"Have you lived here at Dunnakeil your whole life?" Until last winter, he'd never visited Durness. Although he'd met Dirk and his father when they'd traveled south many years ago.

"Nay, I fostered with… another clan from the time I was seven summers until I was sixteen."

Jessie's stomach knotted for she'd almost forgotten who she was talking to. She'd come close to blurting out that she'd fostered with the Keiths. She could never let down her guard with Torrin, even though he was easy to talk to. While he seemed an honorable gentleman on the surface, she knew that deep down he was deadly.

"I fostered as well, but only for four years."

Fostering was a common practice among Highlanders. She knew the purpose was to form a network of clan alliances. Strange that their paths had only crossed one time prior to last winter.

She eyed Torrin and the thick chestnut hair lying on his broad shoulders. The way he steadily watched her with those perceptive evergreen eyes made her heart thump hard and her insides flutter. Was it fear or something else? A mixture of several conflicting emotions?

What in blazes was she doing alone in a bedchamber with him anyway? Although he didn't carry a sword or dirk at the moment, because she'd had all the visitors disarmed, he did retain his sgian dubh. And the small blade could be just as lethal as a large one. But strangely, although she knew she should fear him, she didn't. Each time she came face to face with him, she felt less afraid. Was she mad? She'd seen what he was capable of.

"I'd best check on the servants and see how midday meal is coming along." She headed toward the door.

"Do you enjoy archery?" he blurted.

She halted and turned back to him, wondering at his odd question. His green eyes gleamed with interest… in her. This awareness sent heat rushing over her.

"I've only tried it once," she said.

"So you only like the blades?"

She shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"I could teach you how to shoot a bow."

That would be a wonderful skill to learn, but she knew 'twas only his ploy to get her alone and spend time with her. To allow her to get to know him. So she would want to marry him? Nay. Besides, she trusted him less than any man she'd ever met, other than MacBain. She shook her head. "'Tis unnecessary."

"It matters not. It might be fun."

She knew not what fun was anymore, though at one time she had enjoyed many pursuits. "People would watch, and I'm certain I'd be horrible at it."

"Nay, we'll slip away whilst no one is looking. You'll have no audience."

So, he was not ashamed to admit he wished to get her alone. She narrowed her eyes. "I don't think that would be wise, either."

"Bring a guard or two. Aye, bring two guards and a maid, for a chaperone. We'll have them turn their backs while you shoot at the target."

She could not figure him out. Was he a cold-blooded killer or a gallant bent on courting her? "I don't think 'tis a good idea."

His expression darkened. "We're alone here in this room and I'm not attacking you."

That was true, but mayhap he was trying to lower her guard.

"You don't trust me," he stated firmly. "Why? Do you think I'm like my brother, Nolan?"

Her heartbeat sped up. She'd not expected him to confront her about how she felt about him. And she certainly couldn't tell him why she didn't trust him. To do so could endanger her life. The Keiths would still seek revenge against him if they learned of what he'd done eight years ago. Lyall was to have been the next chief. And his father still burned with the need for retaliation and justice.

"I have no inkling," she said. "I've never met Nolan."

"He's an outlaw. And I'm sure Lady Isobel told you what he tried to do to her. I'm not like him in the least."

Aye, Isobel had told her plenty. Enough for her to know she wanted to have naught to do with the MacLeods. And yet, something about him lured her. The sensual shape of his lips, the intent male interest in his eyes, his tall, lean-muscled body. 'Twas only physical attraction—a dangerous physical attraction, for no corresponding emotion lay beneath it.

"I'm glad you're not like him. Well, I must see to the kitchen servants about midday meal." She moved into the doorway.

"Lady Jessie?" he said in an almost desperate tone.

Startled, she paused, eying him with suspicion. Why would he say her name in such a way? Was he desperate to gain her affection? "Aye?"

"I hope you know I would never harm you. I'm here to protect you." His tone was softer, warmer, and she almost believed him.

Why couldn't he have been someone else? Someone she hadn't witnessed at his most brutal.

She nodded. Strangely, she wished she could trust him. And maybe he was telling the truth now, but that couldn't erase what he'd done. "I thank you."

Male voices echoed down the corridor and loud footsteps pounded toward them. Sticking her head out into the passageway again, she saw MacBain and one of his men charging toward her.

"There you are, m'lady. I've searched the castle for you."

"Why?"

"Because that vile MacLeod is missing, too, and I don't trust the whoreson."

She glanced back into the room at Torrin, who made for the door, a thunderous expression on his face.

"Are you wanting your nose broken again, MacBain?" he asked.

"What the hell are you doing here, in a bedchamber, with Lady Jessie?" MacBain's face turned as red as his injured nose. The area around his eyes was a bruised blue color.

"'Tis none of your concern."

"I wholeheartedly disagree. I came to woo and marry this lady in a most honorable way. You are naught but a rogue set on using her and casting her aside."

"Ha. You are the one who used her and cast her aside!" Torrin accused. "'Tis clear to everyone you will do the same again if given the chance. On the other hand, my intentions are honorable."

Mortified by Torrin's candor in regards to MacBain using her, Jessie wished she could crawl into one of the trunks.

"Well… nay. I'm a changed man," MacBain said, stretching his neck up as if trying to stand taller. "I have already apologized to her for my past mistakes. No one is perfect, not even you, MacLeod."

Torrin gave a derisive laugh and shook his head. "We'll let the lady decide," he said in a hushed tone.

"The lady has decided she is weary of this daft arguing." Jessie bypassed MacBain and headed toward the stairwell.

"Out of my way, MacBain," Torrin ordered.

Footsteps thudded on the wooden floor behind her. She quickened her pace down the stairwell, eager to be free of these two crowing roosters and have some time alone to think. Just before the last step, her foot caught in her skirts and she tumbled forward, her knee smashing onto the stone floor. Pain shot up her leg.

"Blast!"

"Lady Jessie?" Torrin exclaimed just behind her, then knelt by her side, his arm around her. "How badly are you hurt?"

"'Tis only a bruised knee," she assured him, trying to shrug off his strong, protective arm. Aye, the sensation of his arm around her was warm and comforting, but this only served to heighten her discomfort. She attempted to push to her feet.

"Here, let me help you." He removed his arm from around her and offered his hand instead.

Much as she was tempted to take his hand, she could not bring herself to. "Nay. I am well."