Page 78 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

“I have something I need to tell ye, Torm.” She fretted that lip. Dropped her eyes. “Ye have a Judas in yer midst.”

At this, she pulled something from her pockets and unfurled her fingers to reveal a leather band. “He’s the one who hurt my sister. He’s the one who grabbed me just now.”

Hold Fast. Only one of his men wore these bands upon his wrists and arm.

“Ghost.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

He shoved to his feet and bolted to the footpath, where his claymore was piled among his other accoutrements, for it seemed in his haste to return to her, he’d failed to stop at the armory.

“Tormund! I beseech ye to listen!” she cried, jumping to her feet.

Yet it was as if he were deaf. As if a wall had gone up as he strapped the sword upon his back and plated the proverbial armor around his heart.

“Please! There’s so much more! Sir Niall,” she fretted. “Stop him! I must say everything! Jamie…”

At her distress, Tormund finally paused, drew a deep breath that expanded his back and shoulders, but finally returned. Though this time, he seemed unwilling to look at her, no matter how she tried to meet his eyes.

“Nay pull away from me.” Brighde’s voice wobbled.

“Speak,” Tormund said, his voice dead, and the ice shimmering in his eyes, his jaw pumping beneath his ears, filled her with dread.

She tried to take his hand, desperate for some affirmation that he was still in this, with her. He wrenched it free.

Tormund’s coldness was only strengthening with each passing second. Darkness had blossomed upon his brow, and the way he yanked back and refused to look at her now tolled alarm in her heart. She dared not touch him again, and yet, she feared that if she didn’t reel him back, she was going to lose him. He was donning that armor once more, after she’d fought so hard to break through it.

“I believe MacNicol, as well as yer man, Ghost, is behind the fire. MacNicol tartan is red, too. Is it nay? And I believe he and Ghost work together, and mayhap have for some time.”

Her brother shook his head as if to argue, but Tormund held up a hand to intercept James’s refute.

“Why do ye think that?” Tormund asked.

Mayhap if he heard these details, he’d soften to her again.

“Brother, for how long has Laird MacNicol vied for a betrothal with me?”

James thought, resting his hands at his waist. “For years.”

“For eight?”

James nodded. “Aye, that sounds right.”

“Right after Marjorie married?”

…

Tormund’s ears piqued at mention of Lady Marjorie’s marriage, cutting just enough of a tear in his anger to let out a breath of pressure. Where was she venturing with this?

“Tormund. What does MacNicol want from ye?” she continued.

“He wants the Hebrides.”

But Ghost already had his lairdship over the MacLeods of Skye. What more did he need?

She watched him carefully, as if fearful of disturbing a wasp nest. “He wants autonomy over them, does he nay? Jamie, Laird MacNicol said he needed this marriage, that it would protect me from MacLeod, which was peculiar to me, because when have ye ever considered a marriage to Tormund? And the whole time I danced with Alasdair, all he did was warn me about the company I was keeping. I didna realize until, eh, this eve, that they’d probably been spying on me and already knew that Torm and I had begun a, a secret…”

His eyes darted to hers. So uncertain she was now, where once those eyes had smiled upon him.