Page 6 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)
CHAPTER SIX
A s much as she didn’t want to admit it, Grace did find controlling her horse easier once she started to become accustomed to riding astride. However, it wasn’t comfortable, and after a few candle-marks, she found herself beginning to chafe in some very delicate places. Nonetheless, she refused to complain, beyond her original comment. She was unwilling to give Ewan the satisfaction of thinking her soft.
They rode until dusk, when they entered a small village. To her chagrin, there was no inn, but Ewan paid a farmer to let them stay in his horse stable for the night. The structure was small, but at least it had four walls and some privacy, and the horses were mercifully out on the meadows - the moors, Ewan called them - for the evening. By then, Grace was tired enough not to protest.
Climbing off her horse was physically painful, and she staggered. To her surprise, strong hands caught her around the waist. “Easy. The first day or two isnae kind tae new riders.”
Grace whimpered softly. Her back ached, and her hips and inner thighs hurt terribly. The skin felt sore and stiff, and scraped raw.
“Here. Lean back again’ the straw, just relax. Give me a moment tae unsaddle the horses.” To her surprise, Ewan’s voice was gentle and kind, rather than teasing or dismissive. A moment later, a small flask was pressed into her hand. “Drink a swallow or two o’ this.”
Grace swallowed, then coughed. “What is this?”
“Whisky. ‘Tis potent, but will ease yer aches and relax the sore muscles. And I’ll have yer liniment fer ye in a moment.”
Grace swallowed, her stomach clenching. “I wouldn’t want…”
Ewan smiled softly. “Och, dinnae worry. I’ll nae dae more than is needed tae make ye more comfortable. Once the whisky and the liniment sinks in, then ye’ll be able tae tend tae those areas ye dinnae want me touching.”
Grace felt her cheeks begin to heat in a renewed blush and bit the inside of her lip. She seemed to do little else besides blush and argue with Ewan. She wished she knew how to have a conversation without doing one or the other. “I… thank you.”
“Ye’re welcome enough. ‘Tis the least I can dae.” Ewan shrugged. “Ye’ve done well, fer a lass who daesnae seem used tae hard riding, or sittin’ in the saddle fer long periods o’ time.”
“My uncle has never encouraged travel.” Grace shifted, winced, and decided another swallow of whisky wouldn’t go amiss. It was far stronger than she was used to, but the burn of it as it slid down her throat did seem to ease the ache slightly.
“Ye ride well, now that ye’re riding properly astride, and ye keep pace without complaining. I’ve seen me share o’ lasses who couldnae dae as well.” Ewan glanced at her. “And ye’re nae fussin’ about the accommodations fer the evening.”
Grace relaxed into the straw. “I cannot say I’m used to sleeping in a stable, however, I confess I was concerned we would be sleeping outside, on rocks and twigs. This seems more comfortable.”
Ewan grunted in response. “’Tis unwise tae sleep outside on the moors in planting and harvesting seasons. The weather is fair unpredictable, and there’s things on the moors that nae sane man would wish tae encounter.”
Before she could ask what he meant, Ewan finished with the horses and went over to crouch beside her, holding a tin of something that gave off a sharp astringent smell when he undid the cap. “Permission tae undae yer laces enough tae apply this tae yer back? Ye’ll feel better fer it.”
Her cheeks burned hot enough to set the straw ablaze, but the ache in her back was deep enough to override her modesty. “I… suppose. But only my back, if you please. And I can undo the laces myself.”
“As ye like.” Ewan’s smile was oddly kind. “Loosen the bodice, then roll over onto yer stomach.”
Heart pounding and mouth dry, she did as directed. She felt as if she might be dreaming as her hands undid the laces and loosened the top portion of her dress. After a moment, it began to slide down her shoulders. Grace clutched the dress close to her chest, then presented her back to Ewan, her face burning with a combination of mortification, uncertainty, and some emotion she could put no name to.
A large hand, fingers and palm rough with calluses, touched down lightly between her shoulders, and Grace shivered as Ewan drew the back of her dress down to expose her back. “Easy lass. Dinnae fret. I’m just going tae apply the liniment. Naught else.”
Grace forced herself to remain still as something cold touched her back. The sharp astringent smell intensified as Ewan applied the salve to her back, starting at the top of her shoulders and moving slowly downward. The salve felt cool at first, but then it warmed, and then it began to seep into her sore muscles. Combined with the effects of the whisky she had consumed, the tightness began to fade into relaxation. “That feels…”
“Aye. ‘Tis good for horses, but warriors use it too, after long patrols or long days trainin’.” Ewan’s hands were gentle, though the roughness of his callused hands felt strange against her skin. It made her stomach flutter in a manner that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
Ewan finished smoothing the salve into her back and gently pulled the back of her dress back up. “There. Come mornin’ ye’ll feel well enough tae ride the length o’ the Highlands.”
Grace laughed softly as she sat up and relaced her bodice. “I pray I do not have to ride so far - and surely we’ll not try to ride the entire distance tomorrow.”
Ewan laughed. Unmarred by anger or tension, his voice was low and pleasant. “Nay, we’ll nae try tae make the distance in a day, and we’ll nae be going quite tae the farthest end o’ the Highlands. Perhaps two-thirds o’ the way, and I expect twill tak’ the better part o’ a seven-day, perhaps a fortnight if the weather isnae good.”
It seemed like a long journey to Grace, but then, she’d never traveled for more than a day or two in any direction from her home. And Ewan was better company than her uncle and his guards.
Ewan handed her some bread and dried meat. “’Tis nae a feast, but ‘tis filling, and like as nae I can get some porridge fer the morning meal.”
“I do not mind.” Grace took the bread and bit into it, then chewed gingerly on a piece of meat. It was tough and chewy, but edible, and after a moment, she identified it as venison.
Ewan handed her a mug. “Farmer’s ale. ‘Tis strong, but palatable.”
Grace sipped carefully. It was nowhere near as sharp as the whisky, but she coughed a little, even so, at the strong, earthy taste. “I confess, I am more used to wine.”
“I’ll try tae pick up a wineskin at the next tavern.” There was a strange note of humor in his voice, and a glint of laughter in his eyes.
He was teasing her. Grace found herself smiling in response to the unexpected warmth. “Only if you will be drinking it as well.”
“Wine isnae me preference. But I may try it.” Ewan shrugged and ate more of his meal. Grace followed suit, eating in companionable silence.
By the time they finished, the whisky and liniment had soothed her aches into a dull ache, and she was feeling well enough to apply the salve to her aching thighs. To her surprise, Ewan rose as soon as he was finished. “I’m goin’ outside tae check the nearby area and tak’ care o’ me business. If ye’re feeling up tae it, ye might apply the salve wherever else ye need it.”
Grace moved to do as he suggested, touched by his courtesy. Despite their poor first meeting and second impressions, she had to admit Ewan was better company than she had expected. Despite his surly Scottish demeanor, he was courteous enough, and he had done her no harm.
After a bit, Ewan returned and unbundled the wet clothing and blanket, before spreading them over the rails of a horse stall to let them dry. “’Tis quiet out there. Best we both get some sleep.” He gestured to the far side of the hay pile. “I’ll sleep over here, near the horses, so ye dinnae need tae fret.”
Grace nodded. “You are very courteous, for a Scotsman.”
Ewan’s jaw tightened, his previous courtesy and light-heartedness disappearing and leaving his green eyes cold. “Scotsmen arenae brutes and monsters.”
Grace flinched. “That is not what I…”
“Ye act as if ye expect me tae be nae better than a bandit.” Ewan scowled. “I ken ye’re English, but ye’ve nae reason tae act as if we’re all nae better than brigands.”
Anger ignited within her at the accusation in his voice. “I have my reasons to feel that way.”
“I’ve done naething…”
“Men of your clans were killed my family.” Grace snapped the words. “It is thanks to your people, to Scottish clan-folk on the warpath, that I was given to the care of my uncle - a man who cares nothing for me, for anything save the money he might get for my family’s estates, and the alliances he might make with my marriage.”
Her shoulders were tight with anger, and she turned her back on him so Ewan wouldn’t see her anger - or the age-old grief that still filled her when she thought of her loss. “You may not be so savage as I have long thought Scotsmen to be, but do not dare to tell me that I have no reason to dislike your folk every bit as vehemently as ye dislike mine.”
Ewan stared at Grace’s back as she curled into the hay. He hadn’t meant to upset her. He was tired of the implications that Scotsmen were somehow less civilized than the English, especially after he’d made the effort to be courteous to her, and defend her the night before.
Now, however, he felt like every bit the brute she’d subtly - and most likely unintentionally - implied he was. He’d faced English soldiers on the field, and felt justified in his dislike of them, but he’d never considered that she might have similar reasons to feel resentment of the Scottish clans.
He, Alistair, and their warriors had never crossed the border, nor gone raiding in English lands. Even so, he knew there were plenty of clans that were less honorable, or more bitter. The MacTavish clan came to mind. He certainly wouldn’t put it past the former laird to have sanctioned raiding and looting. And there were plenty of Lowland lairds who would have said they were only taking back the lands that belonged to the clans.
The English were enemies, and he’d never given real thought to how their women and children lost their menfolk, their lands and their safety during war.
Then again, he ought to have. After all, a year ago the MacTavish clan had been enemies of his. Now he was responsible for the clanfolk, and he’d dealt with more than one bitter widow and bereft orphan.
And then there were folk like Gael MacTavish, who would challenge his right to be caretaker or laird of the clan his brother had conquered.
He swallowed, feeling an unaccustomed tightness in his chest. Remorse. He’d been so wrapped in his own resentment, he’d forgotten to consider Grace’s circumstances.
What could he say? Nothing seemed adequate for the misstep. Finally, he sighed. “Me apologies, Miss Lancaster. I didnae ken.”
Grace made no response. Ewan couldn’t fault her. After all, he’d been quite rude, and in the past two days, they’d argued more than they’d done anything else.
After a moment, he sighed again, then made his way to the tack. He took one and laid it beside Grace as an offering of apology, then retired to the far side of the hay to make his own bed.
Grace Lancaster. He’d never expected to have anything in common with her, but the loss of family to enemies, who now might become allies or honorable compatriots - that was something he was all too familiar with.
And something he would have to think about as they traveled together, if he wished to avoid upsetting or hurting her further.