Page 14 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
G race woke to sunlight shining through her windows, and the unaccustomed scent of heather in her nose. The bed beneath her head was extremely comfortable after what she’d become accustomed to during the long journey through the Highlands. It might even be more comfortable than the bed she’d slept in while living with her uncle.
There was a knock at the door, and Grace pulled herself from her thoughts and hastened to tug on a night robe she’d had Anne retrieve the night before. The maid was incredibly efficient, and had put away all her clothing with a speed and organization that was, if she was honest, superior to the lady’s maid she employed in England. “Come in.”
Anne entered the room, carrying a tray, from which wafted the smells of fresh bread and porridge. “Fair morn, m’lady.”
“Fair morn.” Grace nodded and moved toward the table.
“M’laird asked me tae bring ye yer morning meal, and tae tell ye the Council will be meeting in a few candle-marks.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Anne poured her a cup of hot tea and set out her meal, then moved around the room tidying up. She selected a dress and brought it to Grace for approval. It was, Grace noted, similar in color to one of the shades that made up the faded tartan on the lass’s skirt. Grace agreed to it.
After finishing the cleaning, Anne lingered. “Dae ye need assistance in dressing?”
“It would be much appreciated.” Grace noted the young woman’s expression. “I… I don’t suppose the steward would consider assigning you to be my personal maid while I am here?”
“If ye asked, Steward Malcolm would likely agree.”
Grace nodded. A lady’s maid had more status than a general household servant. To ask for Anne would be giving her a much better position. Likewise, it would also assist Grace in maintaining the appearance that she was Ewan’s betrothed. There was, however, one matter for consideration. “You know that I am…”
“Ye’re from England. I ken. I also ken that ye’re the friend o’ Laird MacDuff’s lady.” Anne nodded. “I… I saw the lady briefly, two seasons ago. The previous laird had her… kidnapped. She was fair brave and well-spoken. Besides, if I may speak plainly…”
“You may.”
“M’laird’s a fair master, an better than most o’ us expected when we were given tae his oversight - the clans were feuding afore, an’ he could have been fair worse, given it was blood feud. Kennin’ that, I’m willin’ tae tak’ a chance that he chose a lady who was the same, an’ we might have good fortune twice o’er. Rather risk it than lose a chance fer me kin.”
It wasn’t a glowing endorsement, but she hadn’t expected to find anyone who was willing to even consider her presence as acceptable. So Grace smiled. “In that case, I think we shall suit each other very well.”
A little time later, Grace was nursing a third cup of tea when another knock sounded, and Anne opened the door for Ewan. Grace studied him.
There were shadows under his eyes, but he’d clearly taken time to bathe, and gotten some rest. He was neatly attired in a kilt in the clan tartan, and his hair had been washed, trimmed and tied back in a neat warrior’s tail. Grace swallowed.
Ewan raised an eyebrow. “Ye clean up well. And the color looks well on ye.”
“Thank you.” She saw Anne curtsy to Ewan, and gestured. “Before we meet the Council, I would like to request that Anne be assigned as my personal maid.”
“I’ll inform Malcolm.” He offered her his arm, and she took it. She smiled, adopting the pleasant expression that she had used so often when meeting new suitors.
Together, they traversed the corridors to a set of double doors, leading into what she recognized as the Council Room. Grace felt her stomach clench at the sight of almost a dozen Scotsmen, all of whom appeared to be nearly the same age as her uncle. She felt a moment of trepidation, then Ewan gave her an encouraging look. Grace stiffened her spine and raised her chin, reminding herself that she had faced many men, and she had always managed before. And none of them could possibly be as intimidating as her uncle.
Ewan led her inside, and Malcolm shut the doors. One man rose, his gray beard falling over a broad chest. “Laird Ewan. Who is this?”
“This is the woman I hope tae claim as me bride. Her name is Grace Lancaster.”
“Lancaster! Tha’s an English name. Dae ye mean tae tell us ye’ve brought an English lass intae this keep as yer possible bride?”
“I have. An I intend tae pursue the possibility o’ making her me wife.”
“Ye consider her…”
“Grace Lancaster may be from English stock, but she is also a laird’s daughter, raised as a lady. And she is a sensible, kind, and intelligent woman whom I formed a relationship with while travelin’ from the Laird Cameron’s lands. She is also a close friend tae Lady Niamh MacDuff, so though she might have been born on English soil, she also has strong ties tae Scotland and the Highlands.”
“Even so…”
“Even so, she is me choice, an’ she is here under me protection, as the lady I have chosen tae pursue a potential courtship with. An’ I will ask ye tae honor that, as well as our alliance with the clan o’ whom me lady is a close friend.”
The steel in his voice made Grace shiver, and not with apprehension. She couldn’t remember the last time any man had chosen to protect her. She’d never thought a Scotsman might be the person who did so, though she’d long given up hope that her uncle or any man he chose for her would help her.
Ewan, however, was protecting her. And though the Council might not know it, he knew as well she did that he might gain nothing from it. The knowledge made her feel… warm. Happy, in a way she had trouble defining. And far safer than she could remember feeling since she was a very young child.
She sat a little straighter in the chair Ewan had pulled out for her. “Good sirs, I assure you, I understand your suspicion. However, if you fear that I shall betray you to my English heritage, please rest assured that I have no intentions of the sort.”
“An’ how are we tae trust that?”
“I have traveled for more than a sevennight, far from my home, in the company of your laird, to be here. Surely if I had intentions of betraying you, I would not take such risks. Nor would I dare to present myself as the betrothed of a Scottish laird, a position for which my kin would surely reproach me, if not disown me.”
“An’ ye have me word o’ honor as well. Tae the lady, and tae ye.”
None of the assembled men made any response. Ewan waited for several moments, then offered Grace his hand. “Me lady, would ye want tae remain fer the rest o’ the business o’ the keep, or would ye like tae write yer friend an’ let her ken that ye’ve arrived safely, an’ ye’ll see her within the next day or two?”
She knew the offer for the graceful dismissal that it was. She smiled and stood. “I thank you for the offer, my laird, but I would prefer to write to Niamh. She has doubtless been waiting impatiently for my arrival, and I should like to let her know that I will see her soon.”
“O’ course. Malcolm will see that ye get the necessary supplies.” Ewan smiled and handed her off to the steward.
Grace smiled once more at all of the men, then left, composing her letter to Niamh as she went.
Ewan sighed as he paced his room. Night had long since fallen and he was weary, but sleep eluded him. The day had been a trying one, and some finely honed instinct - a warrior’s instinct - continued to hum in the back of his mind. Unfortunately, he had no idea what direction the attack would come from, nor what form it would take.
The Council of Elders had, at least tentatively, accepted Grace as the woman he was courting, with the goal of strengthening ties to Lowland countries, and to Clan MacDuff through her friendship with Niamh. Gael MacTavish was quiet, though he was expected to appear and present himself as a candidate for lairdship within the next few days, along with his wife and son. The planting was going well, and the families who had lost their homes in the fires were safe, and had been promised the necessary compensation to rebuild their homes and continue their livelihood - a gesture that had earned him further goodwill among the ordinary folk of Clan MacTavish.
And still, the uneasiness remained, driving away sleep, or even restful repose until he found himself pacing his rooms, weary to his bones and unable to even consider lying down.
Perhaps a patrol along the wall would help, and then… he’d never been much of a scholar, and neither had the late Laird MacTavish, but there were some books he could read. Or no, he still hadn’t finished reviewing all the records left behind. He’d done much over the winter, but it wouldn’t hurt to review them again, so he could be certain that he was truly helping improve the fortunes of the clan. After all, that would be part of what the Highland Gathering would consider, when he and Gael made their separate claims for the lairdship.
Grace Lancaster, for all that she was willing to support the ruse for now, had no intention of becoming his wife. In the end, he would stand alone, with only the quality of his stewardship to support his position.
Mind made up, Ewan wrapped his kilt about his waist and donned a shirt, then stepped out into the corridor, intent on making his way to his study and his decided course of action. He was halfway there when a slight figure turned the corner and came to a stop in front of him. Ewan’s hand was halfway to his sword when he realized who it was.
Grace. She was wrapped in a thick over-robe, carrying a candle in one hand and a book in the other. Ewan relaxed, something in his chest loosening at the sight of her. “Grace.”
“Ewan.” She tugged the robe a little closer with the fingers of one hand, a slight blush on her cheeks. “I could not sleep, so I thought a walk and a bit of reading…”
“Ye’re nae the only strugglin’.” Ewan smiled ruefully. “I couldnae rest meself. I was on me way tae me study, if ye’d care tae join me.”
A small, teasing smile curled her mouth. “Only if you are sure your Council will not object.”
“They willnae.” Ewan smiled back, and the two of them walked the rest of the way in companionable silence.
Inside the study, Ewan poked the fire back up. Grace solemnly handed him a smaller piece of wood, and the two of them shared a smile. “Ye remember.”
“Of course.” Grace settled into a chair while he finished building the embers back to a respectable blaze. It was only when he’d settled into his own chair that she spoke again. “I thought the meeting this morn went well, but I could not be sure.”
“It went well enough. They’re nae screamin’ fer me tae get rid o’ ye and send ye packin’.” Ewan shrugged. “They’ll nae be any trouble, at least nae on that front.”
An’ ye’ll nae stay long enough for it tae matter whether they like ye or nae. The thought stung more than it should have, and Ewan made an effort to dismiss it. “Did ye write yer letter tae Niamh?”
“I did. And Master Devlin sent it off with a messenger. After that, I spent the day admiring your gardens, and exploring the castle. It is…I t is not much like my uncle’s estate at all.”
“Nae a surprise. Scottish keeps and castles are built tae withstand everything, from wild weather tae wars. They’re built as strong and sturdy as the rocky hills an’ moors we build on.”
“So I see. And yet… it is a beautiful country, and a beautiful keep. The woodlands and cliffs nearby are fascinating.”
“Ye’ll see more o’ them when we travel tae MacDuff Castle. An’ if ye like, perhaps I’ll show ye some o’ the places me braither an’ I love tae ride in, the lochs and streams we grew up explorin’. If ye’re o’ a mind.”
“I am certain I would enjoy such an adventure. And there is sure to be time, since I shall be here until Niamh delivers her babe.”
“Aye. At least half a season, says Catriona, though any bairn will come when it chooses, be it early, on time, or late.” He paused. “I dinnae ken the customs o’ childbirth in the Lowlands, or England, but here among members o’ the MacDuff Clan an’ our kinfolk, ‘tis custom fer the maither tae be supported by her gathered kith an’ kin when the time comes. Niamh will have ye, an’ me cousin, but also several o’ her other kin, from her maither’s branch o’ the family. An’ those womenfolk o’ the castle who are experienced in the matter.”
“Then it is good that I have time to meet them, before the babe is born, provided it is not born tomorrow.”
“Aye.” The silence fell again, quiet and companionable as it had been in the long nights of travel. Ewan found himself relaxing into the warmth of the fire and Grace’s soft, easy presence at his side. The restlessness that had plagued him eased, soothed by the companionship.
He was drifting into a quiet haze of thoughtfulness when a thin, whistling sound, just on the edge of his hearing, cut through the night.
Someone screamed, and Ewan was halfway out of his chair even before he heard warning bell and the words the sentry shouted a moment later. “We’re under attack! Man the walls, we’re under attack!”