To Tame A Highland Warrior
Page 36

“I do. I’d be proud to make Jillian my wife. Any man would—”
“Do you love her?”
Quinn cocked a brow and eyed him curiously. “Of course I love her.”
“No, do you really love her? Does she make you crazy inside?” Grimm watched him carefully.
Quinn blinked. “I don’t know what you mean, Grimm.”
Grimm snorted. “I didn’t expect you would,” he muttered.
“Oh, hell, this is a snarl of a mess.” Quinn exhaled impatiently and dropped onto his back in the fragrant hay. He plucked a stem of clover from the pile and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I want her. She wants you. And you’re my closest friend. The only unknown factor in this equation is what you want.”
“First of all, I sincerely doubt she wants me, Quinn. If anything, it’s the remains of a childish infatuation that, I assure you, I will relieve her of. Secondly, it doesn’t matter what I want.” Grimm produced an apple from his sporran and offered it to Occam.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters.” Quinn frowned.
“What I want is the most irrelevant part of this affair, Quinn. I’m a Berserker,” Grimm said flatly.
“So? Look what it has brought you. Most men would trade their souls to be a Berserker.”
“That would be a damned foolish bargain. And there’s a lot you doona know that is part and parcel of the curse.”
“It’s proved quite a boon for you. You’re virtually invincible. Why, I remember down at Killarnie—”
“I doona wish to talk about Killarnie—”
“You killed half the damned—”
“Haud yer wheesht!” Grimm’s head whipped around. “I doona wish to talk about killing. It seems that’s the only thing I’m good for. For all that I’m this ridiculous legend of control, there’s still a part of me I can’t control, de Moncreiffe. I have no control over the rage. I never have,” he admitted roughly. “When it happens, I lose memory. I lose time. I have no idea what I’m doing when I’m doing it, and when it’s over, I have to be told what I’ve done. You know that. You’ve had to tell me a time or two.”
“What are you saying, Grimm?”
“That you must wed her, no matter what I might feel, because I can never be anything to Jillian St. Clair. I knew it then, and I know it now. I will never marry. Nothing has changed. I haven’t been able to change.”
“You do feel for her.” Quinn sat up on the hay mound, searching Grimm’s face intently. “Deeply. And that’s why you try to make her hate you.”
Grimm turned back to his horse. “I never told you how my mother died, did I, de Moncreiffe?”
Quinn rose and dusted hay from his kilt. “I thought she was killed in the massacre at Tuluth.”
Grimm leaned his head against Occam’s velvety cheek and breathed deeply of the soothing scent of horse and leather. “No. Jolyn McIllioch died much earlier that morning, before the McKane even arrived.” He delivered the words in a cool monotone. “My da murdered her in a fit of rage. Not only did I sink to such foolishness as summoning a Berserker that day, I suffer an inherited madness.”
“I don’t I believe that, Grimm,” Quinn said flatly. “You’re one of the most logical, rational men I know.”
Grimm made a gesture of impatience. “Da told me so himself the night I left Tuluth. Even if I gave myself latitude, even if I managed to convince myself I didn’t suffer an inherited weakness of mind, I’m still a Berserker. Doona you realize, Quinn, that according to ancient law we ‘pagan worshipers of Odin’ are to be banished? Ostracized, outcast, and murdered, if at all possible. Half the country knows Berserkers exist and seek to employ us; the other half refuses to admit we do while they attempt to destroy us. Gibraltar must have been out of his mind when he summoned me—he couldn’t possibly seriously consider me for his daughter’s hand! Even if I wanted with all my heart to take Jillian to wife, what could I offer her? A life such as this? That’s assuming I’m not addled by birthright, to boot.”
“You’re not addled. I don’t know how you got the ridiculous idea that because your da killed your mother there’s something wrong with you. And no one knows who you really are except for me, Gibraltar, and Elizabeth,” Quinn protested.
“And Hatchard,” Grimm reminded. And Hawk and Adrienne, he recalled.
“So four of us know. None of us would ever betray you. As far as the world is concerned you’re Grimm Roderick, the King’s legendary bodyguard. All that aside, I don’t see how it would be a problem for you to admit who you really are. A lot of things have changed since the massacre at Tuluth. And although some people do still fear Berserkers, the majority revere them. You’re some of the mightiest warriors Alba has ever produced, and you know how we Scots worship our legends. The Circle Elders say only the purest, most honorable blood in Scotland can actually call the Berserker.”