To Tame a Highland Warrior (12 page)

“Don’t leave me!” she cried, flinging herself into his arms.

As she burrowed against his chest, his arms closed instinctively around her. He held her tightly, offering her shuddering body the shelter of his damned near invincible one.

He cradled her in his arms while she sobbed, suffering a terrible sense of kinship with her. Too clearly he recalled the loss of his own innocence. Eight years before he’d stood and watched his own clan fight the McKane. The sight of such brutality had rendered him nearly senseless with grief and rage, and now his young Jillian knew the same terrors. How could he have done this to her?

Would she have nightmares? Relive it as he had—at least a thousand times?

“Hush, sweet lass,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “I promise you the McKane will never come back here. I promise you that somehow I will always look after you, no matter where I am. I will never let anyone hurt you.”

She sniffled, her face buried in the hollow between his shoulder and his neck. “You can’t protect me if you’re not here!”

“I spoke with your da and told him I’m leaving. But I also told him that if you ever need me, he has only to summon me.” Although Gibraltar had been angry with him for leaving, he’d seemed mollified that he would know where to find Grimm should the need arise.

Jillian turned her tearstained face up to his, her eyes wide.

He lost his breath, gazing at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were brilliant with tears. Her lips were swollen from crying and her hair tumbled in a mane of gold fire about her face.

He had absolutely no intention of kissing her. But one moment they were looking into each other’s eyes and the next moment he’d bent his head forward to press a pledge against her lips: a light, sweet promise of protection.

The moment their lips met, his body jerked violently.

He drew back and stared at her blankly.

“D-did you f-feel that?” she stammered, confusion darkening her eyes.

Not possible
, he assured himself.
The world does not shake on its axis when you kiss a lass
. To convince himself—he kissed her again. The earthquake began just beneath his toes.

His innocent pledge took on a life of its own, became a passionate, soul-searing kiss between a man and his mate. Her maiden lips parted sweetly beneath his and she melted into the heat of his body.

Grimm squeezed his eyes tightly shut, recalling that long-ago kiss as he listened to the trill of Jillian’s flute outside his window.

God, how vividly he recalled it. And he’d not touched another woman since.

Quinn insisted they go for a ride, and although Jillian initially resisted, before long she was glad she went. She’d forgotten how charming Quinn was, how easily he could make her laugh. Quinn had come to Caithness the summer after Grimm had arrived. Her father had fostered the two
lads—a chieftain’s eldest son and a homeless scavenger—as equals, although in Jillian’s eyes no other boy could ever have been Grimm’s equal.

Quinn had been well mannered and thoughtful, but it had been Grimm she’d fallen in love with the day she’d met him—the wild boy living in the woods at the perimeter of Caithness. It had been Grimm who’d upset her so much she’d cried hot tears of frustration. It had been Quinn who’d comforted her when he’d left. Funny, she mused as she glanced over at the dashing man riding beside her, some things hadn’t changed a bit.

Quinn caught her sidelong glance and grinned easily. “I’ve missed you, Jillian. Why is it that we haven’t seen one another in years?”

“Judging from the tales I heard of you, Quinn, you were too busy conquering the world and the women to spare time for a simple Lowland lass like me,” she teased.

“Conquering the world perhaps. But the women? I think not. A woman is not to be conquered, but to be wooed and won. Cherished.”

“Tell that to Grimm.” She rolled her eyes. “That man cherishes nothing but his own bad temper. Why does he hate me so?”

Quinn measured her a moment, as if debating what to say. Finally he shrugged. “I used to think it was because he secretly liked you and couldn’t let himself show it because he felt he was a nobody, not good enough for the daughter of Gibraltar St. Clair. But that doesn’t make sense, because Grimm is now a wealthy man, rich enough for any woman, and God knows the women desire him. Frankly, Jillian, I have no idea why he’s still cruel to you. I’d thought things would change, especially now that you’re old enough to be courted. I can’t say that I’m sorry, though, because it’s less
competition as far as I’m concerned,” he finished with a pointed look.

Jillian’s eyes widened. “Quinn—” she started, but he waved his hand to silence any protest.

“No, Jillian. Don’t answer me now. Don’t even make me say the words. Just get to know me again, and then we’ll speak of things that may come to be. But come what may, I will always be good to you, Jillian,” he added softly.

Jillian tugged her lower lip between her teeth and spurred her mount into a canter, stealing a glance over her shoulder at the handsome Quinn.
Jillian de Moncreiffe
, she thought curiously.

Jillian Alanna
Roderick, her heart cried defiantly.

J
ILLIAN STOOD IN THE LONG, NARROW WINDOW OF THE
drum tower a hundred feet above the courtyard and watched Grimm. She’d climbed the winding stairs to the tower, telling herself she was trying to get away from “that man,” but she knew she wasn’t being entirely honest with herself.

The drum tower held memories, and that’s what she’d gone to revisit. Splendid memories of the first summer Grimm had been in residence, that wondrous season she’d taken to sleeping in her princess tower. Her parents had indulged her; they’d had men seal the cracks in the stones and hung tapestries so she’d be warm. Here were all her favorite books, the few remaining dolls that had escaped Grimm’s “burials at sea” in the loch, and other love-worn remnants of what had been the best year of her life.

That first summer she’d found the “beast-boy,” they’d spent every moment together. He had taken her on hikes and taught her to catch trout and slippery salamanders. He’d sat her on a pony for the first time; he’d built her a
snow cave on the lawn their first winter together. He’d been there to raise her up if she wasn’t tall enough to see, and he’d been there to pick her up if she fell. Nightly he’d told her outlandish stories until she’d passed into a child’s exhausted slumber, dreaming of the next adventure they’d share.

To this day, Jillian could still recall the magic feeling she’d had whenever they’d been together. It had seemed perfectly possible that he might be a rogue angel sent to guard her. After all, she’d been the one who’d discovered him lurking in the thickets of the forest behind Caithness. She’d been the one who’d coaxed him near with a tempting feast, waiting patiently day after day on a rumpled blanket with her beloved puppy, Savanna TeaGarden.

For months he’d resisted her offering, hiding in his bracken and shadows, watching her as intently as she’d watched him. But one rainy day he’d melted out of the mist and come to kneel upon her blanket. He’d gazed at her with an expression that had made her feel beautiful and protected. Sometimes, in the years to follow, despite his cruel indifference, she’d caught that same look in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching. It had kept her hope alive when it would have been wiser to let it die. She’d grown to young womanhood desperately in love with the fierce boy-turned-man who had a strange way of appearing whenever she needed him, rescuing her repeatedly.

Granted, he hadn’t always been gentle while he did it. One time he’d trussed her up, high in an oak’s lofty branches, before tearing off through the woods to rescue Savanna from a pack of wild dogs he’d saved Jillian from moments earlier. Lashed to the tree, terrified for her puppy, she’d howled and struggled but had been unable to loosen her bonds. He’d left her there for hours. But sure as the sun
always rose and set, he had come back for her—cradling the wounded, but remarkably alive, wolfhound in his arms.

He’d refused to discuss with her how he’d saved her puppy from the rabid pack, but she hadn’t worried overmuch. Although Jillian had found it mildly astonishing that he’d been unhurt himself, over the years she’d come to expect that Grimm would suffer no harm. Grimm was her hero. He could do anything.

One year after she’d met Grimm, Quinn de Moncreiffe had arrived to be fostered at Caithness. He and Grimm became close as brothers, sharing a world of adventures from which she was painfully excluded. That had been the beginning of the end of her dreams.

Jillian sighed as Grimm disappeared into the castle. Her back stiffened when he reappeared a few moments later with Zeke. She narrowed her eyes when Zeke slipped his hand trustingly into Grimm’s. She could still recall how easy it had been to slide her child’s hand into his strong grip. He was the kind of man that children and women wanted to keep around, although for wholly different reasons.

There was certainly a mystery about him. It was as if a swirling black mist had parted the day Grimm Roderick had stepped into existence, and no amount of questioning, no relentless scrutiny could ever illuminate his dark past. He was a deep man, unusually aware of the tiniest nuances in a conversation or interaction. When she’d been a child, he’d always seemed to know exactly how she was feeling, anticipating her feelings before she had understood them herself.

If she was honest with herself, the only truly cruel thing she could accuse him of was years of indifference. He’d never done anything terribly unkind in and of itself. But the
night he’d left, his absolute rejection had caused her to harden her heart against him.

She watched him swing Zeke up in his arms. What on earth was he doing? Putting him on a horse? Zeke couldn’t ride, he couldn’t see well enough. She opened her mouth to call down, then paused. Whatever else he might be, Grimm was not a man who made mistakes. Jillian resigned herself to watch for a few moments. Zeke was giddy with excitement, and it wasn’t often she saw him happy. Several of the children and their parents had gathered around to watch. Jillian held her breath. If Grimm’s intentions went awry it would be a painful, public humiliation for Zeke, and one he’d not live down for a long time.

She watched as Grimm bowed his dark head close to the horse; it looked as if he was whispering words in the prancing gray stallion’s ear. Jillian suffered a momentary fancy that the horse had actually nodded his head in response. When Grimm slipped Zeke on the horse’s back, she held her breath. Zeke sat rigidly at first, then slowly relaxed as Grimm led the stallion in easy wide circles around the courtyard. Well, that was all fine and good, Jillian thought, but now what would Zeke do? He certainly couldn’t be led around all the time. What was the point of putting the child on a horse when he could never ride on his own?

She quickly decided she’d had enough. Obviously Grimm didn’t understand; he should not be teaching the boy to want impossible things. He should be encouraging Zeke to read books, to indulge in safer pursuits, as Jillian had done. When a child was handicapped, it made no sense to encourage him to test those limits foolishly in a manner that might cause him harm. Far better to teach him to appreciate different things and pursue attainable dreams. No matter that, like any other child, Zeke might wish to run
and play and ride—he had to be taught that he couldn’t, that it was dangerous for him to do so with his impaired vision.

She would take Grimm to task over his lapse in judgment immediately, before any more damage was done. Quite a crowd had gathered in the courtyard, and she could already see the parents shaking their heads and whispering among themselves. She promised herself she would handle this problem coolly and rationally, giving the onlookers no cause for gossip. She would explain to Grimm the proper way to treat young Zeke and demonstrate that she wasn’t always a witless idiot.

She exited the drum tower quickly and made her way to the courtyard.

Grimm led the horse in one last slow circle, certain that at any moment Jillian would burst from the castle. He knew he shouldn’t spend time with her, yet he found himself deliberately arranging to give Zeke his first riding lesson where she’d be certain to see. Only moments before he had glimpsed a flutter of motion and a fall of golden hair in the tower window. His gut tightened with anticipation as he lifted Zeke down from the stallion. “I suspect you feel comfortable with his gait now, Zeke. We’ve made a good start.”