Beyond the Highland Myst(137)

Straw rustled against the hem of her gown as she moved. "I trust you completely, Grimm Roderick."

The sweet innocence in her young voice nearly undid him. He grimaced. "That's your first mistake. Your second mistake is being here with me. Go away."

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But I do trust you, Grimm," she said.

"You can't trust me. You doona even know me," he growled, his body rigid with tension.

"Yes, I do," she argued. "I've known you for years. You've lived here since I was a wee lass. You're my hero, Grimm—"

"Stop it, lass!" he roared as he spun and knocked her hand away from him so roughly that she stepped back a few paces. His glacial blue eyes narrowed. "So you think you know me, do you?" He advanced on her.

"Yes," she insisted stubbornly.

He sneered. "You doona know a bloody thing. You doona know who I've killed and who I've hated and who I've buried and how. You doona know what happens to me because you doona know what I really am!"

"Grimm, I'm frightened," she whispered. Her eyes were wide pools of gold in the lantern light.

"So run to your bloody da! He'll comfort you!"

"He's with Edmund—"

"As you should be!"

"I need you, Grimm! Just put your arms around me! Hold me! Don't leave me!"

Grimm's limbs locked, freezing him clear to his marrow. Hold me. Her words hung in the air. Oh, how he longed to. Christ, how often he'd dreamed of it. Her deep amber eyes shifted with fear and vulnerability, and he reached for her despite his resolve. He caught his hands in mid-reach. His shoulders bowed, he was suddenly exhausted by the weight of the internal debate he waged. He could not offer her comfort. He was the very reason she needed comforting. Had he never come to Caithness, he would never have brought destruction on his heels. He could never forgive himself for what he'd brought upon the people who'd opened their hearts to him when no one else had cared if he'd lived or died.

"You doona know what you're saying, Jillian," he said, suddenly immensely weary.

"Don't leave me!" she cried, flinging herself into his arms.

As she burrowed against his chest, his arms closed instinctively around her. He held her tightly, offering her shuddering body the shelter of his damned near invincible one.

He cradled her in his arms while she sobbed, suffering a terrible sense of kinship with her. Too clearly he recalled the loss of his own innocence. Eight years before he'd stood and watched his own clan fight the McKane. The sight of such brutality had rendered him nearly senseless with grief and rage, and now his young Jillian knew the same terrors. How could he have done this to her?

Would she have nightmares? Relive it as he had—at least a thousand times?

"Hush, sweet lass," he murmured, stroking her cheek. "I promise you the McKane will never come back here. I promise you that somehow I will always look after you, no matter where I am. I will never let anyone hurt you."

She sniffled, her face buried in the hollow between his shoulder and his neck. "You can't protect me if you're not here!"

"I spoke with your da and told him I'm leaving. But I also told him that if you ever need me, he has only to summon me." Although Gibraltar had been angry with him for leaving, he'd seemed mollified that he would know where to find Grimm should the need arise.

Jillian turned her tearstained face up to his, her eyes wide.

He lost his breath, gazing at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were brilliant with tears. Her lips were swollen from crying and her hair tumbled in a mane of gold fire about her face.

He had absolutely no intention of kissing her. But one moment they were looking into each other's eyes and the next moment he'd bent his head forward to press a pledge against her lips: a light, sweet promise of protection.

The moment their lips met, his body jerked violently.

He drew back and stared at her blankly.

"D-did you f-feel that?" she stammered, confusion darkening her eyes.

Not possible, he assured himself. The world does not shake on its axis when you kiss a lass. To convince himself—he kissed her again. The earthquake began just beneath his toes.

His innocent pledge took on a life of its own, became a passionate, soul-searing kiss between a man and his mate. Her maiden lips parted sweetly beneath his and she melted into the heat of his body.

Grimm squeezed his eyes tightly shut, recalling that long-ago kiss as he listened to the trill of Jillian's flute outside his window.

God, how vividly he recalled it. And he'd not touched another woman since.

* * * * *

Quinn insisted they go for a ride, and although Jillian initially resisted, before long she was glad she went. She'd forgotten how charming Quinn was, how easily he could make her laugh. Quinn had come to Caithness the summer after Grimm had arrived. Her father had fostered the two lads—a chieftain's eldest son and a homeless scavenger—as equals, although in Jillian's eyes no other boy could ever have been Grimm's equal.