like her future hung in the balance and she had to choose an irrevocable path for the rest of her life—her entire world turned upside down.
She made it into the castle before she pressed her back to the wall and let out the breath she’d been holding, only to drag another one in. Her heart pounded in her ears, and all she could think of was Toran’s pleading eyes. His kiss. The fact that her soul seemed to reach for him.
She couldn’t say no. Couldn’t turn away.
And the idea of leaving him behind seemed impossible. She wanted him near her. And having him there beside her—or at least in her vicinity—would alleviate any worried thoughts she might have. About how he was faring, for instance, if he was thinking of her, if he’d decided to go back to Fraser lands or even cross over to the English side once more.
This would be a test for him. A test for them both, truly. To see if Toran was loyal as he said, to watch him interact with the prince, and to know for herself if there truly was no going back. Because when he’d declared himself hers—even if he’d corrected himself to say her soldier—she’d known what he’d meant. It had taken every bit of willpower she possessed not to run and throw herself into his arms, to feel the comforting strength of his embrace, to breathe in his scent, to kiss him.
Right there in front of everyone, he’d been willing to break, to bare his soul to her, and she’d seen it. Felt it in her heart, and it was changing her.
He was changing her.
Jenny pushed off the wall and went to her father’s study, the room her brother Hamish had never bothered with. He had preferred to keep all of his machinations to the great hall, as if parading his traitorous notions on display.
The maids kept the chamber tidy and fresh. Shelves lined the walls, filled with her father’s books and papers. Items her brother would have discarded like yesterday’s rubbish if she’d not insisted they were important to her.
God, she missed her father. Missed the way he’d invite her up to his study after supper and share stories of the past, discuss with her the politics of the day. He was content to have her read in the corner while he wrote letters, and on occasion when his hand cramped, he’d ask her to write them while he dictated.
Hamish had always been too busy with his horses or his friends, making merry instead of spending time in this chamber learning what it meant to be chief to his people. Her father and Hamish had never really seen eye to eye from the time her brother was a bairn. She supposed it made sense that when their father died, Hamish had run off to side with the English—a final defiance and insult to their father even though he was already dead and buried.
Jenny glanced toward his desk, could still see him there smiling at her, beckoning her forward to show her whatever it was he was working on.
That little seed that had started in her mind was blooming, its roots finding purchase in her veins. Her father had groomed her to be laird, even if he’d never said it outright. She knew what to do. Hell, she’d already amassed an army, armed and funded it. If she could do that in secret, imagine what she could do if given true power to make things right.
Hamish didn’t deserve to be laird. He hadn’t earned it, and he didn’t care enough about his people to rule them. But she had and she did.
She ran her fingers along the shelves until she came to her father’s favorite, Gulliver’s Travels. She lifted it from the shelf, opened it up, and drew in the scent of old paper, memories rushing back. When she’d been about seven years old, she’d commandeered one of their skiffs and shoved it out onto the loch, taking an oar, prepared to row herself to Lilliput. Thank goodness her hound Dom’s sire had been on the shore barking his head off, or she might have adventured to another land altogether in the afterlife.
Jenny relived her memories for a few moments more and then put the book back on the shelf and went to sit in her father’s chair. Being laird, asking for the clan to side with her, to be loyal to her, seemed like a hard prospect. But already