Page 28 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
E wan scowled and rolled his neck to stretch the stiff muscles as he walked down the corridor toward Grace’s room. The after-dinner conversation had been long and tiring, and he wanted nothing more than to spend some time with his betrothed. The rest of the night, preferably, and longer if he could get away with it.
His betrothed. Thinking those words still filled him with wonder. Grace was his betrothed in truth. She had chosen him, even with the fate of potential exile from her home as a consequence. He could scarcely believe it.
He wanted to hold her in his arms, kiss her and take her to bed, to remind himself that it was real, and not some dream his mind had conjured from weariness or desire. He wanted to make love to her, and show her how much he adored her, how overjoyed he was to have her by his side and in his bed.
He knew he was likely smiling foolishly, but he didn’t care as he reached her door and knocked on it. “Grace.”
There was no answer. Ewan frowned, then knocked again, louder this time. “Grace.”
Still no answer. Ewan’s brow creased in thought. She’d had a headache earlier; he’d seen her rubbing her brow when she thought he wasn’t watching. Perhaps she’d taken a headache remedy and gone to bed?
If that was the case, then he had no wish to disturb her. But she’d also said she wanted to see him, before he retired to his own chambers. He didn’t want to disappoint her.
If she was asleep, he could leave a note and then let her sleep. It was easy enough, and then she’d know that he hadn’t forgotten her. Under the circumstances, it seemed the best course of action.
He opened the door cautiously. “Grace?”
The front room of her chambers was empty, a fire glowing sullenly in the hearth but not yet banked. Ewan crossed the room with soft strides and knocked lightly on the bedroom door. When there was no answer, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
There was no sign of Grace, and though her robe and slippers were both missing, her bed showed no sign of being slept in. There was, however, a vial on the small side table. Ewan picked it up and sniffed, grimacing as the all-too-familiar scent of one of Megan’s headache remedies assaulted his nostrils. He stoppered the vial quickly and looked around the room again.
Grace had returned to the room. She’d clearly prepared for bed, or at least to stay in her chambers for the remainder of the evening. But where had she gone? The headache remedy was here, so she hadn’t gone to retrieve one from the healer. After a feast such as the one they’d had, she was unlikely to be hungry, and there was a water pitcher already filled and waiting if she was thirsty.
And even had she needed something, Ewan knew full well she’d employed one of the castle servants to be her personal maid. Malcolm had told him as much when he’d approved the lass’s change in duties. Grace could have sent the maid to get anything she required.
Perhaps she’d gone out to the gardens. The Hall had been warmer than usual - she might have wished to take some fresh air before she retired. There was little reason she could not have done so at her window, but then, he knew little of the minds of women.
Ewan sighed and left the room, intent on checking the gardens. He was halfway across the front room when he spotted the note, perched beneath a goblet, set in the middle of the table by the fire. It was folded, but not sealed, and it bore his name written in rough, hurried script across the front.
Ewan picked it up, his stomach churning with fresh doubts. He had seen examples of Grace’s writing, and the name inscribed on the paper wasn’t in her penmanship. He couldn’t imagine her writing being so jagged or untidy… unless she was upset.
She could have received word her uncle is comin’ fer her. Or that Niamh is havin’ the babe early. Or mayhap she changed her mind about stayin’ with me…
Nay. There’s nay sign she left in a hurry. And there’s been nay messenger, or Malcolm or Devlin would have told me o’ it. And Grace isnae coward enough tae leave me without tellin’ me she didnae wish tae remain.
But if that be the case, then what…?
Mind twisting with anxiety, Ewan unfolded the note.
Ewan MacDuff,
I have yer betrothed. If ye would see Grace Lancaster again while she is still among the living, then ye will follow me instructions.
Come tae the North Tower o’ MacTavish Keep, tae the room second from the uppermost. Come alone and tell nay one o’ yer errand. If I hear the warning bells or any guards, yer lass will die, as slowly and painfully as I can manage.
Come as soon as ye receive this letter, and dinnae make me wait too long. Otherwise, I will assume treachery on yer part, or that ye dinnae care about the life o’ yer betrothed. In that case, I will return her tae ye in pieces.
I am waiting.
There was no signature. Ewan stumbled, then collapsed into a chair, rereading the note again and again as he did so.
Someone had kidnapped Grace. He had no idea why, or for what purpose, but someone had managed to get past the gates, the guards, and the servants - past the whole of MacTavish Keep - to abduct Grace.
Whoever it was, they were cunning. They’d had the wit not to try and take her out of the Keep, but they’d still found an out-of-the-way place to hold her. The north tower was mainly used for storing goods, with the lowest room serving as a secondary armory. Servants rarely went there unless they were looking for extra blankets, tools or cloth, and tonight, almost all the servants were occupied with the feast.
He dared not assume the abductors were bluffing about any of the things they had said, and he dared not make any assumptions as to their motives or their plans. With so little information, he had to believe that they would do exactly as they claimed they would.
Ewan slammed to his feet, heart pounding as he realized that he’d no idea when the note had been left, or how long the abductors would wait before deciding they had waited long enough. Time might already be running out.
He crumpled the note in his fist, then stuffed it into his belt pouch and hurried from the room.
Devlin met him at the end of the hall, three-quarters of the way to his study. “M’laird, the Council…” Ewan’s second-in-command paused. “M’laird, is something wrong?”
Ewan took a deep breath. He could not afford to lose his composure, or he would lose whatever game Grace’s kidnappers wished to play with him. He forced himself to calm. “’Tis naething o’ any importance.”
Devlin studied his face for a moment longer. “M’laird, if I may speak plainly… bollocks.”
Ewan scowled. “Ye would dare…”
“I would, fer ‘tis me job tae ken when there’s trouble. An’ the last time ye looked like that, the keep was afire.” Devlin’s response was swift and sure, and it hit home like an arrow. “Somethin’s ill with ye, and ‘tis either word from yer braither, or an attack, or…” Devlin paused, and his next words were cautious. “... something tae dae with Lady Grace.”
The note said he could not speak to anyone or alert the guards, but he still had the note. Ewan pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Devlin. The second-in-command took it and read through it swiftly. “Ye were on yer way tae the meeting?”
“Aye. I cannae dae anything else.”
“I’ll follow ye, a few steps behind. Gather some quiet help.” Devlin spoke softly, but with conviction. “Be cautious, m’laird.”
“Aye.” Ewan nodded, then stepped past Devlin and continued on his journey. Despite the danger, he felt relieved to know Devlin would be following. He trusted the man’s discretion, and knew Devlin would bring assistance, without alerting the guards in a manner that could get Grace killed.
The corridor and stairs to the north tower were deserted, and Ewan climbed them carefully, unwilling to draw too much attention by moving too fast or too slowly. He reached the correct door and knocked firmly, then pushed it open and walked inside.
The first thing he saw was Grace, bound to a chair. She looked afraid and one cheek looked slightly bruised, but she was conscious, and her eyes widened when she saw him.
The second thing he saw was Gael MacTavish. “Ye.”
Gael sneered. “Aye.” His lip curled further. “I didnae think ye’d be fool enough tae come alone, but I should have guessed that ye were that soft.”
Ewan snorted. “I thought ye intended tae tak’ the lairdship from me by the will o’ the Council. I didnae think ye stupid enough tae dae somethin’ like this under their nose.”
Gael’s jaw clenched, his eyes filled with bitter anger. “The Council and the Highland clans let ye tak’ over the lands o’ me clan without so much as raisin’ a sword. Why would I wish tae ally myself with such weaklings? I only made me claim tae them so I could get close.”
Ewan scoffed. “Tae get close, ye could have challenged me tae open combat.”
“And trust ye tae fight properly? Or the Council tae uphold the claim?” Gael snarled the words. “Nae a chance. I wouldnae have even come tae the keep, if ye’d just died when ye were meant tae.”
Ewan felt a knife edge of anger and apprehension slide down his spine. “What is that supposed tae mean?”
Gael laughed mirthlessly. “I tried tae attack ye, three times. Bandits on the road ye took. I paid them tae ambush ye, didnae expect ye tae fight yer way free. The fires tae discredit ye, and then the attack on the keep, when that didnae turn the clan people from ye.” His jaw clenched. “Ye should have perished, in the fire or at the hands o’ me men, but ye must be blessed, or cursed, by the Fair Folk or the gods above.”
Ewan felt the anger begin to overtake the apprehension. “Ye… ye attacked the clan… I cannae tell if ye’re more daft fer doin’ so, or more daft fer admittin’ it.”
“Daesnae matter what I tell ye, because one way or another, ye’ll nae be the laird o’ MacTavish clan.” Gael moved then, and stepped behind Grace and put a knife to her throat. “Ye have a choice, Overseer MacDuff. Choose. Yer betrothed, or the lairdship.”
“What? No…” Grace startled in protest, but Gael moved the knife closer to her throat, drawing a bead of blood, and she went silent again.
Ewan felt like there was both ice and heat moving through his veins, the beginnings of battle rage and something deeper, more primal. “What dae ye mean?”
“Ye choose. Ye can give up yer claim tae the lairdship, an’ I’ll let ye tak’ yer lass away and return tae lickin’ yer braither’s heels. Or, ye can try tae maintain yer claim, and I’ll kill the lass, then we’ll fight fer the right tae hold the lairdship.”
“Ewan do not…”
“Grace.” Ewan barely hesitated a moment. He knew what his choice would be the minute Gael voiced it. There was no other choice he could make. “If the choice is the lairdship or Grace, then me choice is Grace.”
Grace listened in growing shock as Ewan gave up the lairdship for her, without hesitation. “Ewan, you cannot…”
“Shut up, wench. Overseer MacDuff has made his choice.” Gael was gloating, his expression ugly with triumph and disgust. “I kent he was too soft tae be the laird.”
Ewan snarled. “Ye have me choice. Release Grace.”
“Nae likely. Ye might have proved that yer tae spineless tae be a laird, but ye helped yer brother kill the previous laird, and I’ll nae give ye the chance tae dae the same tae me.”
With nothing more than that, Gael withdrew the knife from her throat and lunged at Ewan. Ewan dodged, drawing his own dirk as he did so. The two clashed in a flurry of steel. Grace watched, her heart in her throat and pounding out a frantic drumbeat.
Ewan was strong and skilled, but Gael was faster, and he fought with a feral cunning that matched his wolf-like appearance. Ewan narrowly dodged one blow, and took a glancing cut across the shoulder as he avoided another vicious stab.
He struck back, and Gael hissed in fury as Ewan scored a deeper cut across his chest. His attacks redoubled in ferocity, but Ewan absorbed attacks with calm precision. He drew a second blade and countered Gael’s attacks.
Then the door crashed open and Devlin entered, with Malcolm and a man Grace recognized from the Council right behind him. Devlin charged forward and slammed into Gael before he could turn to engage the new threat. The attack bore Gael back into the wall with enough force to drive the air from his gut.
Seconds later, Gael had been disarmed. The Council member stepped forward and clapped chains around Gael’s wrists. “Gael MacTavish, ye are now a prisoner o’ Clan MacTavish.”
Gael snarled and fought against the restraints, but Malcolm and Devlin together had him firmly in hand. “What are ye doing? I am yer future laird…”
“Ye confessed tae attacking our current Overseer without proper challenge. And tae attacking the clan, and the keep. Master Devlin asked us tae assist him.” The man gestured, and another member of the Council appeared, this time one of the Elders. “We heard what ye said tae Overseer MacDuff.”
The Elder nodded. “Ye have proven yerself unfit for consideration as the new laird o’ Clan MacTavish. Indeed, ye have proven that the only place ye deserve tae be is languishing in our king’s dungeon.”
“Ye cannae dae this. Ye have nae authority as the laird.”
“We have authority as the leading Council until a new laird is appointed. But if ye wish tae demand authority, then we can ask fer judgment from the current Overseer… and the man who will be the new laird.” The Council Elder bowed slightly in Ewan’s direction. “Laird Ewan MacTavish-MacDuff.”
Ewan blinked. He looked as startled as Grace felt. Then he turned, and cut the ropes binding Grace to the chair. Once she was free, he helped her up, then turned back to the council members. “I didnae think the decision was yet made.”
The Elder smiled. “We had tae hear the words o’ Gael MacTavish. ‘Twas proper, and ‘twas custom. However, now that he has been proven his unsuitability, we can tell ye freely, that we were nae considering him seriously as a laird.”
Ewan swallowed hard. “Ye werenae?”
“Nay. Ye’ve proven yer mettle in battle, and in leadership. Ye saw us through winter and the beginnin’ o’ planting season - nae easy seasons tae be a new laird in. And ye handled yerself well when challenged. In all aspects, ye’ve proven yerself a capable and skilled laird, who puts the interests o’ the clan foremost. As far as we’re concerned, it only requires the formal recognition o’ the King or Highland Gathering tae grant ye the title permanently.”
Ewan took a deep breath. “I see. An’ me marriage prospects… would me decision tae wed Grace Lancaster within the month influence yer decision?”
The Elder smiled. “Och, only tae confirm that ye’re the laird our clan needs.”
“Then I would like tae tak’ me betrothed tae rest.” Ewan’s strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Grace leaned into his grasp with a sigh of relief. Her fear and anxiety were fading, and the tension she’d felt before was entirely gone.
The Elder nodded. “Steward Malcolm and Master Devlin can help us handle this lout.”
Grace was only too happy to leave the room, but before Ewan could guide her down the stairs, a thought struck her. She turned to Ewan. “MacTavish’s wife and son. Offer them sanctuary. They do not need to be stained with his evil any more than they already have been.”
Ewan frowned a moment, then nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis only just.”
“I’ll see tae it, m’laird.” Malcolm spoke up. Gael snarled and started to speak, but Malcolm shook the chains roughly. “Nary a word from ye, ye bastard.”
With that taken care of, the last of Grace’s concerns faded, leaving her feeling weak and worn. Ewan noticed, and led her gently away.
Grace didn’t protest as Ewan half led, half carried her to his room and poured them both a stiff drink. Her hands were shaking slightly with the aftermath of her experience. Ewan seemed in no hurry to let her leave, either. Not that Grace had any intention of leaving. Her head was still spinning with the words Ewan had spoken before. “You were willing to surrender the lairdship for me.”
Ewan nodded. “O’ course.”
“But… this is what you wanted… tae be free o’ your brother’s shadow, to prove yourself his equal…”
“And nae any o’ it would matter, if ye werenae by me side. The choice was an easy one.” Ewan shrugged. “I couldnae have said aught else.”
“But… why?” She felt as if she ought to know the answer, but even so, she couldn’t think. She could scarcely breathe. “Why would you…?”
“Did ye think I asked ye tae marry me on a whim?” Ewan set his glass down and stepped close to place his hand on her cheek tenderly. “I love ye, Grace Lancaster. I love ye more than I’ve loved any other in me entire life. I was ready tae give up the wish o’ me lifetime, because there’s nae lifetime I would be willing tae live if it didnae have ye in it.”
Tears pricked her eyes, even as Grace smiled. “Oh… I’d hoped…”
She reached up and wrapped her arms around Ewan’s neck. “I love you too. I had hoped… when you asked me to wed you, I hoped…”
Then she was moving, flinging herself against him even as he pulled her close, her lips seeking his in a deep and desperate kiss. “I love you… I love you…”
She couldn’t seem to stop murmuring the words, couldn’t seem to stop kissing him in between each declaration. Her whole body felt light and luminous with joy, more joy than she’d ever experienced before.
Ewan swept her into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom. The two of them fell into the bed, both gasping and giddy with warmth and happiness. Ewan was laughing in between kisses as he cradled her close.
Slowly, the giddiness faded, and a pleasant lassitude filled her body in its place. Grace leaned into Ewan’s chest. “I love you.”
“I love ye too.” Ewan cradled her close for a moment, then shifted. A second later, he grunted, and Grace heard a thud as he kicked off his shoes. Then Ewan wrestled off his belt and tossed it aside as well. His sword and blades clattered to the floor as well.
Grace kicked off the slippers she’d been wearing and buried her feet in the coverlet at the foot of the bed. There was a part of her that wanted very much to show Ewan how much she loved him, but weariness was catching up with her, and she couldn’t bring herself to move from Ewan’s embrace. From the way he curled around her, Ewan seemed to be of the same mind.
She was warm, she was safe, she was loved. And Ewan was going to be the laird. Everything was well.
Smiling contently, Grace Lancaster fell asleep in the arms of her beloved, happy in the knowledge that all was right in her world, perhaps for the first time since her parents had died.