Page 5 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER FIVE

T hey left the inn shortly after dawn the following morning, and Grace was glad to be away, despite her weariness and the bone-deep ache that made getting into the saddle an ordeal. Her sleep had been fitful, and if she’d gotten two candle-marks of rest in the night, she would be surprised. A part of it was due to the unfamiliar surroundings, she was sure.

However, she’d lain awake for much of the night thinking about her circumstances, and the actions leading up to them. Slipping away from her uncle’s estate had seemed the only possible solution when Ewan had given her the message from Niamh, but now, surrounded by folk who were more likely to wish her ill than otherwise, she found herself wondering if it had truly been the correct choice after all. Likewise, she found herself wondering if she truly dared to trust Ewan MacDuff.

He said she was safe with him, and he’d spoken for her when the innkeeper had mocked her, but how true was his word? What if he’d only been acting cautiously, because they were within a day’s ride of her home, and he feared pursuit, or that word might get back to her family? It would be absurd to think so, but what did she know about what passed through the mind of a Scotsman? Much less one so taciturn as Ewan MacDuff?

More than once, as the candle-marks passed and the fire burned down to embers, she’d found her gaze straying to him, wondering if he was about to rise up and accost her. But no matter how she watched, Ewan had done nothing save snore, and occasionally shift in his sleep.

I was being foolish. I am still being foolish. Surely Niamh would not ask just anyone to seek me out. She would not have entrusted her message, nor my possible safety, to someone whose trustworthiness she was not absolutely certain of.

But then, a year ago, I would have also said she would never get married, nor carry a child. They say such things can cloud a person’s wisdom. And if her husband Alistair is the same man who threatened me at the Harvest Festival, then I know he has no love of the English. He might give other orders concerning me, and how would Niamh know, if Ewan’s loyalty is more to his brother than his brother’s wife?

Such thoughts had chased themselves through her head all night, and left what little rest she managed to get uneasy. She was almost glad when Ewan roused shortly after dawn and announced that it was time to get on the road.

They departed the inn after a brief meal of porridge, some form of sharp cheese and bread, accompanied by weak tea. Grace huddled in her cloak on the back of her horse, chilled by the early morning air, and feeling thoroughly miserable.

Ewan said little to her as they rode, a fact for which Grace was grateful. It seemed as if every conversation they attempted to have ended in argument, and she was as weary of that as she was of the ache in her muscles. She would have sought some way to remedy the situation, but she was too tired and sore to think of anything, so she settled for following Ewan as he rode northward, deeper into the Scottish territories.

They’d been riding for perhaps two or three candle-marks - long enough for the sun to rise high enough to burn off the morning mists, and for the air to begin to warm to a comfortable temperature - when they came to a river. It didn’t appear to be especially deep, nor was it particularly wide; a stone’s throw would have cleared it easily. Nevertheless, Grace’s horse balked at the river bank. Grace eyed the clear, cold-looking water. “Is there no bridge we might cross over?”

Ewan snorted, his amusement plain. “Fer a small river like this? We dinnae build bridges everywhere the water runs, lass. Otherwise, we’d have room fer little else.” He studied the river before them. “We can ford here with nae trouble. ‘Twould be a different thing if the first spring floods were passing through, but we’re past that, I’m thinkin.”

He made a soft noise and tapped his horse with one heel, and the animal started across, seemingly unconcerned with the water splashing about its knees and occasionally within inches of its belly.

Grace’s horse didn’t move. Frustrated, she flicked the reins and tapped the horse with one heel as she’d seen Ewan do. The mare shook her head with a snort, but didn’t move forward. Grace repeated the motion with a little more force. The mare took a few steps forward, but went no further.

“She can sense that yer nae sure o’ yerself, or the crossing. And she kens yer seat is nae the steadiest fer such uncertain terrain.” Ewan dismounted and tethered the other horses together, before dropping a lead line. “Wait there, and I’ll come tae guide ye across.”

“I have no need of your assistance.” Stubbornness, pride, and a lack of sleep made Grace suddenly determined to manage the crossing alone. “And I have ridden side-saddle all my life. I can manage.”

She flicked the reins again, this time using her back hand to deliver a firm slap to the horse’s flank. The mare started and took several steps forward before shying and going still once more. Frustrated, Grace repeated the maneuver with a little more force.

Either she had struck harder than she meant to, or the horse decided that it was enough. The mare plunged forward, hopping slightly in the stream and bouncing her forelegs against the river bottom. The sudden motion, combined with the jolt of the bouncing, flung Grace neatly from her seat, as if she’d been a novice who’d never sat one day in the saddle. She tumbled forward into the water as Stormcloud pranced away from her.

The water was frigid, but Grace scarcely felt it through the heat of her own embarrassment. She floundered to the surface, cheeks burning.

The first thing she saw was her horse, watching her from a few feet away. The second thing she saw was Ewan MacDuff standing on the far shore, a wide smirk adorning his rugged features.

Fury filled her, and she staggered to her feet, clumsy with her water-logged dress. “How dare you! What sort of mannerless lout are you, to once again take amusement in a lady’s predicament, rather than offering your assistance?”

Ewan raised an eyebrow. “Ye said ye didnae need me assistance. Besides, I warned ye, more than once, that yer way o’ ridin’ wasn’t suitable fer the terrain we traveled. And I warned ye afore ye started that yer horse wasnae willin’ tae try the crossing with ye in the saddle like that. Ye tried tae force the matter, like a child throwin’ a tantrum tae get her way.”

Grace flushed under the matter-of-fact statement. She wanted to argue, but they both knew the truth. He had warned her.

Ewan waded out into the stream while she was still struggling to find a response. He took the horse’s reins in one hand, then offered her his other. Grace eyed him. “I can walk.” Even to her own ears, she sounded childish.

Ewan’s mouth quirked upward, his green eyes sparkling with amusement at her expense. “Like ye could ride? The river bed isnae the most stable and even o’ surfaces. But if ye want tae risk another dunkin’...” He shrugged and started to turn away.

She was beginning to shiver, and the fall had been painful enough that she’d no wish for another one. “Wait. I… some assistance would be appreciated.”

Ewan held out his hand again, and she took it, momentarily startled by the warmth and the easy, gentle strength of it. His grip was firm and strong, but not so tight that it hurt, and he guided her through the water with a skill she rather envied. And a courtesy she found herself reluctantly appreciating. He tested every step before leading her onward, and never with more than a light tug one way or the other, and an occasional suggestion of ‘a little tae the left’ or ‘mind yer footing, the rock is moss covered’.

They made it safely to the other bank without further mishap. Grace felt herself blushing anew at the knowledge that she might not be wet and shivering now if she’d only listened to him sooner. Courtesy prompted her to look up at him. “Thank you.”

Ewan’s smile softened just a fraction. “Ye’re welcome.” He dug into one of his packs and produced a blanket, which he offered her. “Dry off and change yer clothing. I’ll teach ye tae ride properly when we go.”

Grace stared at him, too startled to do more than take the blanket. “I beg your pardon?”

Ewan frowned. “Ye’re nae still plannin’ tae try and ride side-saddle all the way tae MacDuff Castle, are ye?”

“I… I had not thought…” Grace looked around at the open country surrounding them, and blood rushed to her cheeks until she felt as if she stood next to a roaring fire. “But you cannot expect me to… to just change clothing! Out here, in the open!”

Ewan blinked, then turned to look at the scenery, then turned to her with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown. “Dinnae see aught wrong, and there’s nay village or inn fer miles. Ye’ll catch yer death o’ cold if you dinnae change. Besides, ridin’ in wet clothin’ is a wee bit uncomfortable.”

“But… you… I cannot… it would be highly improper to change out here, where anyone might see!”

A small smile twitched Ewan’s mouth. “There’s nay one tae see ye lass, save me and the horses. The horses willnae care.”

Grace blushed. “ I care more about you watching than the horses!”

She’s a fair modest little lass, shyer than most I’ve kent. Ewan stared at Grace for several moments, both amused by and reluctantly appreciative of her modesty.

Grace Lancaster might be English, with her manners, speech and suspicions of her folk, but she was as outspoken and stubborn as any Scottish lass might be. It was frustrating, and so far had caused no end of strife for both of them, but Ewan found it somewhat admirable nonetheless.

Even now, she stood there, wrapped in his spare horse blanket, dripping puddles onto the grass, and shivering like a leaf, but she still refused to yield. Her cheeks were crimson with embarrassment, but her eyes were clear and defiant as she met his gaze.

She was the type of lass men would take note of, who stirred the blood. Had she not been English, Ewan knew he would have been tempted to try and seduce her into his arms, for a kiss at the very least.

Och, and there’s nay sense tryin’ tae fool meself. I’m sore tempted anyway. Just as well she’s nae likely tae let me within arm’s reach.

Ewan pushed the thoughts away and pointed to the far side of the horses. “Ye can change on the other side o’ them. I’ll nae look. Ye have me word.”

“Your word…” Grace visibly checked herself before she could say something unpardonable, such as questioning his honor. “Even if I were to do so… I have no clothing suitable for what you would call ‘proper’ riding.”

Ewan frowned. “What dae ye mean? Any clothing will dae, so long as it protects yer legs and buttocks somewhat from the chafin’ o’ the saddle.”

Scottish lasses rode in skirts all the time. And menfolk - surely she’d realized by now that if he could ride in a kilt, she could manage in the much longer skirts she wore?

Grace’s blush deepened at his wording.

“I… I wouldn’t know how to go about riding in such a manner.”

Ewan sighed. “I’ll show ye. Only, I’ll nae show ye a thing afore ye’re in dry clothing. I’ll nae let ye ruin yer saddle by tryin’ tae ride in wet skirts - tae say naething o’ yer health if ye were tae brave the weather soaked like that.”

Grace hesitated a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “And you promise you will not… attempt to look?”

“Ye have me word.” With a sigh, Ewan gestured to the horses. He waited until she’d scurried to the other side of them, still wrapped in his spare blanket, then pointedly turned his back. After a moment, he heard the soft slide of leather against leather, and rope knots being undone. Probably the lass getting into her traveling bag for new clothing. Then several shuffling sounds and the soft squelching sounds of wet cloth being removed and dropped or set to one side.

Ewan bit the inside of his cheek. It was harder than he had thought to keep his back turned. Every so often one of the horses would shift and stomp, or whicker softly, tempting him to look over his shoulder to ensure that all was well. The thought of seeing Grace, even a glimpse of that pale, soft skin…

Ewan clenched his fist tight on his belt, and forced himself to think of something else. He was worried about Devlin’s words. While he was away Gael might have been claimed as the new laird, or his claim might have been dismissed. Or the clans could be awaiting his own return to give him news. The last was the most likely, but he wouldn’t know for certain until he returned to MacTavish Keep.

Another soft whisper of sound - cloth sliding over skin as Grace redressed. Ewan kept his face turned toward the road ahead, focusing his thoughts on the route they needed to take, and how they could make the best speed.

Finally, he heard the soft thud of a traveling case being closed and Grace spoke. “What am I to do with my wet things?”

Ewan turned to find her dressed in dry clothing, though she was still shivering slightly. Without a thought, he removed his cloak and offered it to her. “Ye’ll want this until ye warm up. As fer yer wet things, wrap them in the blanket ye used tae dry off. We’ll hang them out tae dry later.”

Grace nodded and did as he suggested. Once the clothes were wrapped up, Ewan tied them to her horse as he had her bag tied to his He turned to find Grace eyeing her mare with a pensive expression. “Ye ken how tae mount?”

“I know how to mount in order to ride in my accustomed manner.”

Ewan smothered his laughter, then moved closer, until he could take the animla’s reins in one hand. “’Tis simple enough. Put yer foot in the stirrup - the left foot, ye ken, with yer hands on the front and back o’ the saddle.”

He watched her awkwardly place her hands, then released the reins and put his hands on her waist and boosted her up. “Now swing yer right leg over so ye’re sitting astride.”

Grace did as he suggested, her movements so awkward that Ewan had to fight not to chuckle. “This feels quite awkward.”

“Ye’ll get used tae it.” He watched her shift her seat, until the skirts were settled as smoothly as they could be. “Feet in the stirrups, and let me make sure they’re the proper length.”

Once she was settled, Ewan checked the stirrups and adjusted them slightly, then handed the reins up to her. “Back straight, knees in, tae grip the horse’s sides. Firm but gentle.”

Grace was clearly uncomfortable, but she was also a good student. She adjusted her seat according to his directions, then cautiously tapped one heel to the mare’s side. The mare huffed and took a few steps, then stopped at a gentle pull on the reins. “Well done.”

Ewan mounted his own horse. “Here…” He nudged his horse alongside hers. “Hold the reins like this.”

Their progress for the next candle-mark was slow, but steady, as he showed Grace how to handle the reins, how to direct the mare to go at different speeds and turn. Grace absorbed his direction with attentive courtesy, far more compliant than he would have expected, given their previous interactions.

After three candle-marks, however, she began to frown. “I will concede that your method of riding makes it easier to control the horse, however… it is…” She flushed. “...uncomfortable.”

“Aye. It is at first, I’ll grant ye.” Ewan nodded. “I’ve some liniment ye can use when we stop for the night.”

“Liniment? You mean… horse salve?”

“Dinnae complain. It works.” Ewan raised an eyebrow. “And if ye ask nicely, I’ll even rub some intae yer back as well. I ken yer muscles are sore from yesterday.”

The look she gave him would have scorched stone. “I do not need that much help, thank you.”

Ewan laughed, and nudged his horse out in front once more.