Who was Iain Stewart, and what had he meant about Torrin making a damned fool of himself? Courting her?

"I hope this skirmish here isn't serious, but if 'tis, I've arrived just in time," Iain said.

"'Tis called practice," Torrin said, then turned to face her again. "Will you allow this knave entrance, m'lady? Although he is a scoundrel of the worst order, I claim him as a foster brother and a friend… sometimes."

"Who is he?"

"Iain Stewart, heir to the chiefdom of Stewart and Barony of Appin."

"Aye, if he allows Erskine to disarm him," she said. He didn't seem like the type who would cause trouble, but she could take no chances with so many different clans visiting, and MacBain being contrary.

Torrin gave a courtly bow, then faced his friend again. "You heard the lady. Give up your weapons."

"Gladly. But I want in on this practice session. Looked like you were losing. And by the way, I have four men with me." He motioned them forward.

"They must all disarm themselves," Torrin said.

More men? 'Twas a good thing their storeroom shelves had been stocked full not long ago.

While the newcomers were removing their weapons, Jessie noticed MacBain whispering to a couple of his men. What was he cooking up? His dark, malicious expression changed to a forced friendly one when Torrin introduced Iain Stewart to him.

"Been at this for days, have you?" Iain asked, eying MacBain with his swollen nose and black and blue eyes.

MacBain clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but made no comment.

"Don't tell me you two are vying for the same lady's hand." Iain grinned, turning to Torrin.

"Not exactly."

Iain laughed.

"Enough talk, MacLeod," MacBain said. "Let's get on with the practice."

Everyone stepped back, leaving Torrin and MacBain in the center of the circle. MacBain launched himself at Torrin instantly. Torrin scrambled to deflect the blade slashing toward his chest.

Jessie held her breath. Though she didn't trust Torrin, neither did she wish to see him hurt or killed.

The practice was quickly shifting from a mock battle to a real one. Should she order them to stop? Would they even listen to her? What if someone ended up dead before this was over?

Jessie raced down the steps, across the great hall, and out into the bailey. She pushed her way through the crowd of male spectators. The two men were in the heat of battle, their blades smashing and clanging. No matter that the weapons were dull; they could still kill. Someone grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Halt!" she yelled.

Torrin paused, his gaze darting to her. MacBain swung his blade again. Torrin leapt out of the way at the last second, but MacBain continued his assault.

"MacBain! That's enough," she ordered.

But he wasn't listening. His face was a red mask of rage.

"Keep her back," Torrin said.

Erskine held onto one of her arms. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but you must stay back. You'll be hurt."

"Make them stop," she demanded, terrified beyond all reason that Torrin would be killed or hurt badly. But Erskine ignored her just as the other men did. If Dirk were here, he'd order them to cease their battle. What if one of them died while she was acting as lady of the castle? Was it not her responsibility to keep the peace and make sure everyone was safe?

In the next second, a sword flew into the air and Torrin caught the hilt of it. To her surprise, he stood before the slack-jawed MacBain and held up a sword in each hand.

"I win," Torrin said in a dry tone.

Several men laughed and a raucous cheer went up. Not from the MacBains of course; they merely glared, some of them red-faced. His look of shock fading, MacBain glowered at Torrin and those celebrating his victory.

Relief surged through her, and Erskine released her. She wasn't celebrating anyone's victory; she was simply glad no one had been killed. She disliked the way men competed, and she especially hated them fighting over her. Though no one said that was what this mock battle was about, she knew it was. Each of them wanted to look superior to the other. The more powerful stallion.

They were ridiculous. She turned and strode back into the great hall.

***

"What the devil have you gotten yourself into, Torrin?" Iain asked in a low voice, as the rest of the chuckling men disbursed in the bailey, leaving them alone to talk. Torrin glanced about for Jessie, but didn't see her, though she had been there minutes ago, demanding that they halt their practice. He was fair certain that she'd been afraid he was going to get hurt. He grinned. That meant she cared a wee bit.

Iain snorted. "Saints, you're madder than a stag in rut."

"I have no need for your lowly opinion on it."

"Who is this MacBain, and why is he so irate with you? I'm certain the bastard was trying to kill you."

"You guessed the right of it. He's trying to win back Lady Jessie's hand, and I'm always getting in his way." Torrin smiled. "You see, they were handfasted for a year and a day, three years past, but he sent her away. Now, he's back for another go, but Lady Jessie wants naught to do with him."

"Canny lady."

"Indeed."

"And beautiful."

"Keep your eyes off her," Torrin warned in a mock severe tone.

"Ha! I couldn't help but look. She stormed through the crowd like a goddess of fire, demanding that you stop the fight."

Satisfaction curled through Torrin. "Aye, clearly afraid I'd be injured."

Iain shook his head. "So, she is smitten with you already, is she?"

"Not quite, but I'm gaining ground."

"Well, you have naught to worry about from me. I would never try to steal your lady."

"I ken it well."

"Why did you hasten out of Lairg so quickly while I was sleeping off the drink?"

"Well, you had that lovely milkmaid with you, and I figured you had better things to do than watch me court a lady."

"Nay, I do not. I sent Mary back to her cows. I'm certain this will be grand entertainment, especially since both your offers of marriage to Lady Jessie have been refused."

Torrin narrowed his eyes. "Laugh at my misery if you will, but I'm determined in this. She will agree to marry me before this is over."

Iain grinned. "I've never seen you so smitten with a lass."

"Nay, you haven't."

"Well, when do I get to meet her?"

***

Jessie stood near the stairwell to the kitchen, overseeing the male servants setting up the tables, as everyone gathered into the great hall for supper. Torrin and his newly arrived friend entered from the bailey and strode toward her. Torrin's friend was only an inch or two shorter than him and built like a trained warrior, although she remembered Torrin had said he was Iain Stewart, heir to the Stewart chiefdom. He wore a belted plaid of a weave she'd never seen before.

Torrin's intense green gaze lit on her. "Iain, I'd like for you to meet Lady Jessie MacKay."

"'Tis an honor to meet you, sir." Jessie curtsied.

"The pleasure is all mine." Iain grinned, his dark blue eyes gleaming with humor. He kissed her hand. "I beg of you, m'lady, please do not break this man's heart." He slapped Torrin on the shoulder. "He's been in a lovesick stupor for months."

She sucked in a surprised breath, heat racing over her, head to toe. Lovesick? Surely he exaggerated.