“What makes you think he’ll be forgivin’ you now?”

Ronin raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “A fool’s fancy? I must believe. Or else I’d have no reason to go on.”

Balder clasped his shoulder affectionately. “You have a reason to go on. The McKane must be defeated once and for all and you must ensure the safety of your son’s sons. That in itself is reason enough.”

“And it will be done,” Ronin vowed.

Grimm spent the day riding, scouring every inch of Caithness for some sign that the McKane had found him. He knew how they operated: They would set up camp on the perimeter of the estate and wait for the right moment, any moment of vulnerability. Grimm rode the entire circumference, searching for anything: the remains of a recent fire, missing livestock commandeered and slaughtered, word of strangers among the crofters.

He found nothing. Not one shred of evidence to support his suspicion that he was being watched.

Still, a prickling of unease lurked at the base of his neck where he always felt it when something was wrong. There was a threat, unidentified and unseen, somewhere at Caithness.

He rode into the bailey at dusk, battling an overwhelming desire to slip from his horse, race into the castle, and rush to Jillian. To sweep her into his embrace, carry her to his chambers, and make love to her until neither of them could move, which for a Berserker was a very long time.

Leave, his conscience pricked. Leave this moment. Doona even pack a satchel, doona even say goodbye, just get out now.

He felt like he was being torn in half. In all the years he’d dreamed of Jillian, he’d never imagined he could feel this way; she completed him. The Berserker had risen in him and been humbled by her presence. She could make him clean again. Merely being with her soothed the beast he’d learned to hate, the beast she didn’t even know existed.

He grimaced inwardly as hope, the treacherous emotion he’d never permitted himself to feel, jockeyed for position with his premonition of danger. Hope was a luxury he could ill afford. Hope made men do foolish things, such as staying at Caithness when all his heightened senses were clamoring that despite finding no sign of McKane, he was being watched and a confrontation was imminent. He knew how to handle danger. He didn’t know how to handle hope.

Sighing, he entered the Greathall and picked at a platter of fruit near the hearth. Selecting a ripe pear, he dropped into a chair before the fire and brooded into the flames, battling his urge to seek her out. He had to make some decisions. He had to find a way to behave honorably, to do the right thing, but he no longer knew what the right thing was. Nothing was black and white anymore; there were no easy answers. He knew it was dangerous to remain at Caithness, but he wanted to remain more than anything he’d ever desired in his life.

He was so lost in thought, he didn’t hear Ramsay approach until the Highlander’s deep, rumbling voice jarred him. That alone should have warned him that he’d allowed his guard to slip dangerously.

“Where’ve you been, Roderick?”

“Riding.”

“All day? Damn it, man, there’s a beautiful woman in the castle and you go out riding all day?”

“I had some thinking to do. Riding clears my head.”

“I’d say you have some thinking to do,” Ramsay muttered beneath his breath.

With his heightened hearing, Grimm heard each syllable. He turned and faced Ramsay levelly. “Just what is it you think I should be thinking about?”

Ramsay looked startled. “I’m standing a dozen paces from you! There’s no way you could have heard that. It was scarcely audible.”

“Obviously I did,” Grimm said coolly. “So what is it you presume to tell me I should be thinking about?”

Ramsay’s dark eyes flickered, and Grimm could see he was trying to suppress his volatile temper. “Let’s try honor, Roderick,” Ramsay said stiffly. “Honoring our host. And his daughter.”

Grimm’s smile was dangerous. “I’ll make you a deal, Logan. If you doona bring up my honor, I won’t drag yours out of the pigsty where it’s been bedding down for years.”

“My honor—” Ramsay began hotly, but Grimm cut him off impatiently. He had more important things to occupy his mind than arguing with Ramsay.

“Let’s just get to the point, Logan. How much gold do you owe the Campbell? Half of what Jillian’s worth? Or is it more? From what I hear, you’re into him so deeply you may as well have put yourself six feet under. If you bag the St. Clair heiress, you’ll be able to clear your debts and live in extravagance for a few years. Isn’t that right?”