did ride out looking for trouble. But none of them came close to Cnàmhan Broch.
Was it because the castle, according to the English, belonged to Hamish Mackintosh? Or was it because the dragoons were concentrating on the prince’s route north? They might be trying, but Toran was certain they couldn’t touch him. Not with the thousands of followers in his retinue. Most of the English troops were still near Edinburgh after the recent rout, and the weather had prevented most from crossing into the Highlands.
Toran worked hard by day with Mac and the rest of the men, fortifying the castle and grounds, clearing snow, and any other way he could assist with the preparations. The majority of their men still rode with the prince. When there had been no further attacks, Jenny had sent the soldiers who’d returned with her home to tend to their families for a few days. She could call them back if danger presented itself, but some of them were a half-day’s ride away.
The days were filled with work and growing excitement about the prince’s coming visit, and in the evening, Toran and Jenny challenged each other to different games—chess or games of boules with the furniture pushed aside. Some nights, if she stared at him a little too long, he snuck up to her chamber.
Toran had just reached the top of the wall to relieve Mac of his watch that morning when movement on the horizon caught his eye. A lot of moving horses? He gritted his teeth, praying his eyes were deceiving him.
“Either the prince is come, or we’re about to be sieged,” he grumbled.
Mac passed him the looking glass with a grin. “Take a look.”
Toran extended the glass and peered through, catching sight of the prince’s standard. He grinned widely. “The prince will be here within the hour,” he said, handing back the glass. Toran took the stairs two at a time, racing across the courtyard to the castle. Jenny was likely in the kitchens tasting the dishes her staff had been hard at work preparing. A meal fit for a prince.
She was exactly where he thought she might be, scraping a sweet-looking sauce from a bowl with her finger and sucking the remnant into her mouth with a sigh of pleasure. “’Tis perfect.”
Her eyes fell on him, widening as she took in his wild eyes and windswept hair.
“The prince?” she asked.
“Aye. We spied his standard on the horizon.” Toran dipped his finger into the bowl, following her lead. The flavor was decadent.
“Oh, dear me. Oh…” She touched her hair, smoothed her skirts. “I have to change. I need to look like a laird.”
“I think ye look perfect the way ye are,” he said.
“Ye’re verra sweet, Toran, but one does not greet their rightful monarch covered in flour and sugar.” She danced around the kitchen and then out the door, rushing across the great hall with Toran in tow.
“Might I remind ye that ye greeted the prince before in trews and frock coat?”
“Quite right,” she murmured, stopping short. “So ye think I should dress in trews? Is that what he’ll expect of me?”
Toran let his gaze rake slowly over her luscious body, imagining each curve delicately peeled free of clothes. “I think any way ye dress the prince will be impressed with ye, lass. Ye’re beautiful, strong, intelligent—”
“Och, dinna flatter me now!” She rushed from the great hall, calling out for her maid to help her prepare.
Toran stared after her, only slightly bemused.
Isla and Lady Mackintosh peered out from an alcove where they’d been sitting and sewing. “Is the prince coming?” his sister asked, excitement coloring her cheeks.
“Aye. Do ye wish to change as well?”
“Of course, ye dullard, the prince is so verra bonnie! I’ll need to freshen up.”
“Ye’re not to offer yourself in marriage,” Toran teased after her retreating figure, ignoring her insult.
Lady Mackintosh smiled over at him. “Ye’re a different man than when ye first arrived, sir, and I hope ye dinna take offense to that.”
“None at all.” And he spoke the truth, for she was right.
Jenny had changed him—for the better. Made him realize who he was and where he wanted to be. She had snapped him from a bitter stupor of revenge so he could see clearly what his true values and beliefs were.
Toran went back up the wall to watch the progress of the prince’s retinue, only to be startled by new movement on the horizon—from the opposite side. A single rider, approaching the castle at a speed