Page 22 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

E wan stretched. His muscles burned, but it was a comforting feeling - the heat of productive sparring and training well-conducted. After so many days confined to light stretching and exercise, the minutes of combat against his brother and the other warriors in the training yard were a welcome return to normal activities.

His shirt was soaked through, and he pulled it off over his head, letting the cool morning air wash over him, tossing his damp hair back from his face as he did so. A flicker of gold caught his attention from the corner of his vision. He blinked, and risked a quick glance.

Grace was standing at the edge of the courtyard, in the shadow of the stables. She was watching him, though she looked away and appeared to be interested in the nearby kitchen garden when he turned to look at her directly. Ewan looked away, and noticed a shift of her weight as she turned to watch him again.

Well, if she wanted to watch him, then he was happy to let her watch. Ewan stretched his shoulders, then went through a series of sword exercises, first slow, then faster, then faster still, until he was dancing with the blade, his movement smooth and loose. He went through three, perhaps four, repetitions, until his newly healed wounds began to ache - the deeper ache that indicated he was close to tearing the newly healed skin, or straining the muscles to the point of potential injury.

Then he slowed, stopped, and went to splash water from the horse trough onto his face. Grace retreated, and Ewan bit the inside of his lip to hide a smile.

She might be ashamed of having slept in his bed, but she wasn’t indifferent to him. Her obvious interest was a balm to his pride, and soothed the uneasy unhappiness that he’d been feeling since that day.

He finished his exercise, then tossed the shirt across his shoulder and began to stroll toward the bathing room. To his surprise, Grace followed along behind him. She didn’t speak, so neither did he, until he was outside the room that led to the bathing chamber. Then he stopped. “An’ how long are ye plannin’ on following me?”

He turned, in time to see Grace’s cheeks darken to a rosy hue. “How long did you know I was there?”

“When I removed me shirt, I kent ye were watching.” Ewan grinned at her, and to his delight, Grace smiled shyly back. “But why follow me?”

“Because I… everything is so different here, and I… well, I wanted to talk to you. We have not been able to talk much, it seems.” Her eyes darted away from his. “Between your wounds, and the preparations for travel, and everything else…”

After ye came tae me bed and decided ye’d made a poor choice the next morning.

But he didn’t say the words. “Aye. ‘Tis difficult. Between the attack, an’ travel, an’ Gael MacTavish…”

Grace looked up at the last words, her eyes warm and serene in a way that made him fall silent. “I do not know this Gael MacTavish. I cannot say that I care to. However…” She paused delicately, then continued, her words quiet but full of sincerity. “I believe I know the difference between a poor lord, a good lord, and an excellent lord. I have seen many examples. And this much I am certain of: you, Ewan MacDuff, are a very good lord, who I do not doubt will become a great lord in time.”

Ewan swallowed hard. “Ye think…”

“I think you are a good lord, and a good man. The clan you are overseeing is most fortunate to have you as their caretaker, and I pray you succeed in your quest to claim the title you have earned.”

“Thank ye.” Ewan took a deep breath. “Ye ken… the ruse we agreed tae…”

“I shall uphold it, and most willingly, for as long as I am in the Highlands.” She offered him a warm smile that made his chest ache. “Or for as long as you wish me to, whichever term expires first.”

“Then I am glad tae have ye by me side, fer however long ye remain.” It felt like rocks had dissolved from inside his chest at the admission. Ewan took a deep breath. “I am glad tae be speakin’ tae ye again. These last days havenae felt the same, with the silence between us.”

“I know. That is why I wished to speak to you. Though I will admit, if pressed, that I did not mind the view I was afforded.” Grace’s smile brightened with gentle laughter, and Ewan chuckled. “However, I shall not continue to be immodest, and shall leave you to your bath.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow. “Ye could join me, if ye wished.”

He meant the words to be teasing, and was delighted to see Grace’s cheeks turn rose-colored crimson. For a moment, he thought she would scold him, but then she huffed and swatted lightly at his arm. “I shall be doing no such thing. Besides, I intend to have my bath after we return from our visit later today.”

Their visit. Sorcha. Ewan grimaced. Grace cocked her head at his expression. “Is there something wrong?”

Ewan shook his head. “’Tis naething. Only that I’ve nae gotten along well with Sorcha fer a long time. Her sister was me braither’s first fiancée, and when Constance died, she cursed me braither. ‘Twas meant tae teach Alistair tae protect what he loved, an’ it ended well, but we exchanged many a sharp word on the matter.”

Grace blinked. “Surely… she did not curse you, I hope?”

“Nae even with a fishwife’s meaningless snarlin’. But that daesnae make our relationship a comfortable one.” Ewan sighed. “Dinnae fret though, she’ll nae hold it again’ ye. She’s nae that sort.”

Grace nodded, though there was a shadow of unease in her eyes. “I do hope you are correct. Although… she might hate my parentage.”

“She’ll nae care about that.” Ewan shook his head. “Sorcha told Niamh once that she hates nay one who hasnae given her cause. So long as ye dinnae harm her or those she cares fer, she’ll wish ye nae ill.” He smiled wryly. “Mind, those she cares fer are mostly Niamh an’ Catriona, so I suspect ye’re well safe from her wrath.”

Grace relaxed. “If her care is given to Niamh, then we are allies, rather than enemies.” She smiled, reassured by his words, then her cheeks pinked again. “However, I should leave you to your bath. I’m certain the morning meal shall begin soon.”

With one last smile, she turned and was gone, through the halls, leaving Ewan with the warmth of her smile, and the ache in his gut - and his manhood.

The journey to Sorcha MacBeth’s dwelling was a unique experience for Grace. Niamh was too far advanced to ride a horse, so a modified farmer’s cart was brought, lined with soft blankets and pillows, and a set of steps were placed so Niamh could awkwardly climb into the resulting nest. Catriona took the reins of the two horses that would draw the little cart, and Grace was given the choice of riding with Niamh, or on the narrow front bench where Catriona sat.

Despite the roughness of the road, Grace chose the seat. She had never been permitted to ride on the driver’s seat of any coach or cart, and she was eager to add another new experience to her growing collection of Highland memories. Within two candle-marks of breaking her fast, she, Catriona, and Niamh were traipsing along the western road from the keep, the morning sun behind them and warming their backs.

The cart bumped along the road, sometimes rattling Grace’s teeth, but the sight of the rolling moors and wooded hills, shining with dew in the early morning light, was more than enough to make her ignore the discomfort.

They had ridden for half a candle-mark when she recalled a question she had meant to ask, and forgotten in the wake of their conversation. She turned to look at Catriona, then at Niamh. There were resemblances in the structure of their faces, the color of their hair and the way their eyes were shaped, that brought to mind something Catriona had said the day before. “You said you were Niamh’s cousin, yesterday. I didn’t think…”

“That Niamh had kinfolk so far intae the Highlands? Her mother was from a cadet clan that shelters under the MacDuff banner, and ‘tis through her that we’re related.” Catriona smiled. “I was excited tae have me cousin come home, and tae be able tae welcome her.”

“I see. And this… Sorcha… is she also related?” She’d been called the witch of clan MacDuff, so it seemed like she would be, but Grace wanted to be sure. She hardly wanted to insult a witch by assuming things she shouldn’t.

“Aye. ‘Tis a different line, however. The MacBeths have always been more insular. Likely as nae because Sorcha isnae the first fae-touched child the line has borne.”

“Fae touched? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Ye wouldnae, in England. ‘Tis far more common among the clans, fer we’ve the lineage tae appreciate the Gifts. Mind, that’s nae tae say we’ve always treated the fae-touched as we ought, but, even so… we’re less likely tae challenge them or drive them away. Sorcha lives away from the clan largely because ‘tis her own desire.”

Grace nodded. “But… what does fae-touched mean?”

Catriona shrugged. “’Tis different for each child. Each o’ the touched has certain gifts, certain skills. Though ye should ken… they’re nae like those silly stories children tell o’ witches. Proper witches an’ fae-touched dinnae make demon pacts or anythin’ like that. They simply… are what they are, an’ naething more and naethin’ less.”

She might have said more, but they rounded a bend in the road, and Catriona drew the horses to a stop.

There was a woman standing in the road, dressed in a long, flowing garment of dark blue and purple, stitched with intricate designs. Dark, raven-hued hair glowing with soft bluish tints flowed around an ethereal, beautiful face, framing pale skin and eyes so vivid a blue that even the sky above seemed to pale in comparison.

She was the most mesmerizing, enthralling woman Grace had ever seen, like a legend come to life. Even without being introduced, Grace knew who she was. The woman could be no other than Sorcha MacBeth.

Then she smiled, and the expression turned her face luminous, and she held out her hand to the wagon in welcome. “Catriona, Niamh. ‘Tis been too long since we have spoken. Come, join me. I’ve laid a blanket on the moorland heather, with some sweet tea fer us all.”

Her eyes touched on Grace and seemed to read her very soul, but so gently and kindly that it was impossible to be afraid. The smile deepened, just a touch, warm and inviting. “And ye as well, Grace from beyond the border.”

Grace almost stumbled off the wagon. “You know my name?”

“I ken it. I ken much. ‘Tis the way o’ me gift, and me skill.” Sorcha took her hand with a gentle grip that nonetheless seemed unbreakable, and tipped her head. “Ye’ve something o’ the gifts yerself, fer all yer kin have kept ye ignorant. ‘Tis nae wonder yer heart found and followed Niamh’s bright spirit across the borders, time an’ again, for such things will find their way, as they must.”

Grace blinked again. “I… gifts?”

Sorcha shook her head. “Ye’ve other things tae contend with for now. ‘Tis nae easy tae live up tae a name - but Grace ye are an’ grace ye have, inside and out. It only tak’s joy an’ love fer ye tae embrace all ye can become. Find it, and ye’ll give grace, an’ more as well, tae a great many. Lose it, an’ ye’ll lose yerself as well.”

Grace swallowed. She had no doubt the words were a warning, but the riddle-like nature of them puzzled her. “I do not understand.”

Sorcha nodded. “Nae yet. An’ I can give ye little more, save this: Ye struggle tae accept the destiny yer heart has led ye tae, but if ye cannae grasp it an’ hold it close, then ye’ll face neathing save grief. Everything turns on acceptin’ that which once ye feared, an’ allowin’ fer love where ye think naething can bloom.”

Grace wanted to ask another question, but Sorcha turned away and took Niamh’s hand to help her from the cart. “Let’s have a look at ye then, though I ken already naught is wrong.”

Niamh followed Sorcha to the blanket on the soft grasses of the moor, and sank onto it. “I ken what ye said, the blessing ye gave, but yesterday, there was some pain, and I…”

“And ye wish tae be certain. ‘Tis wise o’ ye, fer even the greatest blessing can turn upon the wind, if the right forces are arrayed against it. Even me blessings arenae proof against all ills, nae even when concentrated in a moon-bright potion.”

Sorcha sank next to the blanket beside Niamh and laid a hand on her belly. Her expression relaxed, her gaze drifting into the distance, staring at things only she could see. Grace opened her mouth to ask, but Catriona caught her gaze and shook her head. Grace closed her mouth and followed the healer’s lead as the other woman settled onto the blankets an arm’s length away from Niamh and Sorcha.

After a moment, Sorcha’s eyes cleared, and she laughed, a merry almost bell-like sound. “Och, ‘tis good news indeed, though ye may yet rue it. ‘Tis nae illness that causes the ache, but strength. Yer bairn was shifting in the womb, restless already fer the first breath o’ life.”

Niamh seemed to sag with relief, as much as she could in her current state. Her hand covered the swell of her belly with obvious affection. “I… but I have felt the bairn kick afore, and it didnae feel so…”

“Och, ‘twas nae a kick, but rather a stretch, like a cat on a windowsill. Yer bairn is well an’ whole and strong, and eager tae come intae the world. ‘Twould come early if it could, but the blessing holds it like swaddlin’ still, fer early babes often struggle, an’ I promised ye a healthy an’ easy birth fer yer firstborn.”

Niamh smiled wryly. “So, I am tae look forward tae two more months o’ this?”

“Mayhap, mayhap nae. I can make a tonic tae help the babe rest more easily within ye. Or Catriona can mix it.” Sorcha lowered her hand. “Fer now, tea an’ good company under a blue sky on the moors is the best I can offer ye.”

“Then ‘tis more than enough, especially when coupled with yer reassurances.” Niamh hugged the woman. Sorcha stiffened slightly with apparent surprise, then leaned into the embrace and returned it.

Grace watched her. Sorcha was mysterious, but there was an undercurrent to her actions, and a sense of loneliness. Grace was certain, though she could not have said at all why she knew it to be true, that Sorcha could easily have met them closer to her home, reassured Niamh that all was well, and sent them back in less time than it took for all of them to dismount. And yet, she’d come to meet them, and set up a blanket with tea and small, sweet biscuits, as if arranging a picnic.

She was lonely. Seeking company, in much the same way that Grace herself had sought the escape of festivals at the border, and Niamh’s company. She might live in solitude by choice, but being alone was a source of sorrow for her, though Sorcha masked it well. The unexpected feeling of kinship washed away the last of Grace’s trepidation, and she relaxed. Fae-touched, Gifted, or magical, Sorcha MacBeth was, at heart, simply another young woman like the rest of them.

Sorcha blinked. Blue eyes met hers, slightly bemused, as if she were puzzled by something. Then her gaze warmed and softened, and in it, Grace thought there was the tiniest hint of gratitude in the witch’s face.

Sorcha and Catriona soon settled into a discussion about healing herbs and techniques, particularly in regards to Niamh’s advancing condition and the upcoming childbirth. With Niamh listening and sipping her tea in evident enjoyment, Grace was left to listen with half an ear while she pondered Sorcha’s earlier words.

If Sorcha was to be believed, then she might have unique gifts of her own. She wondered if that was something she might explore while she was in the Highlands. But, as Sorcha advised, there was something else for her to consider.

What is the destiny that my heart brought me to? And what does it mean for me to embrace love where I once feared it, and where I fear none can bloom?

Where had her heart led her? The best response she could think of was that her friendship with Niamh had led her to Scotland. Therefore, Scotland might hold her destiny, according to Sorcha. The thought made sense of the second part of Sorcha’s pronouncement too - she had once feared almost everyone who hailed from the Scottish clans.

The memory of Ewan, laughing in the doorway of the bathing chamber that morning, came to mind. Grace’s mouth went dry as she recalled the sparkle of humor in his eyes, the way his amused smile quirked his mouth, and how the sweat had looked as it glimmered like dew on his skin.

Ewan - whose silence made her heart ache, and whose laughter made her smile in turn. A man she had once feared and felt somewhat disdainful toward, but now…

Oh. Ewan. I…

Am I falling in love with Ewan MacDuff?