Quinn had been well mannered and thoughtful, but it had been Grimm she'd fallen in love with the day she'd met him—the wild boy living in the woods at the perimeter of Caithness. It had been Grimm who'd upset her so much she'd cried hot tears of frustration. It had been Quinn who'd comforted her when he'd left. Funny, she mused as she glanced over at the dashing man riding beside her, some things hadn't changed a bit.
Quinn caught her sidelong glance and grinned easily. "I've missed you, Jillian. Why is it that we haven't seen one another in years?"
"Judging from the tales I heard of you, Quinn, you were too busy conquering the world and the women to spare time for a simple Lowland lass like me," she teased.
"Conquering the world perhaps. But the women? I think not. A woman is not to be conquered, but to be wooed and won. Cherished."
"Tell that to Grimm." She rolled her eyes. "That man cherishes nothing but his own bad temper. Why does he hate me so?"
Quinn measured her a moment, as if debating what to say. Finally he shrugged. "I used to think it was because he secretly liked you and couldn't let himself show it because he felt he was a nobody, not good enough for the daughter of Gibraltar St. Clair. But that doesn't make sense, because Grimm is now a wealthy man, rich enough for any woman, and God knows the women desire him. Frankly, Jillian, I have no idea why he's still cruel to you. I'd thought things would change, especially now that you're old enough to be courted. I can't say that I'm sorry, though, because it's less competition as far as I'm concerned," he finished with a pointed look.
Jillian's eyes widened. "Quinn—" she started, but he waved his hand to silence any protest.
"No, Jillian. Don't answer me now. Don't even make me say the words. Just get to know me again, and then we'll speak of things that may come to be. But come what may, I will always be good to you, Jillian," he added softly.
Jillian tugged her lower lip between her teeth and spurred her mount into a canter, stealing a glance over her shoulder at the handsome Quinn. Jillian de Moncreiffe, she thought curiously.
Jillian Alanna Roderick, her heart cried defiantly.
* * *
CHAPTER 8
jillian stood in the long, narrow window of the drum tower a hundred feet above the courtyard and watched Grimm. She'd climbed the winding stairs to the tower, telling herself she was trying to get away from "that man," but she knew she wasn't being entirely honest with herself.
The drum tower held memories, and that's what she'd gone to revisit. Splendid memories of the first summer Grimm had been in residence, that wondrous season she'd taken to sleeping in her princess tower. Her parents had indulged her; they'd had men seal the cracks in the stones and hung tapestries so she'd be warm. Here were all her favorite books, the few remaining dolls that had escaped Grimm's "burials at sea" in the loch, and other love-worn remnants of what had been the best year of her life.
That first summer she'd found the "beast-boy," they'd spent every moment together. He had taken her on hikes and taught her to catch trout and slippery salamanders. He'd sat her on a pony for the first time; he'd built her a snow cave on the lawn their first winter together. He'd been there to raise her up if she wasn't tall enough to see, and he'd been there to pick her up if she fell. Nightly he'd told her outlandish stories until she'd passed into a child's exhausted slumber, dreaming of the next adventure they'd share.
To this day, Jillian could still recall the magic feeling she'd had whenever they'd been together. It had seemed perfectly possible that he might be a rogue angel sent to guard her. After all, she'd been the one who'd discovered him lurking in the thickets of the forest behind Caithness. She'd been the one who'd coaxed him near with a tempting feast, waiting patiently day after day on a rumpled blanket with her beloved puppy, Savanna TeaGarden.
For months he'd resisted her offering, hiding in his bracken and shadows, watching her as intently as she'd watched him. But one rainy day he'd melted out of the mist and come to kneel upon her blanket. He'd gazed at her with an expression that had made her feel beautiful and protected. Sometimes, in the years to follow, despite his cruel indifference, she'd caught that same look in his eyes when he thought she wasn't watching. It had kept her hope alive when it would have been wiser to let it die. She'd grown to young womanhood desperately in love with the fierce boy-turned-man who had a strange way of appearing whenever she needed him, rescuing her repeatedly.
Granted, he hadn't always been gentle while he did it. One time he'd trussed her up, high in an oak's lofty branches, before tearing off through the woods to rescue Savanna from a pack of wild dogs he'd saved Jillian from moments earlier. Lashed to the tree, terrified for her puppy, she'd howled and struggled but had been unable to loosen her bonds. He'd left her there for hours. But sure as the sun always rose and set, he had come back for her—cradling the wounded, but remarkably alive, wolfhound in his arms.