The Chief Read online

  Tor just hoped to hell they were in time.

  MacSorley reached him first. His speed in the water had not been exaggerated; Tor had never seen anyone swim so fast.

  With Tor’s help, MacSorley dragged Seton back to shore and pulled his limp body up the rocky beach.

  They bent over the younger man’s body. “He’s not breathing,” MacSorley said.

  Tor swore. Without hesitation, he flipped the lad over and slammed the heel of his hand on his back. Nothing happened. He swore again and repeated the thump, harder this time.

  It worked. Water spewed from his lungs. Seton made a choking sound as his body convulsed in a fit of watery coughs and spasms.

  Tor felt the tension ease from his back and shoulders.

  After a few minutes, Seton’s body had purged itself of the seawater, and he tried to sit up. But MacSorley held him down. “I think you’d better lie flat. You’ve had a wee bit too much to drink tonight.”

  Seton managed a smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace. “Did I finish the challenge?” he asked, looking at Tor.

  Tor nodded. “Aye, lad, you finished.” His anger returned full force. Boyd hadn’t said a word, standing aside as the other men had attempted to revive his partner. From his grim expression Tor knew he realized his mistake, but it was too bloody late.

  He wrapped a hand around Boyd’s thick neck, ice-cold fury running through him. “What is the one rule I gave you?”

  Boyd met his gaze unflinchingly. “Stay with your partner.”

  Tor squeezed, bringing the other man closer to him. Face to face, he bit out each word. “These men are counting on you to stand by them, to do your part, to be part of this team, and you just let every one of us down. If you have to carry a man through the pits of hell you’ll do it because they’ll do it for you. Do you understand?”

  Shame washed over the steely warrior. He nodded. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  Tor pushed him away. “Damn right it won’t.” Only because it was partly his fault as well did he not send Boyd packing right away. It wasn’t that Tor thought he’d pushed the men too far—pushing past the point of where you thought you could go was what it took to be an elite warrior. You either had what it took or you didn’t. Harsh, perhaps, but Tor’s duty was to the group, not one man. He knew exactly how far to push, which was one of the things that made him a good leader.

  But darkness or not, ultimately these men were his responsibility. He should have known Seton was missing. “Do something like that again and you’re out. I don’t care how strong or extraordinary you are. This is a team. If you want to fight alone, go home.”

  The men were subdued after that, returning to the broch to eat the meal Janet had waiting for them. There was less conversation than usual, although MacSorley couldn’t resist prodding Seton a few more times about his penchant for seawater, offering to fetch him a cup if he’d rather drink that than cuirm.

  It wasn’t the way Tor had hoped it would happen, but tonight it felt as if something had changed. Not because Seton had nearly died. Death held no fear for these men. To a Highlander, death in battle was the ultimate reward—which perhaps explained the wild, no-holds-barred fighting style that struck fear in the heart of their enemies.

  What changed was that the men were no longer just listening to his words about the importance of working together; the words had finally penetrated. Change would not come in one night—they were too used to fighting alone for personal glory—but it would come.

  After weeks of hammering, the disparate guard had turned a corner, and for the first time, success seemed possible. He might not need to chain them together after all.

  He left them talking quietly by the fire to return to Dunvegan.

  The storm had abated, but Tor could have navigated the slippery stone stairs of the sea-gate without the hazy glow of moonlight. The guardsmen along the wall greeted him as he entered the barmkin.

  Not for the first time, he cursed the promise he’d made to his wife. Bone cold and exhausted, he’d been tempted to stay the night at the broch, but he hadn’t left word for her that he wouldn’t be returning tonight. He wasn’t used to being beholden to anyone for his actions, and it chaffed.

  Why was he allowing her to distract him from his duties? He should be with his men, getting drunk and listening to MacSorley’s incessant boasting and needling, Gordon’s stories of his grandfather’s exploits on the last crusade fighting alongside the Knights Templar, Boyd’s regaling of the English injustices along the borders, or the favorite topic among warriors far away from home: women.

  But a part of him—a part that was growing larger every day—didn’t want to disappoint her. Christina was doing her part, attending to the castle and her duties in a manner that gave him no cause for complaint. But the way she looked at him pecked at his conscience.

  He was hurting her, and it bothered him. She’d pinned hopes on him that he couldn’t possibly fulfill. Her vision of marriage was a romantic bard’s tale—like the one he’d overheard her telling the children of the knight devoted to his lady. He would clothe, shelter, and protect her—give his life for hers without a thought—but the kind of closeness she wanted from him wasn’t possible.

  Even if he didn’t have a duty to his clan, he wasn’t capable of those emotions. He’d been a chief and a warrior for too long. Surrounded by death and gore for most of his life, he’d seen things that would make her toes curl. Early on he’d learned not to get attached to anyone. He’d seen too many people die: his parents, friends—hell, even his first wife.

  Detachment gave him the edge he needed for his clan to survive and prosper, to be able to make life-and-death decisions, to achieve victory on the battlefield. He could not afford to be any other way. He was what war and duty had made him—cold and ruthless.

  He could still see the light blazing in the Hall as he approached, though the evening meal must have ended some time ago. He muttered an annoyed curse. Even half dead with exhaustion, he still felt the unmistakable stirrings in his groin, knowing he would see her soon.

  The newness wasn’t wearing off. He was beginning to wonder whether he would ever get enough of her. Night after night, he couldn’t stay away. Even when he forced himself to sleep at the broch for a few nights—proving to himself that he could—he thought of her. She’d invaded his thoughts, his dreams, even his damned senses at the most inopportune times. He’d been in the middle of a sword fight with MacRuairi yesterday when he’d lifted his arm to swing his sword and caught a whiff of her flowery scent on his skin. He’d taken a blow on the shoulder for the lapse.

  It wasn’t working. No matter how many times he took her, his lust for his wife was not dying. It was only getting fiercer. More intense. Drawing him back to her, no matter how hard he fought the pull.

  But not tonight. Tonight he was just too bloody tired. No matter how entrancing she looked curled up on the bed, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and her soft cheek pressed against the pillow, he would bid her good night and collapse around the fire with the rest of his men. Where he belonged.

  He entered the Hall, inhaling the rich, spicy scent that mixed with the peat from the fire. Cloves and nutmeg, he realized. Warmth settled over him. Despite his exhaustion, he felt his body relax. A memory buried in the farthest reaches of his mind teased. Stewed fruits. The scent reminded him of his childhood. Of his mother. Of another time.

  What was it about his young wife that roused these strange memories in him?

  Though Rhuairi had assured him that Christina wasn’t burning extra peat, it still felt warmer in here. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Dunvegan felt different. The air was softer, the aura more comfortable. He noticed it more each time he returned. He feared he was beginning to like it too much.

  Most of his clansmen were still enjoying their drink, but a few had already rolled up in their plaids to sleep. Rhuairi walked with him to apprise him of the goings-on around the castle that day, incl