"Do you really think it will?" Quinn asked angrily. "Will it free any of us, Grimm?"
* * * * *
Jillian strolled the wall-walk, the dim passage behind the parapet, breathing deeply of the twilight. Gloaming was her favorite hour, the time when dusk blurred into absolute darkness broken only by a silvery moon and cool white stars above Caithness. She paused, resting her arms against the parapet. The scent of roses and honeysuckle carried on the breeze. She inhaled deeply. Another scent teased her senses, and she cocked her head. Dark and spicy; leather and soap and man.
Grimm.
She turned slowly and he was there, standing behind her on the roof, deep in the shadows of the abutting walls watching her, his gaze unfathomable. She hadn't heard a sound as he'd approached, not a whisper of cloth, not one scuffle of his boots on the stones. It was as if he were fashioned of night air and had sailed the wind to her solitary perch.
"Will you marry?" he asked without preface.
Jillian sucked in a breath. Shadows couched his features but for a bar of moonlight illuminating his intense eyes. How long had he been there? Was there a "me," unspoken, at the end of his sentence? "What are you asking?" she said breathlessly.
His smooth voice was bland. "Quinn would make a fine husband for you."
"Quinn?" she echoed.
"Aye. He's golden as you, lass. He's kind, gentle, and wealthy. His family would cherish you."
"And what about yours?" She couldn't believe she dared ask.
"What about mine, what?"
Would your family cherish me? "What is your family like?"
His gaze was icy. "I have no family."
"None?" Jillian frowned. Surely he had some relatives, somewhere.
"You know nothing about me, lass," he reminded her in a low voice.
"Well, since you keep butting your nose into my life, I think I have the right to ask a few questions." Jillian peered intently at him, but it was too dark to see him clearly. How could he seem such a part of the night?
"I'll quit butting my nose. And the only time I butt my nose in is when it looks like you're about to get in trouble."
"I do not get into trouble all the time, Grimm."
"So"—he gestured impatiently—"when will you marry him?"
"Who?" She seethed, plucking at the folds of her gown. Clouds passed over the moon, momentarily obscuring him from her view.
His eerily disembodied voice was mildly reproaching. "Try to follow the conversation, lass. Quinn."
"By Odin's shaft—"
"Spear," he corrected with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"I am not marrying Quinn!" she informed the dark corner furiously.
"Certainly not Ramsey?" His voice deepened dangerously. "Or was he such a good kisser that he's already persuaded you?"
Jillian drew a deep breath. She released it and closed her eyes, praying for temperance.
"Lass, you have to wed one of them. Your da demands it," he said quietly.
She opened her eyes. Praise the saints, the clouds had blown by and she could once again discern the outline of his form. There was a flesh-and-blood man in those shadows, not some mythical beast. "You're one of the men my da brought here for me, so I guess that means I could choose you, doesn't it?"
He shook his head, a blur of movement in the gloom. "Never do that, Jillian. I have nothing to offer you but a lifetime of hell."
"Maybe you think that, but maybe you're wrong. Maybe, if you quit feeling sorry for yourself, you'd see things differently."
"I doona feel sorry for myself—
"Ha! You're drowning in it, Roderick. Only occasionally does a smile manage to steal over your handsome face, and as soon as you catch it you swallow it. You know what your problem is?"
"No. But I have the feeling you're going to tell me, peahen."
"Clever, Roderick. That's supposed to make me feel stupid enough to shut up. Well, it won't work, because I feel stupid around you all the time anyway, so I may as well act stupid too. I suspect your problem is that you're afraid."
Grimm leaned indolently back against the stones of the wall, looking every inch a man who'd never contemplated the word fear long enough for it to gain entrance into his vocabulary.
"Do you know what you're afraid of?" she pushed bravely on.
"Considering that I didn't know I was afraid, I'm afraid you've got me at a bit of a disadvantage," he mocked.
"You're afraid you might have a feeling," she announced triumphantly.
"Oh, I'm not afraid of feelings, lass," he said, dark, sensual knowledge dripping from his voice. "It just depends on the kind of feeling—"
Jillian shivered. "Don't try to change the subject—"