Torrian (The Highland Clan Book 2) (3 page)

“I’m highly suspicious of a clan who cannot get along with any of their neighbors enough to arrange a marriage,” Torrian grumbled. “Have you any more to say on the matter?”

“I have. The Buchans are becoming more aggressive. That’s not to say Davina is aggressive, but her cousin, brother, and sire are stirring up trouble in the Highlands. The king is hoping this alliance will help satisfy them and prevent them from causing trouble.”

“In other words, if I marry Davina, you and Da will be more aware of the Buchan’s movements, so you can let the king know if trouble is brewing before it happens. I’m to be the pawn in his game.”

Logan smirked a little and glanced first at Gwyneth and then at Quade. Though not pleased with the situation, Torrian felt gratified that he’d read it correctly. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him, awaiting the others’ response.

Aunt Gwyneth said, “I told you he was quick. Well done, nephew.” She nodded and then walked from the room, patting Torrian’s shoulder on her way out.

Logan caught Quade’s gaze and nodded. “He’s all yours, Quade.” But he stayed in the solar with them, watching with his hawk-like eyes that saw everything.

Quade played with one of the carvings that decorated his desk. “You are correct in your assessment. But you’re not interested in any of the lasses on our land, are you, Torrian?”

“Nay, but you advised me not to bed any of the lasses from our clan unless I was serious and interested in marriage. I have not found that lass yet.” He paused, then decided to be honest. “‘Tis true I have not searched verra hard.”

“I will support your final decision, as I know how your grandmother felt about forced marriages, but I would like you to at least meet Davina to see if you would make a match. She would be a smart match, and I believe ‘tis always wise to expand your allies. ‘Tis also best to keep watch of your enemies. Davina of Buchan is not our enemy, but her brother, sire, or cousin—the MacNivens—could be.”

Torrian mulled this over for a moment without speaking.

“I see your keen mind whirring,” Logan added, “so allow me to add that it would be highly insulting for you to refuse the match without meeting the lass, both to her sire and to the king, and I would not recommend it. We’re asking you to do a favor for your clan, lad.”

Shite, his uncle had just made the one plea he would never be able to refuse.

Do a favor for your clan
. He’d been raised to believe that his clan was more important than aught. That guaranteed his answer.

“And if you do not suit,” his sire added, “I’m sure she’ll feel the same, and the betrothal will never take place.”

“I’ll agree to meet her, but only for the clan.”

“That’s all we ask, lad.” His sire stood and clasped his shoulder. “If she be ill natured or uncomely, there will be no match. Logan will send word to the king. We will travel to the Buchans together. Be ready to travel soon, possibly on the morrow.”

How he hoped his father was telling the truth. He had a very bad feeling about this.

                            Chapter Three

When Torrian stepped outside the solar, his faithful Scottish Deerhound stood there waiting for him, her tail already wagging.

“Och, Gertie. ‘Tis true I must leave you for a while.” He patted her head and walked over to the corner of the great hall where he’d set out a mound of furs for her and her pups. She’d had a fresh litter of pups several weeks ago, and they were growing stronger every day. He’d already given one away to a sickly lad in the clan. The last litter he’d given away because Gertie was due for this new litter, though he gave the pups only to families he trusted.

The new litter of pups slept in his chamber at night, but during the day they stayed in the stables or the great hall where they could play with the wee ones. The bairns loved the pups.

Torrian sat down on the floor, allowing the pups to clamor into his lap while Gertie rested her head on his lower leg. “I swear, Gertie, you always seem to know what’s to happen before I do.”

Gertie grunted and Torrian snorted. “I agree, ‘tis not a good thing for a future laird.”

Torrian would never be without a Deerhound companion—Gertie’s grandsire had saved him from a life of immobility, and he would always be grateful.

After his stepmother had discovered the cause of his childhood illness—an unusual response to the ingestion of most grains—Torrian’s health drastically improved, but he was still too weak to walk and his father and uncles needed to carry him around the keep. The memory of how thin his legs had been was fresh in his mind, as was the number of times he’d fallen while trying to walk. Though his new food choices had soothed his stomach and cured the painful blisters that had once covered his skin, he’d gathered his fair share of sore bruises from falls.

Then Brenna Grant did something wonderful for him. He would never forget the day she’d appeared at the door to the great hall with a giant Scottish Deerhound named Growley at her side. She’d arranged for someone to train the large dog to walk strong by his side to support him.

And that one act had transformed Torrian’s life. The big lumbering Deerhound had licked his face in greeting and then arranged himself at his side, where he’d stayed for the rest of his short life. Torrian had gripped the fur on the dog’s back and taken his first successful steps in years. Once his father had married his stepmother, he’d called Brenna “Mama” for years for two reasons—because his sister Lily had wanted him to, but more importantly because of all Brenna had done for him in such a short time.

Growley had helped him learn how to walk, but his faith and faithfulness had also taught Torrian to believe in himself. When he fell for the first time on Growley’s watch, the dog nuzzled him with his cold nose until he giggled and stood up again. Aye, his first dog had taught him patience, too.

Torrian sighed, wishing his faithful friend was here beside him again, because he wasn’t thinking patient thoughts after the meeting with his sire.

The littlest pup stared up at him.

“What is it, Bretta? What do you think I should do?” He reached down to rub behind her ears, her favorite place. Her brothers, Bram and Birk, were both scuttling to get their noses into his sporran.

“Och, you lads think you deserve a treat?” His hand touched his sporran and the two pups sat down in a hurry, almost knocking each other over in their excitement, their wee tails cleaning the floor behind them they were wagging so hard. He gave them each a treat and they ran off to the side to devour them. Gertie lifted her head to stare at him. “Aye, Gertie. Growley would tell me the same. Trust my sire. So I shall.”

He stood and gave his dog a farewell treat and headed to the stairs. At the moment, he only wanted to see Heather. The lass had a pull on him he’d never experienced before. She was pleasing to the eye, of course, but it was not just that. There was a steadfastness to her that he admired—she was not some foolish lass who thought only of kissing lads. Even though he hadn’t talked with her much, he sensed her shrewd intelligence. Her strength. This lass had kept her daughter alive in that cave for years, and that in itself was no small feat.

Normally Torrian was not the kind of man who gave in to impulse. But soon he would leave for the Buchans’ land, and he was no longer content to set aside his wants and desires. He’d do as he wished for a change.

Torrian climbed the stairs and noticed Brenna emerging from the chamber where Nellie was being treated. “Brenna, how is she doing?”

“Better. I think she’ll wake up soon. Heather has not left her side. I worry about her, yet I would have done the same for all of my bairns.” She stopped in the passageway and looked at him, her eyes seeing beyond his calm façade. “You are finished in the solar with your da?”

Torrian nodded.

“And how are you feeling about what they suggested?” She angled her head to the side, the same way she often did—her way of letting you know she was willing to listen. How he adored his stepmother, the woman who had helped pull him out of the hell he’d been forced into as a child. He had been so ill, abed for years, his own family had pretended he was dead, not wanting the clan to know the true state of the Ramsay heir’s health. Brenna, whose shrewd mind could understand and interpret matters few others could, would always hold a special place in his heart.

“Better now than I was at first.”

“They convinced you to meet Davina?”

“You did not think they would be able to?”

“Torrian, it was a difficult decision for your father to make. He believes in love matches as much as his mother did, but since the edict came from our king, ‘tis difficult to refuse.”

“I understand. I agreed to meet her, but that’s all at this point.” He conceded that his sire was probably in a difficult position. From his point of view, he was probably doing what was necessary in order to remain in the good graces of the King of the Scots, Alexander.

“You are being more than fair. I do not think your father expected aught else from you.”

“Will you travel with us? I’d appreciate your input.” His father and his uncle were so supportive of each other. He wanted, nay, needed someone who was more objective. He knew Brenna would tell him her mind.

“I’ll talk with the others. Everyone in the clan must be hale and hearty for me to travel, and I believe you’ll be leaving soon, possibly within two days. But I would enjoy visiting for a bit. I’ll do my best to make it happen if you’d like me to come along.”

“I would.” He paused before changing the subject, pushing against the wall he was leaning against so he’d be ready to move. “I’d like to stop in to see Nellie. Do you think Heather would mind?”

“Nay. She’s awake and would probably appreciate a different face than mine.” She chuckled, her eyes dancing, and turned to head toward the staircase.

It was a comfort to know Brenna might be joining them for the trip. He moved to the door of Nellie’s sick chamber and gave it a gentle rap.

“Aye?”

Torrian opened the door far enough to peek his head through the opening. “Do you mind if I enter? I’d like to visit with you and Nellie, see how she fares.”

Heather said, “Aye, please come in.”

Torrian entered the chamber, but before he could close the door behind him, a wee lass brushed in past him, followed by another. His sister and his cousin—the lassies went everywhere together, and they were as fast as rabbits running from Aunt Gwyneth’s bow. He thought about sending the two lassies away, but they were about the same age as Nellie. Mayhap they could encourage her to get better.

His sister squared her shoulders and approached Heather. “Good morn to you. My name is Jennet, and I’m the healer’s helper. Lady Brenna is my mother. She teaches me how to heal, so I thought I could help you with your daughter. She’s only been here since yesterday, aye?”

Heather cast Jennet a skeptical look, but didn’t send her away. “Aye.”

“Has she awakened yet?” Jennet gave Heather an intent look that would not be out of place on a lass of twenty summers. Brenna was often teased that Jennet was a miniature form of her, and her brown eyes and brown hair helped to complete the image.

“Nay.” Still hesitant, Heather sat atop the furs on the bed, Nellie cuddled on her lap asleep.

“I brought my helper. This is Brigid, and mayhap we can convince her to awaken. We could play healer with our dolls later if she’d like.”

Torrian suppressed his urge to laugh. Brigid, Logan and Gwyneth’s youngest, stepped out from behind his sister and lifted her gaze to meet Heather’s. People were not used to seeing such forthright girls, but they were being raised by two of the strongest women in the land. Together, they were quite persuasive. Each had been a surprise to her parents, but also a delight, especially since they were so close in age. They were of an age with Alison, the youngest child of Brenna’s brother, Brodie Grant, and whenever the three lassies were together, they could maneuver and trick their way into getting most anything they wanted.

Torrian leaned toward Brigid, tickling her neck with a few strands of hair that had freed themselves from her plait. “They enjoy helping my stepmother,” he said to Heather. “They’re quite harmless, and only wish to be helpful.”

Brigid nodded emphatically and linked her hands behind her back, waiting for permission.

Heather glanced at Torrian before she answered the lassies. He caught a slight twitch in her jaw, but then she became quite serious and said, “Your mother just left after bathing her and rubbing fresh salve on her chest. What would you like to do to help her?”

“First, I would like to listen to her heart,” Jennet said. “Then we could give her a backrub to make her feel better. We could sing to her if you’d like.”

“That sounds nice,” Heather said. She glanced at Torrian, and from the look on her face, he could tell the two girls were charming her. “Nellie does not have much experience with others her age.”

“Mayhap ‘twill be good for her,” Torrian said.

Heather set Nellie down, moved to a chair by the bed and kept careful watch as Jennet climbed up on the bed and then helped her cousin up behind her. She leaned close to Nellie and placed her ear next to her chest. “It would help if you were quiet for a moment,” she said, and Torrian could not help the small smile that tipped up his lips. They all watched her until she lifted her head and spoke to Heather in a reassuring tone, just like her mother. “She has a verra strong heartbeat. I do believe she will get better.”

She motioned to Brigid to help her. “May we lift her gown to give her a backrub?”

As the two lassies continued their task, they began to sing a song Torrian recognized from his younger days. Brenna had sung it to him whenever she bathed him. He recalled how soothing her soft ministrations had been.

“Why, ‘tis a most lovely song,” Heather said, tears misting her eyes. “Is it from your mother, Torrian?”

“Aye.”

“Your family is quite special. You are a fortunate lad.”

“Aye, I know that more than anyone.” He paused, then said the words that had been longing to leave his lips, “If at any time you change your mind, you will always be welcome here at Clan Ramsay.”

***

Heather lifted her gaze to the broad expanse of chest not far from her. When had she ever been so drawn to a lad? And yet she could not deny that his soft voice, warm green eyes that reminded her of a summer breeze, and his handsome face drew her in. She thought it must be due to her exhaustion over worrying about Nellie. Her inner voice screamed at her—
you do not need another man! You need no one’s help but your own.

“My thanks. I’m not making any decisions now. I’m just hopeful she will get well.” Tears flooded her cheeks, and Torrian reached over to squeeze her hand, a gesture meant to comfort her, she was certain, not some move to try to get into her bed. Unfortunately, her limited experience with men had taught her they often had ulterior motives.

Torrian took a seat in the chair next to her while the girls continued their song, caressing Nellie’s skin lightly, both using the lightest of touches. It gave her the opportunity to take a longer look at him. Torrian was tall and muscular, but not as broad as his sire and his uncle. He walked with the proud air of a leader, which made him seem older than his years, but he was quite handsome. His skin had a golden glow from the sun, his long hair was a light shade of brown with strands of yellow interspersed, and she noticed he was always freshly shaven. His eyes were green, the color of a spruce tree in the winter. But what she liked best about him was his aura: calm, confident, supportive, and trustworthy. He was unlike any other man she had ever met, and she found herself staring at his lips, wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him. She’d never been a fan of kissing, with all the spittle involved. But this man inspired something different. How she wished she could try—just once.

She blushed when he caught her staring, but he raised his eyebrows as if to say he approved, then smiled the most gorgeous smile she’d ever seen.

The girls finished their song, so Torrian moved over to the bed to hoist them up and set them down. “I think you did a fine job, lassies, but let’s allow Nellie to rest again.”

Jennet and Brigid said goodbye to Nellie, then each gave Heather a quick hug before they ran back out of the room.