sleep after the most incredible experience of her life. Voices outside the chamber caught her attention. Several guards spoke in hushed tones about a regiment of dragoons led by a traitorous Scot headed east of Falkirk.
Hamish. In her gut she knew it had to be him.
The dying man had not been speaking in riddles. She’d just refused to believe him.
She had to leave. Now. Her gaze fell to Toran. She felt no regrets for having shared a bed with him. Would he expect marriage now? She stiffened at the thought. While marriage was something she’d rejected in concept before meeting Toran, being with him had softened the hard lines she’d drawn about such a commitment.
This war with the English was far from over—as evidenced by what she’d just heard. And after yesterday’s victory she needed to stay the course, not be worried about marriage and children.
Which meant she couldn’t continue to share his bed. Despite the words she’d said about anticipating the next time they made love, she chalked that up to the emotions running rampant inside her. The pleasure of lovemaking had blocked out the rational side of her brain. The knowledge of what she had to do saddened her, made her heart feel heavy.
And if Hamish was truly riding on her castle, as her gut bid her believe, she had to go. Surely the prince would understand. She wasn’t abandoning the cause. She would return. Hazy gray light filtered through the small window of the chamber, and judging by the chill and the wet scent in the air, she was certain a storm was brewing. If they didn’t get moving soon, she and her men could be stuck in Falkirk, farther behind her brother, farther away from protecting her people.
There was no way she was going to leave her mother to fight alone. Hamish had not appeared before her on the field of battle; there was no telling what he had been doing while the rest of them were at war, except for the burning dread in her gut—he was heading back to Cnàmhan Broch. He was going to reclaim the castle. She was certain. Her brother was resourceful, and she was fairly certain that by now he would have gotten wind of her plans, of her alliance with the Jacobites, and likely also her having laid claim to the lairdship.
She looked at Toran, sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes laid flat against his strong golden cheeks. She’d always thought him striking, but up close he was beautiful, as if sculpted from marble, the stuff of which ballads were sung and works of art created. Enough to take a woman’s breath away. To have stolen hers.
Regret filled her as she slipped from their little cocoon of pleasure and warmth. She dressed quickly, wincing at the ache between her thighs. While the rest of the rebellion would be meeting up with the prince to celebrate, she needed to gather a few dozen of her men to take them back to her castle to defend it. The prince would understand. And she’d send a missive with Toran to Dirk, giving them both the choice to remain with the prince and await her return or head back to Cnàmhan Broch.
“Where are ye going?” Toran’s voice was soft and groggy and made her want to turn around and crawl back into bed with him. To ask him to touch her the way he had during the night.
Jenny stilled at the door, her hand on the knob, her back to him. “I need to round up a few dozen men. I plan to return to Inverness. I was going to ask ye to take a message to Dirk for me.”
The cot behind her creaked as he sat up, but still she didn’t turn around.
“Ye’re going home? And ye were going to leave me here?”
She shook her head. She needed to hold it together for another hour, and then she’d be well on her way. “I need ye to find Dirk. Tell him I’ve gone to Cnàmhan Broch. I need to protect my people from Hamish before a storm traps me here. He’s already got a head start. Tell Dirk he is to fight in my stead beside the prince until I return. Then if ye wish, ye can join me upon the road. I will come back when my brother has been dealt with.”
The roads were likely already covered with ice from yesterday’s freezing storm. Another bout would lock them here.