Page 26 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

G race arrived in her rooms to find Anne waiting with a fresh bath drawn, hot and steaming by the fire. She sighed in relief. “Och, bless ye.”

“Steward Malcolm said ye might be needing it.” Anne smiled as she helped Grace undo the laces on her dress. “A hot bath an’ a dress fit fer a feast. I had tae guess at the latter, an if ye dinnae mind me sayin’ so, I made a few adjustments, seein’ as yer m’laird’s lady.”

Grace went to take a closer look at the dress. It was one of the two nicer gowns she owned, and Anne had added ribbons and a slim sash-belt of MacTavish colors, though not the clan tartan. “It looks perfect.”

She returned to the bath and washed up, reveling in the hot water and the comfort of the roaring fire in the hearth. And while she bathed, she thought about the situation, about Gael MacTavish, and about Ewan.

Playing the lady of the household and Ewan’s support was more satisfying than she’d ever expected it to be. She’d spent so long pretending to be inept, it was an interesting and pleasant change to properly play the role she’d been born and bred to fill. And to do so for a man like Ewan.

She only wished she were his lady, his betrothed, in truth. Grace sighed and set that thought aside. Ewan had spoken the truth in Council - he needed to be able to marry someone who could provide an ally or other advantage. It would have to serve as cold comfort that he considered her the standard by which he would measure his future wife, but she couldn’t dwell on it, or jealousy would drive her mad.

Instead, she turned her thoughts to Gael MacTavish. After so long being paraded in front of men her uncle thought were suitable as suitors, she was capable of recognizing all manner of snakes and troublesome characters. Gael MacTavish was a wolf, or a viper, hidden in human skin. Charming on the surface, but sharp and cold under the veneer of civilization. His wife reminded her of young women who had been treated more like prisoners than wives. She would rather have turned her back on a known bandit than a man like Gael MacTavish.

The politics of Clan MacDuff and MacTavish were of little concern to Grace, or at least they should have been. She was only pretending to be a part of Ewan’s life, after all. But even so, she was certain that the fortunes of both clans would suffer if Gael MacTavish became the new Laird MacTavish.

Grace finished washing and dressed, while Anne helped braid her hair into an elegant pattern. The maidservant helped her settle the sash properly across her hips. Once she was properly attired, Grace left and made her way to the door of Ewan’s study.

Ewan was already there when she entered, immaculately attired in white linen shirt, freshly washed and pressed kilt in MacDuff colors, with a soft leather vest and a sash of MacTavish tartan. His hair was tied back in a neat tail, his beard neatly trimmed and brushed. He looked impressively lord-like, and handsome enough to make Grace’s heart skip a beat.

Then he smiled at her, and Grace’s mouth went dry. It took every ounce of composure she had to walk forward and smile in return, then accept the drink he offered her, rather than reach out to claim a kiss as she desperately wanted to do.

Ewan offered her a glass of wine, and Grace took it, to give herself something to occupy her hands. “Thank you.”

Ewan chuckled. “I should be thankin’ ye. The way ye handled the Council was impressive.”

Grace sipped her wine. “’Tis what I was raised to do. And in truth, I… I enjoyed it. More than I expected to. It was an interesting change, to pretend to be your betrothed, rather than seek to avoid that fate.”

Ewan blinked, and his smile softened. Grace wondered if she was imagining the faint expression of wistfulness that she thought she saw in his eyes for a moment. Then he took a drink from his tankard of mead, and the expression faded. “Och, then I’m glad tae have been o’ service tae ye. An’ I’ll own that ‘twas fun tae see how ye act when ye’re in yer element.”

“I could say the same. I already did say you make an excellent laird.” Grace blushed, pleased to have managed the Highland pronunciation without stumbling.

Ewan’s eyes brightened with pleased recognition. “Och, we’ll have ye talkin’ like a Highland lass born yet.”

Grace’s heart twisted with a stab of regret. “’Tis possible, I suppose, but I do not think we shall have enough time. After all, I will eventually return to England. And you will choose another lady to serve as your wife.”

“Will I?” Ewan’s voice was soft. “Ye’ll nae leave fer months yet… plenty o’ time fer the world tae change.”

“But once Niamh’s babe is born, then there will be no reason for me to remain - unless perhaps a short period to help her become accustomed to motherhood.” Grace swallowed as her feelings of regret intensified. “And then…”

“Stay.” The word fell between them like a stone into a clear pond. Grace’s words disappeared into silence. Ewan blinked, as if he was as surprised as Grace that he’d spoken the words. Then he took a breath and spoke again. “Stay with me.”

“Stay with… you cannot mean…”

“Stay by me side.” Ewan set his cup down, then reached out and took hers before stepping closer. “Stay as me betrothed, until ye become me wife.”

Grace blinked, too stunned to do anything more. “But… but I… I thought this was a ruse…”

“It daesnae have tae be. I dinnae want it tae be. I havenae wanted that fer some time.”

Grace took one shaky breath, then another. Her heart was pounding, a harsh drumbeat that sounded in her ears so loudly she could scarcely think. “You… is this because of what you said in the council? Because of my connections, my friendship with Niamh, and…”

“It has naething tae dae with that, although I willnae deny it could be useful. I dinnae care about connections, or the fact that ye’re English, or what alliances ye may or may nae bring. I only ken that I dinnae want tae try and find another woman. ‘Tis ye I want by me side. ‘Tis ye I care fer, ye I wish tae keep close.”

Ewan took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinkin’ o’er it, and… I dinnae want it tae be a ruse. Grace Lancaster, I’m askin’ ye tae be me betrothed in truth, and tae wed me. Before or after Niamh gives birth, it makes nay difference tae me, but I wish tae have ye by me side in truth.”

Grace felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, or fallen from a great height. She had never thought, in all her musings, that Ewan might want her. Not when she was English, with no connection to the Highlands he so loved, save the friendship she shared with his brother’s wife. Not after everything. For several moments, she could find no words at all, no answer, too stunned for any coherent thought.

Ewan’s eyes darkened, and dejection filled them. “O’ course, I understand if ye wish tae return tae yer home and yer kin…”

“No.” Grace shook her head, to rid herself of the paralysis that seemed to have mired her thoughts like a bog. “No. I want…”

She took a deep breath, aware of the sense of preparing to step off a cliff, but also aware of a sense of rightness to the words she was about to speak, as if she stepped while already knowing she had wings that would bear her aloft. “I want to stay. With you. With… with ye.”

Ewan blinked as if she’d whacked him on the skull. “Ye…”

“I want to stay with you. I never thought I would wish it, when I started my journey with you, but I wish to remain by your side. ‘Tis only… I never thought you felt the same way.” She flushed. “I thought you were only calling me your betrothed because you needed the pretense, and to protect me…”

“It hasnae been that fer a long time.” Ewan laughed, and caressed her cheek with one hand. “Nae since I kissed ye after the attack, I dinnae think, though I was fool enough that I couldnae admit it at the time.”

“As I was, not to realize I wanted more than pretense, the night I came to your bed.” Grace swallowed, suddenly shy. “I… I can only say, I have never felt this way before…”

“Nae more have I. But if ye’re stayin’ by me side, then we can figure it all out together.”

Warmth spread through her at the word ‘together’, better than the finest wine. Ewan bent to kiss her, and Grace leaned up into his kiss, into his arms. She felt filled with light, with brilliance, as if the joy of being Ewan’s betrothed in truth was like a gentle, warming flame that filled her until it should be visible to all.

They kissed, breath mingling, until Grace felt almost light-headed, as if she might faint. When they broke apart, her cheeks felt flushed, her breath heavy, and her whole body felt sensitive.

Ewan groaned, then stepped back. “Och, we need tae stop. Otherwise, neither o’ us will be makin’ the feast, and ‘twill nae look good tae the Council.”

His kilt was visibly tented. Grace’s cheeks heated until she felt as if she’d sat almost on top of the hearth flame. She wanted Ewan, very badly.

Ewan’s eyes looked into hers, and he laughed again. “Aye, ‘tis tempting, but supper will be served within the candle-mark, if nae sooner, an’ I’ve nae desire tae rush.” He brushed back a tendril of hair that had escaped Anne’s ministrations. “There will be time enough, after the feast.”

“Yes…” Grace nodded.

Ewan took a deep breath. “Well, since we’re betrothed…”

Grace pursed her lips and forced herself to focus. “There is a part of me that should like to be married tomorrow. However, for propriety’s sake, it would be best to inform my uncle of my intention to wed, before actually seeking the priest.”

“Aye.” Ewan frowned. “And what will ye dae, if he opposes the match?”

Grace smiled wryly. “You are not a suitor my uncle chose for me, and you are Scottish besides. He shall certainly oppose the match. There is a chance he will even forbid me to wed, and who knows what consequences he shall set if I defy him.”

“An’ ye’re willing tae risk those consequences?”

“Yes. I am. I would rather stay with you, than return to my uncle’s attempts to match me with someone of his choosing.” She hadn’t known, not until Ewan asked, what her choice would be, but now that it was spoken aloud, she could feel the truth, and the rightness of it. “But still, it is courteous to tell him and hear his reply.”

“We’ll send a messenger then, first thing in the morning. Though with the length o’ the journey, ‘tis likely tae be more than a moon afore we receive his answer.”

“Then… perhaps we might plan the marriage to take place in just over a moon?” The idea of setting a date felt equally terrifying, but also enticing.

“If that’s what ye wish.” Ewan tugged her close. Grace reached up for another kiss.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Ewan stepped back a half-step just as Devlin opened the door. “M’laird, m’lady, supper is served. The Council are taking their seats, and Malcolm has gone tae escort our guests tae the table.”

Food, and the trial of sitting through a formal feast with Gael MacTavish, was the last thing Grace wanted to consider at the moment. Still, she supposed that was part of being a lady, and the betrothed, or wife, of a laird. She took a moment to straighten the slight disarray of her skirt and her bodice, brushed out the slightly mussed state of her hair with her fingers, then took the arm Ewan offered her.

She might not be looking forward to the ordeal, but at least she had the joy of knowing she was truly Ewan’s chosen to sustain her.