Page 15 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

O ne moment, Grace was sitting by the fireside with Ewan, reading in comfortable silence. It was something she hadn’t had a chance to do during their travels, and had been too tired to consider the night before.

The next, Ewan stiffened, going from drowsing to alert faster than she would have believed possible. A second later, she heard screams, and words that made her whole body flinch in apprehension.

Under attack? But who…?

Ewan caught his sword in one hand and her arm in another. “Stay here, where ‘tis safe.”

“Surely there is something I can do…” She didn’t want to sit uselessly in a safe place while everyone else was occupied. She might be, so far as Ewan’s clan was concerned, a soft English lady, but she was no coward, and she would not hide if there was anything she could do to help.

“Stay safe.” A flicker of light caught Ewan’s attention at the window. He glanced outside, and swore sharply, words she didn’t know but suspected she understood the general meaning of nonetheless. “Bollock licking bastards are tryin’ tae burn the keep down!”

Then he was gone, hastening from the room to aid his people. Grace stood a moment, frozen in indecision, then went to the window herself. The thatch over the stable was alight, and there were lit brands scattered about the courtyard, guttering and throwing sparks. From where she stood, she could see warriors rushing to the walls to force back the attackers, and servants rushing to put out the fires.

She could do little or nothing for the warriors, but she could assist the healer with her meager skills, and she could help put out the fires. Grace tightened the belt on her robe, checked that her hair was still bound in its nightly braid, then hurried from the room.

She reached the corridor to the main doors to find it filled with smoke. A burning arrow had hit the doors to the outside, and another had broken the narrow window in the Great Hall, and struck a table. Both were burning, apparently fueled by animal fat or some sort of oil, smeared over the tip and shaft of the arrows.

Grace caught a servant. “Have you sand, or soot?”

“Aye.”

“Bury the fires with it, and…” Grace broke off, coughing as smoke tickled her throat. “And… water-soaked fabric…”

“Aye m’lady.” The servant hurried away.

The arrow in the door was a problem. If it burned much longer, the keep might be defenseless. Then one of the boys, greatly daring, snatched at it, his hands wrapped in a cloth, and dragged it free of the wood. The servants smothered the fire, and the youth was bundled away, his hands likely scorched and blistered from his brave action.

Three women - Grace thought they might be scullery maids from the look of them, raced from the kitchens with buckets. One tossed a pile of ash onto the nearest burning surface. The second tossed a pail of water over top of that. The fire sputtered and died under the twin assault.

Then the first of the wounded men came through the door.

What came after that was a sort of barely controlled chaos the likes of which Grace had never been privy to, not even in her childhood, when her home had been attacked. The smoke was thick and choking in the air, along with the stench of blood and iron and burning. Smells that were tolerable in other circumstances became overwhelming and sickening.

Burnt flesh. Burnt wood. Offal.

And the sounds. She tried not to hear them, but it was impossible to avoid the cacophony of metal on metal and shouting. Men roaring in battle fury. Others screaming in pain, or the high, piercing cries of the dying. The desperation of the horses as stable hands and servants sought to put out the fires there. They shouted commands or requests in such rapid fire, their speech quickly dissolving into their native tongue until it sounded like nothing Grace could possibly understand.

The night was dyed orange and red and black with blood and smoke and fire. Her eyes stung and her throat burned. Her hands ached from tasks she could not even remember doing, and her body felt leaden with shock and terror.

Everything became a blur. Then, all at once, it was too much. Grace stumbled to one side and vomited on the stones, her body heaving as her stomach rejected the horror of the situation as well as the food she’d eaten some hours before. Someone stuck a basin between her and the ground.

When it was over, hands took her to the side and pressed a glass of something that burned her throat into her grasp, then another of cool, sweet water. “Best ye get somewhere quiet, m’lady.”

Grace blinked aching, burning eyes upward. “Anne…” Her own voice startled her, raw and wrecked as if she’d been screaming for hours.

“Warriors will drive off the intruders, and fires be under control, m’lady. M’laird willnae like tae see ye in such a state, an’ ye look fair done in.” The maid’s voice was gentle.

“But… there is much to be done… the healer… and… what of…” She couldn’t think, couldn’t form the words properly.

“We’ll be managing, m’lady.” Anne shook her head. “’Tis best ye step aside, if ye’re wearied or light-headed. Better tae let another dae the tasks than become another we’ll need tae be carin’ fer.”

That made sense. Grace swallowed. “But I…”

“Tak’ some rest, an’ some water or ale. Come back when ye’re steady on yer feet, if ye like.” Anne helped her to a small room off to one side. “Ye’re nae the first tae need it. An’ there’s nae shame in it, especially if ye’re nae accustomed tae battle.”

“Are you?” It seemed the only thing she could think of to say.

“Spirits above, nae a bit, though ‘tis nae me first either. Still, there’s more than one whose contributed the contents o’ their stomach tae the midden heap this eventide, an’ me among them.” Anne said the words so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that Grace couldn’t help but feel a bit better.

The water helped as well. She sipped it, and listened to the sounds of fighting outside. “Are we…”

“’Tis nae ended, but will be soon, I think. M’laird is a strong warrior, an’ well respected by the men he commands. Between him an’ Master Devlin, we’ll be safe soon enough, I’m thinkin’.”

“I should…” She wasn’t sure what she should be doing, only that sitting in the chair seemed intolerable, now that she’d had a moment to drink some water and rinse away the taste of bile.

“Rest first. Drink the water. Come back when ye feel steadier.” Anne blushed. “Nae that I mean tae be so forward as tae give ye commands, m’lady…”

“No. You are right. It is better if I rest for a moment.” Grace nodded. “Go back to help the others. I shall rejoin you once I have finished the water.” Anne looked uncertain, and Grace shook her head. “I am all right. Go and help the others. I may not be of any help at the moment, but I am certain that someone with your good sense can be.”

“M’laird…”

“If he does not approve, then I shall deal with him.” Grace smiled at the maid, though it was a poor and weary effort for a smile. “Go. Consider it an order, if you must.”

“Aye, m’lady.” The maid dipped her head, then turned and left the room at a fast walk.

The smell of smoke and burning lingered. Grace took another gulp of water to wash away the taste and feel of smoke and charring on her tongue. The water had a flavor she didn’t recognize - slightly herbal and sweet. She wondered, idly, what had been used to provide the taste, and if it was medicinal, or something she could request be served with her meals. It was wonderfully refreshing.

Without Anne to focus her mind, her weariness seemed to magnify. The glass felt heavy, and her body ached. She wanted to help, but could not seem to find the strength. She felt, suddenly, embarrassingly helpless. She gulped more of the water, attempting to find energy within the glass, but she felt leaden and light-headed at the same time.

I wonder where Ewan is, and if he is safe.

Fire on the stable roof. Fire on the doors to the keep proper. Fire in the Great Hall, through a broken window. And he had no time to attend to any of it. All his energy was focused on the ragged band of warriors who had slammed through the gates in the first moments after the fire arrows had crossed the wall.

The warriors of Clan MacTavish had, of course, been distracted by the fires. The attack had been well planned. And the men were too well-trained for brigands, no matter that none of them wore clan colors. They were out-clan, or else, hired soldiers.

The second possibility was by far the most worrisome, for then he had to wonder who had hired them and why. But that was a concern for another time. For now, he had to drive them away. He would worry about why they had attacked MacTavish Keep later.

Devlin and Malcolm were at his side by the time he reached the center of the courtyard and the first of the intruders. Ewan slammed him in the face with the pommel of his sword, then cut him down as he staggered. The second man blocked two blows, then fell to a knife in his heart. Ewan had always favored a sword and knife style, and he used every trick he had ever learned. Disabling strikes, fatal blows with either hand, blocking with either hand.

The battle was a chaos of flickering firelight, flashing steel, smoke and blood and bodies mingling together like a fever dream. The air was thick with the crackle of flames, the clang of steel on steel, or the deeper thwack of blade on shield, and the screams of the wounded and dying. The smoke made it difficult to breathe, and sweat poured down his frame, making his grip uncertain. He paused and wrapped a leather strip torn from some fallen man’s clothing around his hand to stabilize the grip, then fell back into the fray.

At some point, Ewan realized his ribs were burning from a cut to his side that was bleeding freely. Something, an arrow perhaps, clipped his face and made his head ache, though if it was an arrow, the force had been spent and it didn’t penetrate the skin. Perhaps it was another weapon.

He almost dropped his dirk at one point, when a stab got through his guard and hit his shoulder, but managed to retain hold of the blade and return the blow, with much greater effect.

He stabbed, cut, slashed and shouted orders until his shoulders ached and his throat was raw. Smoke stung his face and eyes - smoke and sweat and blood. The world narrowed to the next attack, the next fight, the next task.

Then, all at once, there were no more attackers, and Ewan found himself standing at the gate, surrounded by his own men, with Devlin and Malcolm at his side, both of them stained with blood and soot to the point that they might have been mistaken for demons straight from hell.

Not that he was much better. Ewan cleared his throat, coughed harshly, and rasped out a single word. “Report.”

“Attackers have fled. Servants are dealin’ with the fire. Someone got the idea tae pour dirt an’ water both on the flames, an’ it served well. Might have lost the stable otherwise. Door an’ dining tables are charred, as are the floor rushes, but the fires are almost out.” Malcolm’s voice was hoarse, but there was a note of pride in it that Ewan shared.

“Good.” Ewan coughed harshly. “Wounded and dead?”

“O’ our own? A good score or two wounded. We’ve nae counted the dead, and willnae ken til’ morn, when we can check the bodies fer friend and foe. An’ seen who might be felled by scorched lungs and burns… fer there’s more than one who risked harm tae put out the blaze.”

Devlin’s voice was grim. “Fire inside the keep… folk are likely tae be nervous as cats in a hound’s kennel fer some days.”

Fire in the keep. People had been hurt!

“Grace.” Ewan felt a sudden pulse of fear constrict his heart.

“I heard she was assistin’...”

Ewan didn’t wait to hear more. He turned and raced toward the doors of the keep, scattering men left and right as he bounded up the stairs. Dimly, he was aware of Devlin swearing at his back as the two men moved to keep up with him, but he hardly cared.

Grace. She’d been assisting… someone. And fire in the keep…

Ewan stumbled into the Great Hall. The smell of smoke made him cough, but he ignored it, his eyes searching for the slim, blond-haired form of Grace Lancaster. He didn’t see her.

Perhaps she’d become frightened, or perhaps the rumor had been false, and she was in the study where he’d left her, or her rooms where she might feel safer. Ewan spun and dashed from the hall, then up the stairs toward his study.

Her room was closer, and he threw open the door, his heart sinking when he found it empty. He raced to the study, but the fire in there was barely glowing embers, and the room held no sign of Grace.

Fear had him in its grip, like a fox in an eagle’s talons. Ewan turned and staggered back toward the Great Hall, nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste. “Grace! Grace!”

No blond head turned in his direction. No blue eyes met his. There was no sign of the English lass. “Grace…”

She couldn’t be wounded. He’d ordered her to stay safe. But then, he’d also ordered her to stay in the study. Ewan’s head swam. “Grace…”

“Beg pardon, me laird, but she wasnae well, so I took her tae one o’ the small antechambers tae the side. ‘Tis the one across the hall an’ one door down, me laird.” One of the maids spoke up.

His heart rose, to know that Grace was safe. Then it fell just as fast. “She’s unwell?”

“A bit wearied an…”

Ewan didn’t stay to hear the rest. He made his way to the door proper door and threw it open.

Light from the corridor fell across the room, and the lone occupant, and Ewan sighed with relief to see blond hair and blue eyes, as well as Grace’s startled expression. Then she rose, her eyes wide with concern. “Ewan…”

“Ye’re safe.” It was the only thought in his head. “Ye’re safe.”

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms, to pull her close. Ewan exhaled in relief and held her tight, his heart thudding against his chest. “I thought… they said ye were helpin’... but ye’re safe.”

“Ewan… I…”

He kissed her. He couldn’t do anything else. Her mouth tasted of smoke and sweet elderberry water. Her lips were soft against his, and in his arms Grace softened as well, clinging to him as he clung to her.

Grace was safe. Alive and safe and there, in his arms. There was nothing else that could possibly be more important, or more right.

The world swayed, gray flickering at the edges. Ewan pulled back, dazed by the kiss and the spots clouding his vision. He blinked and tried to force them away.

Then the world went black.