uncle. So though he was going to let Toran out of here, to let him live a little longer, he wasn’t letting him go completely.
Sly bastard.
He was lucky that Boyd had not yet come for him. It would only be a matter of time, which meant he had to leave as soon as possible, and with his siblings. They would be punished in his place if he were to go. He knew how Boyd worked. The man was an evil bastard. He also knew very well how cold his great-uncle’s heart was, and Simon wasn’t any better. His cousin would twist a dagger in Toran’s chest the first chance he got.
Toran would not go down without a fight, and neither would his siblings. Though he was young, Camdyn was skilled with a sword. Hell, Isla could gut a man if given the chance.
Toran grinned, though it wasn’t truly a smile. “Fine.”
And where the hell was he even going to go? A flash in his mind of beautiful and angry emerald eyes nearly stopped his heart. Jenny. The way she’d blasted him with that heated look when she’d believed him to have betrayed her. He didn’t blame her—she’d been right. That was clearly not an option.
Then again she might be the perfect option. Archie had sworn he’d keep Camdyn and Isla safe and at the very least would offer to take them in. And Simon might prove to be useful. As the son of the Fox and newly on the side of the rebels, he’d be the perfect peace offering for Jenny, at least on the outside, in order to gain her trust. There was always the chance that she would see Simon as a potential threat, and in that case, he’d be imprisoned, and Toran could brush his hands of his wretched cousin.
Despite what had happened, Toran still had a personal mission to figure out who was responsible for his mother’s death. The loss of her left a gaping wound in his chest that would continue to bleed until he got to the bottom of it. He needed to make one last attempt to infiltrate the rebels. He’d offer his apologies, even accept her tossing him into her version of a prison, if he had to prove to her that he was true.
If there was one thing Toran had learned over the years, it was how to play each side just right.
* * *
Jenny’s muscles screamed from exertion, midnight long since come and gone.
They’d managed to move all of their stores from the compromised croft and grounds to Cnàmhan Broch and done so without encountering any redcoats, which might have been more effort than the actual manual labor.
They’d had to do it one wagonload at a time and with satchels packed to the brim strapped to their backs. They’d sent a few things on horseback but with only a limited number of riders so as not to draw attention. Every step had been an effort, but Jenny had borne it without complaint, taking fully loaded sacks just like any of her men.
She’d made it a point since she’d first begun never to let herself falter in any task simply because she was a woman. Aye, there were some things she physically couldn’t do, such as take two satchels at a time like Dirk, but she damned well wasn’t going to go empty-handed. Her men respected her all the more for the efforts she put into pulling her own weight ten times over.
Sneaking the items into the castle had been something else she’d worried over. Despite their use of the hidden tunnels, they’d still had to do a lot of carrying through the castle stairs and corridors. The few men who still supported her brother couldn’t be made aware of their presence. In fact, it had been Mac’s job to find them, ply them with whisky laced with a sleeping agent, and put them to bed so they’d be none the wiser. But secondly, where could they hide the coins and weapons so that Hamish wouldn’t happen across them if he made a surprise visit?
At first, she’d thought of the dungeon, but while she didn’t plan to have to toss anyone into its dark depths, she didn’t want to cut it off from use completely should they have need to confine someone.
Someone like Toran. She had a vision of him standing in the croft, arms crossed and the muscles of his corded shoulders and biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt,