Her love was a legendary warrior who had grown to despise himself, cut off from his roots. But now that he was home and given the time to explore those roots, he might be able to make peace with himself at long last.
She strolled the hall a final time, not missing the radiant expressions of the McIllioch brides. She stood for a long moment beneath the portrait of Grimm and his parents. Jolyn had been a chestnut-haired beauty; love radiated from her patient smile. Ronin was gazing adoringly at her. In the portrait, Grimm was kneeling before his seated parents, looking like the happiest brown-eyed boy in the world.
Her hands moved to her belly in a timeless feminine celebration as she wondered what it would be like to bring another boy like Grimm into the world. How proud she would be, and together with Grimm, Balder, and Ronin, they would teach him what he could be, and how special he was—one of Alba’s own private warriors.
“Och, lass, tell me you’re not breeding!” a voice filled with loathing spat.
Jillian’s scream ricocheted off the cold stone walls as Ramsay Logan’s hand closed on her shoulder in a painful, viselike grip.
“I can’t find her,” Grimm said tightly.
Ronin and Balder turned as one when he stormed into the Greathall. The guards were ready, the villagers had been roused, and to the last man Tuluth was prepared to fight the McKane.
“Did you check in the Hall of Lords?”
“Aye, a brief glance, enough to assure myself she wasn’t there.” If he’d looked longer he might never have dragged himself back out, so fascinated was he by his previously unknown heritage.
“Did you search the whole castle?”
“Aye.” He buried his hands in his hair, voicing his worst fear. “Is it possible the McKane got in here and took her somehow?”
Ronin expelled a gust of air. “Anythin’s possible, lad. There were deliveries from the village this afternoon. Hell, anyone could have sneaked in with ’em. We’ve grown a bit lax in fifteen years of peace.”
A sudden cry from the guardhouse compelled their instant attention.
“The McKane are comin’!”
Connor McKane rode into the vale waving a flag of Douglas plaid, which, while it confused most of the McIllioch, filled Grimm with rage and fear. The only piece of Douglas plaid a McKane could have obtained was the one from Jillian’s body. She’d worn the blue and gray fabric at breakfast only this morning.
The villagers were bristling to fight, eager to demand satisfaction for the loss of their loved ones fifteen years past. As Ronin prepared to order them forward, Grimm laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“They have Jillian,” he said in a voice that sounded like death.
“How can you be sure?” Ronin’s gaze flew to his.
“That’s my plaid they’re waving. Jillian was wearing it at breakfast.”
Ronin closed his eyes. “Not again,” he whispered. “Not again.” When he opened his eyes, they burned with the inner fire of determination. “We won’t lose her, lad. Bring the McKane laird forward,” he commanded the guard.
The McIllioch troops emanated hostility but drew back to permit his approach. When Connor McKane drew up in front of Ronin he scowled. “I knew you’d heal from the battle-ax, you devil, but I didn’t think you’d recover so well from me killing your pretty whore of a wife.” Connor bared his teeth in a smile. “And your unborn child.”
Although Ronin’s hand fisted around his claymore, he didn’t free the sword. “Let the lass go, McKane. She has nothin’ to do with us.”
“The lass may be breeding.”
Grimm went rigid on Occam’s back. “She’s not,” he countered coolly. Surely she would have told him!
Connor McKane searched his face intently. “That’s what she says. But I don’t trust either of you.”
“Where is she?” Grimm demanded.
“Safe.”
“Take me, Connor, take me in her stead,” Ronin offered, stunning Grimm.
“You, old man?” Connor spat. “You’re not a threat anymore—we saw to that years ago. You won’t be having any more sons. Now, him”—he pointed to Grimm—“he’s a problem. Our spies tell us he is the last living Berserker, and the woman who may or may not be pregnant is his mate.”
“What do you want from me?” Grimm said quietly.
“Your life,” the McKane said simply. “To see the last of the McIllioch die is all I’ve ever wanted.”
“We’re not the monsters you think we are.” Ronin glowered at the McKane chieftain.