Her eyes drifted over the second man. “Quinn,” she whispered. She hadn’t seen Quinn de Moncreiffe since he’d fostered with Grimm under her father years ago. Tall, golden and breathtakingly handsome, Quinn de Moncreiffe had comforted her on the many occasions Grimm had chased her away. In the years since she’d last seen him he had matured into a towering man with wide shoulders, a trim waist, and long blond hair pulled back in a queue.
“It would seem just about every man in Scotia and half of England is indebted to Gibraltar St. Clair for one thing or another,” Quinn observed.
Ramsay Logan folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Aye. He bailed me out of more than a few tight spaces when I was a younger lad and more prone to thinking with the wee head.”
“Och, so you think you’ve changed, Logan?” Quinn provoked.
“Not so much that I couldn’t knock you senseless still, de Moncreiffe,” Ramsay shot back.
Ramsay Logan, Jillian mused; she’d been right about his bloodline. The Logans were indeed Highlanders. Ramsay certainly looked like one of those savage mountain men whose notoriety was exceeded only by their massive holdings. They were a land-rich clan, owning a large portion of the southern Highlands. Her eyes crept back to Grimm, despite her best intentions. He relaxed in his chair regally, composed as a king and acting as if he had every bit as much right to be there. Her eyes narrowed.
The corners of Grimm’s mouth twitched faintly. “It’s like old times with the two of you poking at each other, but spare me your dissension. There’s a puzzle here. Why did Gibraltar St. Clair summon the three of us to Caithness? I’ve heard of no trouble here in years. Quinn, what did your message say? That he needed you to serve Caithness in his absence?”
Above them, Jillian frowned. That was a good question—why would her parents bring these three men to Caithness while they attended their grandson’s christening? Hatchard, Caithness’s chief man-at-arms, commanded a powerful force of guards, and there hadn’t been trouble in these parts of the Lowlands for years.
“It said that he wished me to watch over Caithness in his absence, and if I couldn’t take the time away from my ships to come for him, I should come for Jillian. I found his message rather odd but got the impression he was worried about Jillian, and truth be told, I’ve missed the lass,” Quinn replied.
Jillian jerked. What was her deceitful da up to?
“Jillian—the Goddess-Empress herself.” Ramsay flashed a wolfish grin.
Jillian’s nostrils flared and her spine stiffened.
“What?” Grimm looked puzzled.
“He’s referring to her much-lauded reputation. Didn’t you stop at the stables when you rode in?” When Grimm shook his head, Quinn snorted. “You missed an earful. The lads there prattled on and on about her before we even had a chance to dismount, warning us not to defile her ‘saintly’ mien. The ‘Goddess-Empress Jillian,’ one of the young lads called her, saying mere ‘Queen’ was too commonplace.”
“Jillian?” Grimm looked dubious.
Jillian glared at the top of his head.
“Bespelled,” Ramsay affirmed. “The lot of them. One lad told me she’s the second Madonna, and he believes if she bears children, it will surely be the product of divine intervention.”
“I must say, any intervention with Jillian would be divine,” Quinn said, grinning.
“Aye, right between those divine thighs of hers. Did you ever see a lass more well fashioned for a man’s pleasure?” Ramsay kicked his feet up on the hearth and shifted in his chair, dropping his hands in his lap.
Jillian’s eyebrows climbed her forehead, and she placed a hand over her mouth.
Grimm glanced sharply at Ramsay and Quinn. “Wait a minute—what do you mean by ‘her divine thighs’? You’ve never met Jillian, have you? You doona even know what she looks like. And Quinn, you haven’t seen her since she was a wee lass.”
Quinn looked away uncomfortably.
“Does she have golden hair?” Ramsay countered. “Masses of it, falling in waves past her hips? Flawless face and about yay-tall?” He held his hand slightly above his seated head to demonstrate. “Is her bedroom on the second floor, facing due east?”
Grimm nodded warily.
“I do know what she looks like. Quinn and I saw her in a window as we rode in,” Ramsay informed him.
Jillian groaned softly, hoping he wouldn’t continue.
Ramsay continued, “If she’s the woman who was changing her gown, the one with the breasts a man could—”