"Bastard," Torrin said under his breath.

Iain snorted with laughter.

"Might I escort you to the high table, Lady Jessie," Torrin asked, offering his elbow. "'Twill be best if you sit far away from Iain."

She took his arm, hoping her fiery blush would subside soon, but her fingers pressing into the hard muscles of Torrin's arm, just above his elbow, ignited another type of heat within her. She was not yet accustomed to touching him, and she found that every time she did, her body reacted in disturbing ways.

"You would deprive me of this lovely lady's company?" Iain protested behind them as they proceeded to the dais.

She was not used to so many men's attention or the compliments they doled out, especially in the last three years. The disaster with MacBain had made her shy away from men. But now, she found she liked the attention, though it made her uncomfortable.

Torrin pulled out a chair for Jessie, then took the one beside her.

"You cannot get rid of me that easily," Iain said, sitting beside Torrin.

"Sometimes he reminds me of a leech," Torrin murmured aside to her.

She gave a slight smile but grew uncomfortable beneath his perceptive gaze. "I thank you for preventing any bloodshed today. I think MacBain went mad for a few minutes."

"Indeed, he was possessed of a battle rage." Torrin shrugged. "Truth is… he wants rid of me in the worst way so he can get to you, but I intend to protect you from the knave."

She didn't truly want Torrin acting as her shield, but she was grateful to him. Still, she could've handled MacBain on her own. "I feared the practice would get out of hand." She glanced down at the low table where MacBain sat with his men—unusual, for he usually sat at the high table as was his right by rank. He gave Torrin an evil look which concerned her greatly.

Supper was served. All the men were especially boisterous with their outlandish stories mixed with plenty of drink. Two men, a MacKay and a MacLeod, acted out the skirmish that had happened earlier, except they used the wee lads' wooden swords and added a more dramatic and entertaining finale. Laughter abounded.

Jessie was too worried to laugh. MacBain and his men remained sullen and kept to themselves at the end of one table. They often had their heads together, no doubt planning some sort of revenge against Torrin.

"You're quiet," Torrin said beside her.

"Are you not concerned that MacBain might stab you in the back when you least expect it? You embarrassed him, and he's likely to seek revenge."

"I'm ever vigilant, and I have good bodyguards." He glanced at the two men standing behind him.

That was all well and good, but 'twas doubtful he could have two bodyguards with him every moment. And what if MacBain and his men attacked at a time when Torrin was outnumbered?

"I'm truly flattered and honored that you're so worried about my safety, m'lady," Torrin said.

Warmth spread over her. "I simply don't want any bloodshed here at Dunnakeil."

Lifting a brow, he gave her a charming, lopsided grin, obviously seeing through her lie.

She focused on eating and pretended to ignore him, but her awareness of him grew more acute with each passing moment, just as the struggle within her grew more annoying. Of a certainty, he was attractive, but was he a good man or a malicious man?

Jessie excused herself and slipped away to the kitchen. Aside from Torrin making her tense, the great hall was too loud, and now Aiden was playing his pipes, which sometimes screeched at her nerves. She simply craved calmness and quiet, the splash of the sea's waves and the wind rustling through the grasses.

While the men were eating tarts, drinking ale, and listening to Aiden's music, she slipped out the kitchen door, through the postern gate, then hurried down to the golden sand beach. One of her knees was black and blue from her fall the day before, but walking did not pain her.

How much longer would the MacBains and the MacLeods remain at Dunnakeil? She was sick of them vying for her attention. She had been as cold as possible to MacBain, but naught dissuaded him. Short of insulting him and telling him to leave, she had little recourse.

As for Torrin, she could not decide how she felt about him. Every time his green gaze caught hers, something mysterious passed between them. His eyes and faint, enigmatic smiles told her he was a sensual devil. Sometimes she imagined what his lips might feel like on hers. One part of her hated such musings, while another was fascinated by the idea.

She stopped and gazed out over Balnakeil Bay. The sunset was a blend of yellow and orange with wee traces of red at the edges. Incredibly beautiful. She smiled, then imagined Torrin standing beside her, admiring it. She shook her head, ousting that daft thought from her mind. He created too many conflicting feelings within her. She didn't understand him. On the one hand, he seemed like a good man, honest, protective, but on the other, she knew what she'd seen all those years ago. It was him who'd chased Lyall and killed him. Of course, Lyall had a sword, but 'twould have been clear to anyone he didn't have a chance against the taller and stronger MacLeod, who'd had no mercy on him, even after he'd disarmed him.

Every time she remembered what she saw, horrid, gruesome feelings overtook her… which did not now fit with the Torrin she had gotten to know over the past few days.

On the beach, she strode toward the cliffs and headland, trying to walk off the tension and confusion. Faraid Head, where Dirk had almost been murdered many years ago, was two miles out. She never walked that far; the high cliffs made her dizzy. The beach here at Balnakeil Bay was far more pleasant. She also loved the beach at Sango Bay with its huge boulders jutting from the sand and would sometimes walk the two miles there to spend a few hours when no one would miss her. With so many guests about now, that was impossible to do.

A thump sounded behind her in the dunes. She turned, seeing naught but the long green beach grasses blowing in the wind. The waves crashing and sliding onto shore with the incoming tide covered most sounds. Sea birds were always about, screeching. The thumping sound could've been a red stag stamping his huge foot. Sometimes she saw them or their tracks on the beach.

How she missed her sweet old deerhound at times like this. Ossian had died just over a month ago. He had been her constant companion, especially anytime she went outside. In truth, she missed him all the time for he'd been a good friend since she'd returned from the Keiths years ago. Certainly more trustworthy than any potential husband she'd ever met.

Few people here at Dunnakeil knew she'd been betrothed when she'd been staying with the Keiths the summer she was eighteen. Of course, her father had approved and signed the documents, but when the groom had run off the night before the wedding, hardly anyone spoke of it afterward.

Was something wrong with her? Was that why men deserted her? Nay. They were all daft sheep. She had no use for any of them. To her, a husband would be like a noose around her neck. Strangling. And then he would kick the block from beneath her feet, leaving her hanging while he ran after some other woman.

She continued forward, past her brother's galleys, their polished wooden hulls gleaming in the golden light of sunset. Where were Dirk, Isobel, Keegan, and the rest of their party now? She had truly not wanted to travel south with them, mainly because she knew they were going to stop at Torrin's keep. But now he was here, which was worse, and he didn't seem inclined to leave anytime soon.

Every time she looked into his eyes, things whirled around inside her like mad. Not just fear, but also attraction. Aye, she'd been highly aware from the evening she met him that she found him physically appealing. But that couldn't change what she'd seen him do all those years ago. Had he murdered anyone else since then?