow of her head.

He flashed her a roguish grin, and it felt as if the sun had broken through the clouds. It changed his whole face, making him look years younger. “How old are you?” she blurted.

A puzzled look creased his brow. “One and thirty.” Ignoring her strange question, he went back to what he'd been about to say. He cleared his throat. “If you can agree to accept when I cannot tell you something, then I shall endeavor to be more…”

He seemed to be having considerable difficulty finding the right word.

“Forthcoming,” she offered, trying to bite back a smile.

One side of his mouth curved in a wry grin. “Aye, forthcoming.”

She grinned. “I should like that.” It was enough. For now. But she still hoped that eventually he would make her more a part of his life. After her experience with organizing the books, she knew he could use her.

He smoothed her hair back from her face, studying her for so long with those implacably clear ice-blue eyes that a self-conscious flush rose to her cheeks. “I must look a fright,” she said, lowering her gaze.

His eyes darkened with heat. “You look beautiful.”

The simply spoken words startled her with their sincerity. Warmth spread through her. She'd heard the words before, but never had they mattered. “You've never said so.”

He looked surprised. “Haven't I? I've thought it hundreds of times.”

“My mind-reading skills aren't what they used to be.”

He laughed, and Christina thought it was the most wonderful sound in the world. This was exactly the kind of moment she'd dreamed of. She wished she could hold on to it forever.