Page 21 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ T ell me about Gael MacTavish.” Ewan watched his brother pour two drinks, then settled into one of the chairs by the fire. “I ken he’s said tae be o’ a bastard or cadet line, wed with a child, but nae much more.”

“He’s all o’ those things. But he never claimed the kinship afore now, which is a troublin’ matter. Granted, he may nae have wished tae confront Fergus - an’ who would fault him that - but he didnae come forward even as a loyal kinsman, an’ that’s what troubles me, and many o’ the lairds I’ve spoken tae.”

Ewan would have liked to assume the worst, but being the overlaird of a clan meant he had to consider all possible explanations, whether he liked them or not. “He might have feared Fergus would see him as a potential rival. Didnae want tae endanger his wife and child.”

“Aye. But I’ve heard other things. Rumor has it he’s well enough off tae have a small band o’ soldiers under his command, independent o’ laird and clan. I cannae speak tae the truth o’ that, but if the rumor has the right o’ it…” Alistair trailed off.

Ewan scowled. If the rumor was true, it could be proof that Gael MacTavish had intended to rise against the rightful laird of Clan MacTavish, or against the man who’d conquered the clan. Such rumors might damage Gael’s standing, implying that he had no loyalty or honor, since he hadn’t offered his services to either the previous laird or Ewan himself.

On the other hand, he might also say he had simply had no opportunity to offer that service, and the soldiers might be seen as a force intended to win back MacTavish Clan’s independence, and to protect him if he secured the lairdship.

“Dae ye think he can win a contest o’ arms? If the rumors are accurate?”

Alistair shook his head. “Nay. I dinnae think the warriors o’ the main branch o’ the clan would follow him. Nae when they’ve sworn tae ye. And nae when there are options other than fighting within the clan tae resolve the lairdship. Ye’ve agreed tae abide by the ruling o’ the Highland Gathering and the Council o’ Elders, so he has nay reason tae resort tae violence.”

Alistair’s words were comforting, but warriors were not the main challenge Gael presented, and Ewan knew it. He took a sip of his drink, then looked to his brother. “Ye ken what the true problem is - the true reason the Council will consider him, nae matter what the rumors.”

“Aye.” Alistair nodded. “The man’s already secured a path tae having an heir.”

Ewan nodded. “The continuation o’ the lairdship is just as important tae the MacTavish Elders as the bloodline and the ability tae lead, especially now that they’ve faced nae having a proper heir due tae Fergus’s death without a successor.”

Alistair sighed. “An heir – ‘tis the thing every Council o’ Elders worries most about, savin’ only the laird’s ability tae use his body and his mind tae lead properly. If they cannae fret o’er yer competence as a leader, o’ course they’ll fret o’er who will follow ye.”

Ewan glanced at his brother. “Ye say that as if they’ve nay reason tae question me ability as laird.”

“They dinnae. I’ve read the reports o’ how ye’ve handled clan matters, includin’ late harvest, winter storms, an’ planting season. And how ye’ve settled disputes, Gael MacTavish nae withstanding. Ye’re a good, steady laird, with a good eye tae solving the problems that arise, an’ more skill in commanding an’ caretaking than ye’ve let yerself see.”

Ewan felt his cheeks grow hot under the unexpected praise. “I dinnae ken…”

Alistair scoffed. “I dae. I spoke tae yer man Devlin, while ye were away, an’ yer steward. Though they’ll nae say it tae loudly, both tell me that the servants and the warriors are happier under yer command an’ care than they ever were with Fergus. They’ve been hard trained never tae offer an opinion that isnae asked fer, but they’re fair loyal tae ye, fer all ye’re a conqueror’s braither an’ laird fer less than a year.”

Ewan swallowed. He’d wanted to believe that he had made a favorable impression on his people, but he’d also been afraid to think so. What if he wasn’t the leader he wanted to be?

Alistair reached across and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye’re a good leader. Ye think o’ yer clan an’ tak’ proper care o’ them.”

The praise filled him with warmth, but it also reminded him of the issue at hand. “Nae so good a leader, if I cannae or willnae provide them with certainty fer the future.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I never wanted tae tak’ a wife fer the sake o’ clan politics, but if ‘tis necessary tae keep the clan from the hands o’ another like Fergus - an’ if Gael is the type o’ man I fear he is, ‘twill be necessary - then I need tae consider tak’ng a wife.”

Alistair grimaced in sympathy. “’Tis never an easy choice - tae wed fer love or need. Have ye anyone in mind?”

Grace… Ewan shoved the thought away. Grace was not an option. “I havenae considered the matter much afore. I always thought I’d have more time tae settle intae me position afore I had tae worry about it.”

“I ken the feeling.” The two of them shared a wry smile, remembering Alistair’s many arguments with the MacDuff Council of Elders on the matter of his marriage, and the debates that had passed between them as well. There had been heated words on all sides, even after Niamh had come to Castle MacDuff. “But if ye want proof that ye’re a good laird, then ye should realize that the fact ye’re willin’ tae set aside yer feelings on the matter fer the sake o’ the clan’s needs… well, ‘tis what bein’ a laird is all about, an’ ye’ve apparently learned the lesson sooner than I did.”

Ewan’s throat felt tight. He had spent so long living in Alistair’s shadow, following his brother and seeking his approval. Alistair’s obvious pride in his leadership of the MacTavish clan made him feel warm.

Alistair smiled at him, his expression far more open and kinder than it had ever been before Niamh had entered their lives. “Ye’re doin’ well, Ewan. And I’m proud o’ ye. Gael MacTavish is a problem, aye, but we’ll sort it out.”

“Nae so easy, unless ye’ve a wife I can claim. Grace Lancaster is…” The words stuck in Ewan’s throat. He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak through the ache. “I told the clan elders I was courtin’ her, but ye and I both ken she’s only here tae visit Niamh. ‘Tis nae more than a falsehood tae keep her safe and avoid too many questions about why I was away fer so long.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Ye sound as if ye wish it were more.”

Ewan flushed. “Nay. I’ll own she’s more tolerable than most English lasses - an’ we’ve become friends o’ a sort over the journey, but ‘tis nay more than that.”

“Because it hasnae had a chance tae become more, or because ye have nay interest in her?” Alistair’s question felt like an arrow to the gut.

“Because it is nay more than courtesy an’ perhaps friendship.” Ewan took a desperate gulp of his drink. “She’s an English lass, an’ I’m a Highlander born. We dinnae have much in common, save our connection tae Niamh.”

“I’ve heard from Niamh that she’s a laird’s daughter, or niece. Yer a laird’s son - with a good chance o’ becomin’ a laird in yer own right. Tha’s something.”

“Nae much o’ something.” Ewan shook his head. “I ken where yer thoughts are looking - tae make reality o’ falsehood. But ‘tis… it wouldnae work. She’ll want tae go back tae her own kin soon enough.” He saw Alistair open his mouth, and shook his head. “Dinnae keep askin’ me. I’ve told ye the truth. I may need a wife, an fair soon, but Grace Lancaster isnae the woman fer me.”

“If ye say so, then I’ll leave it be. We’ll think o’ some other solution. Mayhap a widowed clan lady, or a lass who hasnae married.” Alistair glanced at the windows.

“’Tis getting on, an’ ye’ll want tae freshen up afore we go down tae supper.”

Ewan rose from his chair and stretched, grimacing as the skin over his wounded side and shoulder tugged. He was healing well, but that didn’t mean it was always comfortable. “Time enough fer a bath?”

Alistair shrugged. “Mayhap, if ye took a short one. If ye want a proper soak, then I’d say ‘twould be better tae wait until after supper.”

A quick wash would wipe away the worst of the road dust. “Supper, an’ a bit o’ sparrin’ and a bath afterward?”

Alistair smiled. “Sounds like a braw idea.”

The two of them finished their drinks in companionable silence, and Ewan followed his brother out into the corridors of his childhood home.

No longer his home. It was only now, when the possibility of become the Laird MacTavish loomed so close that Ewan realized how comfortable he’d become in MacTavish Keep.

He could truly make a home there, if he claimed the lairdship. He had not realized it before. It was a strange thought. He only wished that Grace would also desire to make a home beside him. Ewan pushed the thought away. He had enough challenges to face - there was no point in wasting time or energy on futile dreams of things that he could not obtain.

Dinner proved to be an interesting experience. Rather than eating in the Great Hall as Grace had expected, they gathered in a smaller room, around a circular table. Niamh smiled at her confusion. “They arranged this fer me, so I dinnae have tae deal with meals in the Great Hall fer now.”

Grace nodded. She’d expected to dine with Niamh, Alistair, and Ewan. She was surprised to be joined, however, by Catriona and a sturdy man she introduced as her husband, Evan MacLean. They were accompanied by a quiet, wide-eyed toddler who clearly possessed his mother’s hair and eyes, and the beginnings of his father’s square-framed build. Catriona lifted the lad into her arms. “Grace, this is me son, Ian. Ian, say hello tae Grace.”

The boy stared at her wordlessly. Catriona sighed. “Och, he’s a shy one. I cannae say where he gets it from.” She set her son in a chair that had clearly been made for a child, and the rest of them took their places around the table.

Grace found herself sitting next to Ewan. Like her, he’d taken time to wash and change out of his dusty traveling clothes. He glanced her way as they took their seats, but said nothing, so Grace held her silence as well.

The servants brought dishes of potatoes, fresh roasted vegetables, bread straight from the oven, newly churned butter, sliced venison, and roasted fowl of some sort. There were also two types of cheese, one a deep yellow with a strong scent, and the other a paler cheese studded with nuts and herbs.

Ewan sniffed at the fowl dish and grunted in appreciation. “Moor quail. I’ve nae had a chance tae hunt it fer some time.”

Alistair smirked. “I guessed as much. But we had good fortune with the new dogs the kennel master has trained. I could see about sendin’ along some o’ the recent whelps, when they’re old enough tae be claimed.”

“’Twould be welcome. The kennels at MacTavish could use some new blood.”

Grace served herself from the nearest tureen of fragrant soup, then took a generous portion of each dish. The smells made her stomach growl with anticipation, and the bread, when she bit into it, was the perfect combination of chewy and firm, full of flavor. It went well with both of the cheeses, and Grace could happily have made a meal of that alone.

Beside her, Ewan was tucking into a quail with evident enjoyment. Grace glanced at the dish and noted it had been picked clean. She took a bite of the bird, curious as to the flavor.

It was good, but she found she preferred the venison. And with the beginnings of a meal in her belly, she wasn’t as hungry as she’d thought she was. She nudged Ewan with her elbow. “Here.”

She transferred the rest of her quail to his plate. Ewan blinked. “Ye dinnae like quail?”

“Not as much as you seem to. I believe I will be quite content with the venison and the rest of the meal.” She offered him a brief smile, which he didn’t return, then turned her attention back to her own plate.

She caught Niamh giving her a considering look, and resolutely ignored the question she could see in her best friend’s eyes. Yes, she had given Ewan the quail, but it was simply a friendly gesture. There was nothing more to it.

The venison was cooked and seasoned perfectly, and the vegetables were roasted to just the right point where they crunched in the teeth, without being raw. The potatoes were firm and earthy, perfect with a small pat of butter. Maids offered wine, tea, and mead with the meal, and Grace took wine - a strong red that offered a sharp counterpoint to the flavors of the meal.

Ewan, she noticed, took mead, and Niamh sipped a cup of what seemed to be mint tea. Mint tea was said to help with digestive issues, though Niamh had not spoken of being ill with her pregnancy. She would have to ask later.

Following the main courses, the servers brought out honey cakes and fruit tarts, with cream and small portions of honey sugar, all served with a soothing tea blend to finish off the meal. It was wonderful, and Grace ate until she felt satiated to the point of sleepiness.

The conversation was low and infrequent, but the silence was not uncomfortable. Rather than feeling like an outcast, a stranger among people who were all good friends, Grace felt welcomed and embraced by the clan. The feeling of being accepted made her relax.

She hadn’t realized, not until Catriona’s greeting earlier that day, how much she’d feared that she would be shunned because of her English origin. She presumed that Niamh must have told her new friends the truth, but she hadn’t expected to be so easily drawn into the warm circle of kinship that existed here. Especially not with Alistair MacDuff at Niamh’s side.

Alistair, however, clearly meant his apology, and made every effort to include her. He passed her the bread when she wanted more, and spoke to her as much as he did to any other. It made the idea of spending an extended time in his home far more bearable than it would have been otherwise.

The evening passed in comfortable companionship. After dinner, Catriona’s husband produced a pack of cards, and they began a game. Grace immersed herself in learning the rules, for her uncle had never before allowed her to play, it being unladylike to engage in games of chance. She was not the best skilled at such things, but it was fun nonetheless.

Gradually, the fire burned down, and Grace found herself shivering. The room had been pleasantly cool during the daylight hours, but she was the person seated furthest from the hearth, and with the sun below the horizon, the evening chill was making itself felt. She was about to excuse herself to seek out an over-robe or her chambers, when Ewan glanced at her, sighed, and stood.

“Here.” In a single motion, he tugged the over-cloak he wore from his shoulders, then draped it around hers. The warmth of him immediately surrounded Grace, and her shivering disappeared.

Catriona and Niamh shared another look with each other. Grace huffed slightly, bemused by their obvious belief that there was more between herself and Ewan than she’d admitted to while they were speaking.

She might wish that they were right, but Ewan’s gestures and her own were nothing more than the same easy camaraderie that they’d developed during the long ride north.

They played cards for another candle-mark, then Catriona and her husband excused themselves, with Ian nodding off on his mother’s shoulder. Shortly after that, Niamh rose from the table. Alistair stood at the same time. “Och, are ye tired?”

“Somewhat?” Niamh stretched slightly, then winced. “Och…”

Her hand went to her belly. Grace was at her side in the next instant, with Alistair and Ewan only a step behind. “Niamh, are ye all right?”

“I… ‘twas just a twinge…” She made a face. “’Tis naething serious, I’m certain.”

“I’d rather Catriona were certain. I’ll go get her.” Alistair started to step away, but Niamh caught her husband’s arm.

“Dinnae disturb her. Ye ken, it might be…” She hesitated. “Catriona and I can go tae see Sorcha. She’ll ken more, and be able tae tell us if aught is wrong. Dinnae think it is… ye ken what Sorcha said about the matter.”

“Aye. I ken what she said. But better fer ye tae be sure. I’ll nae have anything endangerin’ ye. I’ll send a message fer her tae expect ye.”

Ewan grimaced. “Ye’re still talking tae her?”

“Aye. She’s been helpful with the pregnancy, ye ken that. And we’re nae on such bad terms as we used tae be.” Alistair sighed. “Though I’ll own she’s happier when ‘tis just the womenfolk visiting.”

Grace wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but she thought she understood a few of their concerns. “I can go with Niamh, if you are concerned about her safety.”

Ewan and Alistair exchanged a look. Then Ewan shrugged. “I dinnae ken how she’ll tak’ yer presence, but it cannae hurt fer her tae meet ye.”

Niamh nodded. “’Twould be good. Sorcha daes like havin’ company, despite all her reasons fer livin’ alone. And Catriona can come with us, tae ensure naething goes wrong between here and Sorcha’s home.”

“All right. But in the morning, after breaking fast. Fer now, ‘tis best ye get some rest.” Alistair swept an arm around Niamh’s shoulders.

Niamh took Grace’s hand and squeezed it gently. “I’ll see ye in the morning. Get some rest.” Then she leaned into her husband’s arms, and the two of them disappeared into the halls of MacDuff Castle, leaving Grace alone with Ewan.

Grace was surprised by how lonely she felt. A part of her wanted to lean into someone’s arms the way Catriona and Niamh did with their husbands.

She wanted to be able to lean into Ewan’s arms. Grace swallowed hard to stifle the impulse. She looked up at Ewan. “In all the fuss, I never did discover… who is Sorcha?”

Ewan gave her a smirk, but there were shadows lingering in his eyes. “Sorcha MacBeth. The witch o’ MacDuff Clan.”

“Witch?” Grace stared at him, wide-eyed. “You cannot be serious…”

“It isnae what most English seem tae think it is. Sorcha is…” Ewan shrugged. “Best tae get plenty o’ rest, and keep an open mind when ye go tae meet her. She… kens certain things. More than that, tis difficult tae say. Just keep an open mind.”

Grace swallowed. She’d always heard stories of witches… but if Ewan told her to keep an open mind, then she would do her best to do so.

Ewan stared at her. For a moment, the lines of his face softened, and she thought he might say something to her - perhaps something to help alleviate the tension and awkward silence that had fallen between them since the night they’d been together. Then he stopped, and the mask fell over his expression again. His shoulders straightened. “Good night, Grace.”

Then he was gone, leaving her with his cloak and her doubts and uncertainties once more filling her mind.