To Tame A Highland Warrior

Page 111

“She’s not pregnant, Ramsay.”
Wasn’t she? Memories of her sudden nausea at the cottage surfaced in his mind. Of course Ramsay couldn’t know, but the mere possibility of Jillian carrying his child sent a primitive thrill of exultation through Grimm’s body. His need to protect her, already all-consuming, became the singular focus of his mind. Ramsay might have the upper hand, but Grimm refused to let him win.
“As if you would tell me the truth.” Logan scoffed. “There’s only one way to find out. Besides, whether she is or isn’t, she’ll still be wedding me. I want the gold she brings as her dowry. Between her and what the McKane pay me, I’ll never have to worry about wealth again. Don’t worry, I’ll keep her alive. So long as she breathes, Gibraltar will do anything to keep her happy, which means an endless supply of coin.”
“You son of a bitch. Just let her go!”
“You want her? Come and get her.” Ramsay taunted.
Grimm stepped forward, eyeing the distance. In the instant he hesitated, Ramsay moved the blade, pricking Jillian’s skin, and drops of crimson blood fell.
The Berserker, simmering with rage, erupted.
Even as he wondered why Ramsay would dare goad the Berserker into appearing, instinct plunged him forward. He had been considering cutting himself to bring on the rage, when Ramsay had done it for him. One leap brought him ten paces forward. He tried to stop, sensing an unknown trap, but the floor of the cave disappeared beneath his feet and he plunged into a chasm that hadn’t existed when he’d played these tunnels as a boy. A chasm deep enough to kill even a Berserker.
“Good riddance, you bastard,” Ramsay said with a smile. He held the torch above the previously concealed pit and peered as deep as the flames would permit. He waited a full five minutes but heard no sound. When he’d selected his trap, he’d tossed stones into the chasm to test the depth. None of the stones had yielded a sound, so deep was the aperture yawning into the core of the earth. If Grimm hadn’t been ripped to shreds on rocky slag, the fall itself would crush every bone in his body. Skirting the pit, he dragged Jillian from the caves.
“It’s done!” Ramsay Logan cried. “The McKane!” he roared. He stood on the edge of Wotan’s Cleft, raised his arm, and bellowed a cry of victory that was instantly echoed by all the McKane. The valley resounded with triumphant thunder. Exuberant, Ramsay released Jillian’s hands and removed her gag. He took her mouth in a triumphant, brutal kiss. She stiffened, revolted, and struggled against him. Angered by her resistance, he shoved her away, and Jillian crumpled to her knees.
“Get up, you stupid bitch,” Ramsay shouted, nudging at her with his foot. “I said get up!” he roared again when she responded to his kick by curling into a ball. “I don’t need you right now anyway,” he muttered, gazing down at the valley that would be his home. Adulation lay in the valley, a reflection of his mighty conquest. He waved his arm again, elated by the kill.
Ramsay Logan had taken a Berserker single-handed. His name would live in legends. The chasm was so deep that not even one of Odin’s monsters could survive the fall. He’d carefully covered it with thin sheaves of wood, then scattered stone dust atop it. It had been brilliant, if he had to say so himself.
“Brilliant,” Ramsay informed the night.
Behind Ramsay, Grimm blinked, trying to clear the red haze of bloodlust. A part of his mind that seemed lost down an endless corridor reminded him that he wanted to attack the man standing near the balled-up woman, not the woman herself. The woman was his world. When he sprang he must be careful, very careful, for to even touch her with the strength of Berserkergang could kill her. A slight brush of his hand could shatter her jaw, the merest caress of her breast could crush her ribs.
To those sitting the horses in the valley below, listening to Ramsay Logan’s victory cry, the creature seemed to explode out of the night with such speed it was impossible to identify. A blur of motion surged through the air, grabbed Ramsay Logan by the hair, and neatly severed his head before anyone could so much as shout a warning.
Because she was on the ground, the clans gathered below couldn’t see Jillian roll over, startled by the slight hissing sound the blade made as it whisked through the air for Ramsay’s throat. But the creature on the cliffs saw her move, and he waited for her judgment, resigned to condemnation.
It was the worst Jillian might ever see of him, the beast realized. In the full throes of Berserkergang, he towered over her, his blue eyes blazing incandescently. He was bruised and bloody from a fall that had halted abruptly on a jagged outcropping, and he held Ramsay Logan’s severed head in one hand. He stared at her, pumping great gasps of air into his chest, waiting. Would she scream? Spit at him, hiss and renounce him? Jillian St. Clair was all he’d ever wanted in his entire life, and as he waited for her to shriek in horror of him, he felt something inside him trying to die.