Page 9 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER NINE

T he shelter Ewan guided them to was tiny. Grace was sure that her uncle’s outdoor privies were larger than the small building. Ewan didn’t seem to care.

Perhaps it was the nature of Scottish clansmen. They seemed like very straightforward people - hospitable but reserved, polite but candid. And they were practical to the point of a casual near-ruthlessness. The short exchange about the bandits and the crows was enough to demonstrate that aspect of Scottish nature.

It was very different from the world she was used to. Her world had always been one of genteel words hiding a hundred different meanings, and a focus on propriety above all. Encountering such down-to-earth individuals was… strange. It reminded her almost painfully of Niamh, but she wasn’t sure how to deal with strangers with the same nature, and without Niamh’s cheerfulness to offset it.

She wished she could speak to her companion about it, but he seemed utterly uninterested in her thoughts on the nature of clansmen.

He didn’t seem to care about what she thought about much of anything, Grace mused. Ever since the rain had begun to fall, Ewan had turned withdrawn and sullen, and his words had grown fewer and more clipped.

He hadn’t cared that she was cold and tired. He hadn’t cared what she thought about being called his lady, let alone being mistaken for his wife - he hadn’t even told her of his plan to refer to her as such. And he had no care for what she thought of their newfound shelter. He hadn’t even waited for her before walking inside.

She’d thought he was beginning to respect her, perhaps even care for her feelings, and the evidence that she’d been mistaken stung, especially when combined with the misery of her current circumstances.

With an effort, she grabbed her bags and then followed Ewan inside the small thatched hut.

Inside, Ewan had set down his packs and was busy at a small alcove, too small to be considered a proper fire. It was more like a stone-surrounded brazier. Ewan stacked some sort of dank, heavy, soil-looking substance in the brazier, and bent over it with a flint. Grace wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”

“Peat. Serves as a poor man’s firewood. Farmers cut it out o’ the bogs.” Ewan’s voice was curt.

“It smells…” She got no further than that before Ewan spoke over her.

“It smells like sod and bog soil, but it burns well an’ warm, and that’s all we’ve tae care about right now.” He glanced at her for a moment. “Ye might as well get out o’ those wet things. The things in yer saddle bags will be a little better.”

Grace stared at him, appalled. “There’s… there’s no room fer such things!”

“Suit yerself. I’m nae about tae catch me death o’ cold.” Ewan shrugged. Seconds later, a spark caught on the peat, and slowly grew into a flame. Ewan nursed it for a moment, then rose and began to remove his clothing.

Grace blushed and forced her gaze to the flickering flames. “What are you doing? That is highly improper!”

“’Tis little enough ye haven’t seen before. And I’ll nae look, if yer sensibilities are so offended.” His voice was gruff, indifferent, and all of a sudden Grace was tired. Tired of his mood, and of his cold behavior after he’d coaxed her into believing that he might be warming up to her.

“You needn’t be so gruff. I cannot help my sensibilities, and I do not deserve to be spoken to like a child or a nuisance. I am not the one who caused the weather to turn so foul!”

“And ye needn’t complain about every little thing. Travel isnae easy, lass. I ken ye’re entirely unprepared, but ye’ll have tae bear with it.”

“And whose fault is that? You are the one who arrived at my uncle’s door with no warning and insisted I come with you!”

Ewan snorted. “Ye’re the one who wanted tae sneak away. And did ye even think tae ask what sort o’ gear ye’d need, or did ye just throw a number o’ dresses intae yer cases without thinkin’?”

“I packed what I thought I would need.”

“But ye didnae even consider how ye were goin’ tae ride. Thinkin’ ye were goin’ tae ride side-saddle over the Highlands…”

“It wasn’t as if I had any idea of the terrain. I’ve never been further than the Festival grounds for Clan Cameron!” Grace glared at him, exasperation filling her. “And you never asked if I was used to traveling, nor offered me any advice.”

“Ye’re a woman grown. I shouldnae have tae hold yer hand.”

“You…!” Words failed her for a moment, then she folded her arms. “And you nearly led me to believe that you Highlanders were actually gentlemen. I see it is only when the weather and time is convenient for you that you manage to have a civilized attitude.”

Another scoff. “O’ course, ye’ll return tae judging all clan-folk as barbarians at the first sign o’ me nae bein’ sweet-tempered,” Ewan scowled, then turned away to continue undressing.

She wanted to demand to know what he’d intended by allowing the farmer to think she was his wife, but even with the heat from the peat fire slowly warming the hut, she was beginning to shiver. With a scowl of unhappiness, she turned away and opened her packs to find something drier to wear.

The dress she found was still damp, but at least it wasn’t soaked through. An extra under-dress and a second cloak offered layers that made her feel a little warmer, but she was still shivering as she finished dressing and turned back to the small, sullen fire. Ewan was crouched next to the brazier, feeding it more peat with one hand while his other held his cloak wrapped tightly around his large frame. He looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt, and that was a small consolation.

Grace edged closer to the fire. She didn’t particularly want to be closer to Ewan MacDuff right now, but the fire was the only source of warmth, and the only way she was going to get even the slightest bit drier. She might not be fond of her companion, but she wasn’t about to let pride keep her cold and shivering in a corner.

She could tolerate being close to Ewan MacDuff, if it meant that she would also be slightly warmer.

Ewan, for his part, seemed to feel much the same. He also moved closer to the brazier. After a moment, he spoke awkwardly. “There’s travel bread, if ye want it. And dried meat.”

Grace scowled. “If I wanted food, I would have asked you for something to eat.”

Ewan glared back. “I’m tryin’ tae be courteous.”

“And I am telling you that I do not need your efforts at kindness. I only wish to be warm.”

“Ye… first ye complain o’ discourtesy, then ye…”

“I would prefer silence, if I must be trapped in this cramped space with you, Ewan MacDuff.” She sniffed at him. A part of her knew she was being rude. “If you cannot have any care for my other preferences, then you perhaps you might respect that one.”

Ewan growled, his jaw clenching before he spoke again. “An’ what is that supposed tae mean? What are ye accusin’ me o’?”

Grace lifted her chin to face him. “I am speaking of your apparent disregard for my thoughts - you did not even consult with me before introducing me as your woman! And then, when that man assumed I was your wife… you said nothing. Did it never occur to you to consider how I might feel about such a deception?”

“That’s what ye’re angered about?” Ewan frowned. “’Twas the easiest way tae avoid questions and keep ye safe. Announcing ye as such gives ye me protection.”

Grace bit her lip. “I know that. I’m scarcely as much of a fool as you seem to believe I am. However, I would have liked to be asked before being part of such a ruse.”

Ewan stared at Grace. He was tired, cold, and he had no idea what was upsetting her. He’d thought at first that it was the size of the cottage they’d taken shelter in. Then he’d thought it was the fact that he’d called her his lady - and allowed the farmer to consider her his wife. Now… now he had no idea.

He was also far too weary to try and guess, or dance around her temper.

“I dinnae understand. Are ye angered that I called ye me lady, or that I didnae ask ye first? Or is there something else on yer mind?”

Grace’s eyes flashed with irritation. “And why should I not be irritated? To be assumed to be married… and to have no choice but to play along. Have you not consideration for a moment how that would make me feel?”

Ewan grunted. “I didnae think o’ it. I was too busy thinking o’ how tae keep both o’ us safe and find some place tae wait out the storm. I said the first thing that came tae mind.”

“You might still have asked my opinion before beginning your ruse.”

Ewan sighed and gave up the conversation. He had no energy to do anything more.

Silence fell between them. Ewan got some dried meat and travel bread, and a water skin. He left some for Grace, despite the fact that she’d said she didn’t want any. After a few minutes, she took some of it and chewed on it quietly.

Ewan added some peat to the fire. It was a low, sullen blaze, but it was better than nothing. And the small space of the cottage would eventually warm up. At least, that was what he hoped.

Maybe, if it got warmer inside the messenger’s hut, he and Grace could stop huddling within arm’s length of each other, shoulder to shoulder next to the brazier. As it was, she was close enough that he could smell the soft, floral soap she’d used at the last inn, and the delicate, feminine scent that was uniquely Grace. It cut through even the hard, earthy scent of the peat fire, teasing him - just like the flickering light on her golden hair.

He rarely spent much time in the company of a woman - unless they were servants he was speaking to, or women he chose to take to his bed. Having Grace so close was… difficult. She was a beautiful woman, for all that she was English, and after being so close to her for the past few days, it was getting increasingly hard to ignore.

And now she was standing close enough for him to feel her breath on his arm, both of them in the small confines of the messenger’s hut. Every glint of light on the soft strands of her hair caught his eyes, and sent warmth through his chest and to his groin.

“I never plan to be married, you know. I have no desire to be anyone’s wife.”

The words startled Ewan from his thoughts, and he seized on the distraction gratefully. Even if it led to another argument, it was better to think about her past than about their current circumstances. “Is that why ye were angry about bein’ considered me wife?”

“I am still angry that you did not ask me before deciding upon that ruse. However… I suppose.” Grace shivered a little and huddled closer to the brazier. Ewan added more peat. They would owe the farmers a coin or two for the amount they were using. He resolved to make sure he left an appropriate amount when they left.

Grace looked at him. “You must think it strange, that a young woman does not wish for marriage.”

“I dinnae think anything o’ it.” Ewan shook his head. “The only thing I ever found strange was yer friendship with Niamh. How an English lass and the daughter o’ a Scottish laird ever became friends…” He shook his head.

“My family lived just across the border from Niamh’s clan. There was always trading across the border, especially on the Festival days. The first time my father took me to a festival, I wandered across to the Scottish side of the celebration by accident.” Grace smiled. “I met a girl my own age, and she helped me find my way home. We agreed to meet again, and so we did. Every year, at the festivals, when I could cross the border the easiest.”

“Sounds like a lot o’ risk and trouble.”

“It was, at times.” Grace pulled her cloak a little tighter, inching closer to the fire as she did so. “But we became friends, and I have few… besides, Niamh was kind when my parents died. And when we got older, we got into all sorts of mischief together.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow. He’d seen Niamh interact with his brother and there was no denying she was spirited, but she hadn’t seemed inclined to mischief. Not when he’d observed her, though he supposed Alistair might have a different opinion. “Mischief?”

“Yes. As children, it was harmless little jokes, but when we grew older, we created our list of sins.”

Ewan felt a surge of renewed interest. “Yer list o’ sins?”

Grace blinked. “Did Niamh not tell you about that?”

Ewan grunted. “Nae more than the basic message. I’ve nae idea what the words mean.”

“Oh.” Grace blushed. “I thought Niamh told you…”

“She didnae. But I’ll admit I’m curious.” Ewan moved closer and put some more peat on the fire. “Will ye tell me?”

In the firelight, it was difficult to be sure, but he thought Grace’s color deepened further. “Niamh and I agreed as girls that we did not want to marry. She was afraid of being required to bear children. And I… I did not want a husband my uncle chose for me. So we made a plan to make sure no one would wish to marry us. We made a list of actions we committed each year to make ourselves seem ineligible for marriage, and shared them at the festivals.”

Ewan couldn’t help it. Despite his best efforts, a low snicker broke out of his chest. “Ye… ye… every year?” He laughed.

“We did. With every suitor, we both devised methods to convince our suitors that we were unsuitable brides.” To his surprise, a small, ironic smile curved Grace’s mouth. “I confess, I was at a loss with the last one, until you gave me your unknowing assistance.”

Ewan stared at her. “I didnae.”

“You did.” From the way Grace laughed, he must have looked as confused as he felt. “The night at the bar, when you spilled your ale all over me. I was very vexed, but our altercation convinced my suitor that I was not the bride he wanted.”

“Are ye… ye cannae be serious.”

“I am. And despite the embarrassment, I am most grateful. That particular suitor was…” She paused. “The hat was his idea of a proper courtship gift to me.”

“The hat? Nae that… that…” Words failed him as he recalled the hat. The idea that anyone would consider such a hat appropriate for someone like Grace - or that anyone would try to force her to marry such a man - sparked anger inside him. Ewan took a deep breath and squashed the anger. It hadn’t happened. “I’m nae sorry tae have insulted the hat, now that I ken whose idea it was.”

“Indeed.” Grace smiled. “He chose the hat, and I could not get rid of it. Nor of him, for my uncle was watching me too closely.”

Ewan laughed. “Och, I had nae idea. I’d have been kinder had I kent.”

“Just as well you were not. My uncle would never have tolerated such a thing.” But Grace was smiling alongside him, and her shoulder leaned into his.

The brazier’s warmth was beginning to fill the interior of the hut, or perhaps the weariness of the day was taking its toll. Ewan’s body felt heavy and sluggish, and his eyes kept wanting to slide shut of their own accord. Grace looked little better.

She was also still shivering. Ewan sighed, then reached out and tugged her closer. Grace stumbled a little. “What?”

“Ye’ll be warmer if ye sleep between me an’ the brazier.” He tugged her down to the straw-covered floor. “I ken I’m nae yer favorite person at the moment, but ‘twill be better than freezing, aye?”

“Yes… I suppose so.” Grace’s voice was quiet, and exhaustion slurred her words until she sounded almost… Scottish.

Ewan stretched himself out on the floor, and let Grace tuck herself into a comfortable position beside him. His back was practically against the wall, but that was all right… he was warm enough. Ewan closed his eyes and listened as Grace’s breathing slowed to a familiar, restful pattern.

He was asleep before the brazier began to burn down.