Torrian (The Highland Clan Book 2) (14 page)

Much later, by process of elimination, there were only two contenders left: Torrian and Ranulf. Quade stood in front of the group and said, “We shall take a short break for a quarter of an hour. The final contenders will compete at that time to determine the winner.”

Torrian grabbed a water skin and threw a gulp of water down his throat. Most of the others departed the field for other refreshments were being offered, but he stayed. He needed to focus on the task at hand and not give in to distraction.

Just before the contest was to commence again, Ranulf wandered over to his side. Torrian was facing away from the crowd, and no one was close enough to hear their discussion.

“So a wee bird informed me that you are not interested in Davina,” Ranulf sneered. “Is she not beautiful enough to suit you?”

Torrian wondered what his game was, so he decided to play. He did not trust the man, chief of his clan or not. “Lying wenches are not my type.”

Ranulf snickered and stared at his feet. “And what type
does
interest you? The type with a dick between its legs instead of a slit?”

“Nay, but I prefer my lasses not to slither through the grass.” Torrian refused to look at the other man, but he could tell from his stiffened posture that the comment had hit home.

“Then allow me to make you an offer. You may have all the wenches you wish in return for allowing me to plow your wife whenever I would like.” He tipped his head back to stare at a bird flying overhead.

“Ah. So you are already quite familiar with her fertile fields, are you not?”

A twitch caught in the corner of MacNiven’s mouth. “Davina’s exquisite tastes can only be satisfied by certain men. I’m quite sure you are not one of them. Besides, the lass fancies herself in that foolish female state of being in love. She’ll do whatever you wish if you allow her to continue as my mistress.”

“On no day in King Alexander’s reign will you be allowed to touch my wife. Bet on that and you’ll be a rich man.”

“My betting instincts tell me that you still think you will escape marrying Davina of Buchan.”

Torrian did not answer.

“Think again, lad. You are too nice to win.” Ranulf pivoted and walked back toward the Buchan contingency.

Uncle Logan was beside him in an instant. “You allow him into your head, and he wins, lad. Be strong against the viper.”

Visions of blonde hair and one blue eye and one green flashed through his mind.

“Do not worry, Uncle. I’m focused on the end result. He will go down.”

Chapter Sixteen

Heather managed to finish cleaning the inside of their cave before Nellie finally awoke, sitting up on the fur padding and staring at her surroundings with wide eyes.

“Mama?”

“Aye, sweets. Mama’s here for you.” Heather had relived her moments with Torrian at least five times in her mind. She was so in love with the tawny-haired warrior, it was a struggle to force her mind back to the present.

Wee Nellie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then stared up at her. “When did we leave the castle? I fell asleep in the big bed in your chamber, did I not?”

The confused look in her daughter’s eyes filled her with remorse, but she had to do what was best for her daughter, and right now, it was most important for her to protect Nellie from her sire.

“Sweets, many more people arrived at the castle, so the Ramsays needed our chamber for guests. We shall return someday soon.”

Her wee face fell. She stared at the ground and puckered her lips in a pout.

“My apologies, but we had to do what was right.” She chided herself for lying to the lassie, but it wasn’t a complete lie. And at least it would protect Nellie from her father’s need for vengeance.

Vengeance. After spending time at the Ramsay castle, she now understood the true term for what he’d done to her. Rape. He’d done it without her understanding, he hadn’t stopped when she’d screamed, and he’d even hit her at one point. The man was a disgusting piece of scum. He would never touch her Nellie.

Nellie lifted her gaze up to meet her mother’s. “I understand. ‘Tis all right, Mama, as long as I’m with you.” Her wee lip trembled as she fought the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

Heather scooped Nellie up into her arms and kissed her forehead. She could tell from the way her precious daughter burrowed her face into her shoulder that the lassie was broken-hearted, but they would go back.

Would they not?

Suddenly, Heather’s mind started to churn with bitter, frightened thoughts. She stood at the mouth of the cave and stared up at the gray sky.

What if Torrian did not manage to find evidence implicating the Buchans?

What if he was forced to marry Davina?

What if Heather carried Torrian’s bairn in her belly? From the prattle she’d overheard in the kitchens at the Ramsay keep, she knew lasses did not get pregnant every time, but she had carried a child after her first time.

What if she was forced to live in this cave with two bairns?

Nay, that could never be. Torrian would take care of her, would he not? He seemed to love her, for certes. Even if he was forced to marry another, he’d still find a way to care for her.

Then she thought of Davina of Buchan and what she would allow in her keep.

What would happen if Brenna passed and Davina became mistress of the Ramsay keep?

That line of thought was replaced with another. What if Nellie’s sire came for her? He knew she lived in this cave. He’d helped her to find it. What if Nellie met him? What if….

Her entire being exploded, or at least it felt as such. Her heart pounded, her hands broke out in a sweat, and her hands trembled.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Nellie whispered. “You will not leave me here alone, will you?”

And she knew what she had to do. Aye, it was the right thing to do. She would stand up for herself. That fool had intimidated her when she was young, but no more. She had let fear rule her life for too long.

She would fight for the man she loved. Two days. They only had two days to set things to rights before both of their worlds crumbled. She could not let that happen without doing something.

Heather brushed the fine strands of her daughter’s hair back and kissed her forehead. “Nay, my sweet Nellie. I’ll never leave you. We shall return today rather than wait, though we must be extra quiet because of the festivities taking place. Can you do that for Mama? Can you not make a sound until you are with your friends again?”

Nellie smiled and nodded her head a firm two times. “I promise, Mama.”

“Good. And you will stay with Jennet and Brigid and their maid while I do a few things?”

“Aye, and I promise to be verra good.”

Heather set her daughter down and turned her back on the fur pelts. “Then get dressed in your gown with your leggings underneath. We’re heading back. Your mama has something verra important to do. And I will not give up until I accomplish it.”

Nellie clapped and ran back to her clothing. “Yay, Mama!”

Yay, indeed.

***

The contest started.

At the last minute, Ranulf came forward limping. “I’ve injured my leg. Dugald has agreed to stand in for me.”

Glenn of Buchan stood behind his son. “Dugald’s clearly not as good as Ranulf or he’d be in his spot, but we have no choice. Ranulf cannot balance well on his leg. ‘Tis only fair.”

Quade approached the group and listened to their argument before consenting to the substitution. Dugald should be an easy win, so Torrian was puzzled at the switch in contestants. Ranulf was the type to shoot even if near death, so he knew there was an ulterior motive. Still, he knew he needed to focus on his shooting and leave it to his clan to uncover the truth.

The final contest was simple—the best out of five. They’d shoot one arrow each and determine which was the closest to the target, giving one point to the winner. This would happen five times. Whoever had the closest arrow three of five times would win.

All spectators were hushed as the round began. Torrian stepped up to the line and nocked his arrow. He took his time, making sure to be accurate, then let the first arrow fly, hitting the target dead center. Dugald shot second and was way outside the mark.

“First arrow to Ramsay,” Quade announced to the gathered crowd.

Dugald would take first shot in the second round. He fired and missed the center again, but this time he came closer. Torrian stepped up and shot his arrow, dead center again. This time, his gaze scanned the crowd and he noticed both Glenn and Ranulf were missing. While he wondered where they were, he was determined not to allow their disappearance to distract him.

Torrian started to pace as he awaited Kenzie’s announcement at the target. While he moved back and forth, he noticed Ranulf and Glenn emerging from a group of trees together. What the hell? Had they needed to pish during the tournament? He ignored them and returned his focus to the field.

Quade announced the second round score—two to zero.

Taking him completely by surprise, Glenn came up on one side of him to congratulate him while Ranulf clasped his other shoulder.

Torrian’s gut turned sour. He did not know what the two had planned, but he was sure something was amiss. He checked his arm and shoulder to see if they’d done something to him, but there was no sign of tampering.

“Round three. Torrian, you fire first,” Quade announced.

Torrian took his time, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut and doing his best to focus on the task at hand. He nocked his arrow, aimed, and let it sluice through the air.

He missed the target completely.

The crowd gasped in shock. Torrian stared in bafflement, unable to believe he’d completely missed his target. He hadn’t done that in years. His gut had been right. Now all he just had to do was figure out what had gone wrong.

He glanced at Ranulf and Glenn, both of whom had smug grins on their faces. Hellfire, they’d cheated somehow, but how?

Logan came up behind him and whispered, “Keep your head focused. Leave the rest to us. Your job is to shoot and stay in it.”

Dugald stepped up and shot his arrow, hitting the edge of the target to beat Torrian.

Quade stepped forward. “Score after round three is two to one, Ramsay lead.” He gave his son a pointed look before pulling his gaze away from him.

Hellfire, how Torrian hated to be on the receiving end of that disappointed look. Shite, but he had to do better.

Round four, Dugald shot first, hit the target, and stood back.

Torrian stepped up, but this time he found himself battling with his mind. He had to meet his mark to make his father proud. He had to do it for Heather. But what if he missed the target again? What was wrong with him? Was this how a competitor got into your head? By making you so addled you knew not what you were doing?

Sweat broke out across his forehead, but he stepped up to the line. He took his time, doing everything just as Logan and Gwyneth had taught him, and let the arrow fly.

He missed the target again.

Torrian thought his chest would explode. How could this be? He half-listened as his father moved forward to announce the score. Kenzie charged across the field toward Quade, but he was directed back to the target as Quade stated, “Round four to the Buchans. Score two to two. Last arrow determines the winner. Ramsay, your shot.”

Kenzie tried again to race across the field, yelling to Torrian’s father.

This time, Quade bent down to listen to Kenzie.

***

Ranulf hurried back into the trees, hoping to get there before he was noticed. Hell, but his plan had worked to perfection. There was naught wrong with his leg. And though he was the best archer on the field, he did not mind allowing Dugald to win. This was all about teaching the Ramsays a lesson.

He wished to show them not who had the best talent, but who was best at taking control of a situation. The MacNivens and Buchans would be the best clans in the Highlands. All would be talking about them someday, well, more specifically, talking about
him
, Ranulf, the chief of the MacNivens, soon to be the greatest power in the Highlands.

He rotated in a circle, searching for the quiver they’d set here, but he couldn’t find it. He was sure he had left it hidden by the bushes at his feet.

A whizzing flew by his ear, and he ducked, knowing instinctively what it was. A loud thwack followed and he saw an arrow in the tree with the Ramsay fletching.

“Looking for something, my lord?”

A female voice echoed through the trees. He turned to find an arrow aimed directly at his chest, held by that bitch who liked to think herself the best archer in the land—Gwyneth Ramsay.

He’d kill the wench with his bare hands. How dare she get involved with men’s affairs. He took one step forward, only for an arrow to land at his feet.

“Are you that daft?” she said with a grin. “Have you not heard my reputation? My favorite thing to do is to shoot rotten bastards in the ballocks. And at present, I think this quiver full of tampered arrows qualifies you for the rotten bastard award. What think you? Do you still wish to take another step?” She lowered the direction of her arrow so it was level with his groin.

He stood still, glaring at her, hoping his most evil look would do its work, but she only laughed. Hell, but if he ever got his hands on that neck of hers….

She made a bird call and then said, “I think my husband would love to see these arrows.”