muttered a string of nasty curses as he trudged away, but Toran refused to be moved by them.
“Are the two of ye going to be a problem?” Dirk demanded.
“Nay.” Any problem he had, Toran would handle it himself.
“Mistress J will be most displeased,” Dirk warned as he disappeared to his post on the wall.
Mistress J. Jenny Mackintosh. Mo chreach, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Evidently no amount of time away from her was enough to lessen his interest. He dabbed the blood on his swollen lip with his thumb. When he’d met her nearly a sennight ago, he couldn’t believe his good fortune at coming face-to-face with the woman he’d always believed responsible for his mother’s brutal murder. And in all that time he’d not confronted her because a large part of him did not believe her guilty. Or was it that he didn’t want her to be?
The thing was, he wasn’t so certain anymore. If his mother was as staunch a supporter of the prince regent as he’d believed, then perhaps her conviction had run as deep as Jenny’s. Jenny valued each man in her company. Took care of them. Hell, she’d taken care of him when he’d been a dangerous stranger. Could a woman guilty of murder still hold her clan and company so close? And why would they murder one of their own and claim them to be a traitor? Something wasn’t adding up.
He shook his head. The evidence and testimonies presented to him thus far pointed to his mother being murdered by Jacobite rebels. It wasn’t as though his mother had sacrificed herself. That was a basketful of ballocks that needed to be burned.
Moire’s death was Jenny Mackintosh’s fault.
“How’s the view?”
He whirled around at the sound of her voice behind him. No doubt she’d been informed of his fight with Simon. Toran gritted his teeth. She was so beautiful in the moonlight, silver slices dotting her eyes. The white of her teeth showed between full lips, which now parted in a genuine smile.
“Vast.”
She came up beside him, leaning her elbows on the stone and letting out a soft sigh as she rested her chin in her hands. “Are ye all right? I heard about your run-in with Simon.”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. A little beating canna get a warrior down.”
“’Twas not a beating.”
She laughed, clearly teasing him. “I love looking at it. Our Scotland.”
“Aye.” Why was she here? Why wasn’t he walking away?
“To think her beauty could be marred by so much hate and violence.” The smile disappeared, and she glanced up at him, a note of sadness in the turn of her mouth. Not the mouth of a killer. Not the conscience of someone capable of such crimes.
“’Tis a tragedy.”
“And yet we’ve suffered it nearly a thousand years.”
“Ye think we’ll suffer it another thousand to come?” Toran should leave. Every word out of her mouth slowly plucked away at his armor, and soon he’d be completely disarmed. And yet this was the conversation he’d been avoiding.
She shook her head. “Nay, Prince Charlie will unite us.”
“Ye truly believe it.”
She glanced at him, arching a single brow. “Ye’re supposed to as well.”
“I want to,” he confessed, watching the play of her thoughts carry across her face. “I’m not turning tail, if that’s what ye think.”
Jenny rounded to face him, her elbow resting casually now on the stone, eyes assessing him carefully. “Are ye avoiding me?”
Saints, but she didn’t hold anything back, did she? “Nay,” he lied.
“Ye know your right eye squints just the barest bit when ye lie.”
He grunted.
“Why are ye avoiding me? No one likes night duty. Especially when they’ve been as busy as ye have during the day.”
“I’m not avoiding ye.”
“I’ve as much a stubborn streak as ye have, Fraser. I can go all night.”
Dear God, dinna let her say more things that have me thinking of bedding.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the center of her forehead when he really wanted to stare at her breasts. “I’m certain ye can.”
“Will ye make me?”
“Is that an offer?” He couldn’t help the words slipping out.
That single, delicately arched brow rose again in question. “Ye do have a habit of propositioning me, sir.”
This time, he let his eyes fall. Toran raked his gaze over her, taking in the way her breasts pushed up out of her dress, the shawl parted open enough to reveal just the barest hint of porcelain skin. He had to clench his fists to keep from running his fingers across