“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Balder interrupted his internal debate.
“Aye,” Grimm replied, mildly surprised Balder had joined him. “I doona remember it like this, Balder.”
Balder placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “That’s because it wasn’t always like this. Tuluth has grown tremendously over the years, thanks to your da’s efforts.”
“Come to think of it, I doona remember you either,” Grimm said thoughtfully. “Did I know you when I was a lad?”
“No. I’ve spent most of my life wanderin’. I visited Maldebann twice when you were young, but only briefly. Six months ago the ship I was sailin’ broke up in a storm, washin’ me ashore old Alba. I figured that meant it was time to check on what remained of my clan. I’m your da’s older brother, but I had a fancy to see the world, so I bullied Ronin into bein’ laird, and a fine one he’s made.”
Grimm scowled. “That’s debatable.”
“Doona be so hard on Ronin, lad. He’s wanted nothin’ more than for you to come home. Maybe your memories of him are as discolored as your memories of Tuluth.”
“Maybe,” Grimm allowed tightly. “But maybe not.”
“Give him a chance, that’s all I’m askin’. Get to know him again and make a fresh judgment. There were things he dinna have time to explain to you before. Let him tell you now.”
Grimm shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “Enough, Balder. Leave me alone.”
“Promise me you’ll give him a chance to talk to you, lad,” Balder persisted, undaunted by Grimm’s dismissal.
“I haven’t left yet, have I?”
Balder inclined his head and retreated.
“Well, that dinna last long,” Ronin complained.
“I said my piece. Now do your part,” Balder grumbled.
“Tomorrow.” Ronin procrastinated.
Balder glared.
“You know it’s foolish to try talkin’ about things when people are tired, and the lad must be exhausted, Balder.”
“Berserkers only get tired when they’ve been in a rage,” Balder said dryly.
“Quit actin’ like my older brother,” Ronin snapped.
“Well, quit actin’ like my younger brother.” Two pairs of ice-blue eyes battled, and Balder finally shrugged. “If you won’t face that problem, then turn your mind to this one. Merry overheard Jillian tellin’ the lad she’d leave her door unlocked. If we doona come up with somethin’, that lad o’ yours will be samplin’ the pleasures without payin’ the price.”
“But he already has sampled them. We know that.”
“That doesn’t make it right. And bein’ denied may encourage him to wed her all the sooner,” Balder pointed out.
“What do you suggest? Lock her in the tower? The boy’s a Berserker, he’ll get past anythin’.”
Balder thought a moment, then grinned. “He won’t be gettin’ past righteous indignation, will he, now?”
The hour was past midnight when Grimm hastened down the corridor to Jillian’s chambers. Merry had assured him that Jillian passed a restful evening with no further bouts of illness. She’d eaten like a woman famished, the elfin maid had said.
He let his lips curve in the full smile he felt whenever he thought of Jillian. He needed to touch her, to tell her that he wanted to marry her if she would still have him. He longed to confide in her. She had a logical mind; perhaps she could help him see things he couldn’t make sense of by dint of being too near the subjects involved. He stood firm on his position that she must never know what he really was, but he could talk with her about much of what had happened—or seemed to have happened—fifteen years ago, without betraying his secret. His gait quickened as he turned down the hall leading to her chambers, and he nearly sprinted around the corner.
He halted abruptly when he spotted Balder, energetically plastering a crack in the stone with a mixture of clay and crushed stone.
“What are you doing here?” Grimm scowled indignantly. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Balder shrugged innocently. “Tendin’ this castle is a full-time job. Fortunately, I doona require much sleep anymore. But come to think of it, what are you doin’ here? Your rooms are that way”—he leveled a half-full trowel in the other direction—“in case you’ve forgotten. You wouldn’t be lookin’ to spoil an innocent young lass, now, would you?”