To Tame A Highland Warrior
Page 98

A sharp rap on the door dampened it quickly.
Grimm pulled back and stalked to the door, unsurprised to find Balder standing there. “I forgot to tell you, lad, we have supper at eight,” Balder said, peering beyond him at Jillian. “Has he been kissin’ you, lass? You just tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
Grimm closed the door without replying, and locked it. Balder sighed so loudly outside the door that Jillian nearly laughed.
As Grimm walked back to her side, she studied him. The strain of the day was evident; even his usual proud posture seemed bowed. When she considered all the man had been through in the past few hours, she felt terrible. He was busy tending to her when he could probably use nothing more greatly than some time alone to sort through all the shocks the day had delivered. She brushed his cheek with her hand. “Grimm, if you don’t mind, do you think I could rest a bit before I meet any more people? Perhaps I could take dinner in my room tonight and face the castle tomorrow?”
She hadn’t been wrong. His expression was a mixture of concern and relief.
“Are you certain you doona mind being on your own? Are you certain you’re well enough?”
“Grimm, I feel wonderful. Whatever was wrong with me this morning has passed. Now I’d just like to relax, soak in a long bath, and sleep. I suspect you probably have people and places you’d like to reacquaint yourself with.”
“You’re remarkable, do you know that, lass?” He smoothed her hair and tucked a stray tendril behind her ear.
“I love you, Grimm Roderick,” she said intensely. “Go meet your people and see your home. Take your time. I will always be here for you.”
“What did I do to deserve you?” The words exploded from him.
She brushed her lips against his lightly. “I ask myself the same question all the time.”
“I want to see you tonight, Jillian. I need to see you.”
“I’ll leave my door unlocked.” She flashed him a dazzling smile that promised the moon and the stars when he came.
He gave her one last tender look and left.
“Go to him. I can’t,” Ronin said urgently.
The two men peered out the window at Grimm, sprawled on the wall in front of the castle, gazing out over the village. Night had fallen, and tiny lights in the village twinkled like a reflection of the stars that dotted the sky. The castle had been constructed to provide an unimpeded view of the village. A wide stone terrace lined the perimeter, east and west. It sloped in tiers down to the fortifying walls, the terrace itself surrounded by a low wall at such a height that from atop it one could look straight out over the valley. Grimm had been sitting alone on the wall for hours, alternating his gaze between the castle behind him and the valley before him.
“What would you like me to be sayin’?” Balder grunted. “He’s your son, Ronin. You’re goin’ to have to speak with him at some point.”
“He hates me.”
“So speak with him and try to help him get past it.”
“It’s not that easy!” Ronin snapped, but in his blue eyes Balder saw fear. Fear that if Ronin spoke with his son, he might lose him all over again.
Balder eyed his brother for a moment and then sighed. “I’ll try, Ronin.”
Grimm watched the valley batten down for the night. The villagers had begun to light candles and pull shutters, and from his perch on the low wall he could hear the faint strains of parents calling their children into cozy cottages and farmers rounding up animals before venturing to bed themselves. It was a scene of peace and harmony. He stole an occasional glance over his shoulder at the castle, but not one gargoyle lurked. It was possible, he conceded, that at fourteen he’d been fanciful. It was possible that years of running and hiding had colored his perceptions until all seemed desolate and barren, even a past that had once been bright. His life had changed so abruptly on that fateful day, it might well have skewed his memories.
He could accept that he’d forgotten what Tuluth was really like. He could accept that the castle had never been truly menacing. But what was he to make of his da? He’d seen him with his own eyes, crouched over his mother’s body. Had he, in his shock and grief, misconstrued that event too? Once the possibility presented itself, he studied it from every angle, his confusion deepening.
He’d found his da in the south gardens in the early morning, the time Jolyn strolled the grounds and greeted the day. He’d been on his way to meet Arron to go fishing. The scene was painstakingly etched on his mind: Jolyn beaten and battered, her face a mass of bruises, Ronin crouched above her, snarling, blood everywhere, and that damned incriminating knife in his hand.