Bride of a Scottish Warrior Read online

  I’m doing what must be done, she admonished herself, as she adjusted her seat and picked up the reins. It offered little relief to the hollowness she felt, to the sudden jolt of fear and uncertainty, but ’twas all she had. Clinging to the solitary thought, Grace positioned her mount in line with the others.

  Ewan had not come to say his farewells. In fact, she had not seen much of him all week, ever since she had announced that she was leaving. ’Tis better this way, she told herself. Yet the feelings of disappointment that flooded her were something she could not deny. Though she could, and did, struggle to ignore them.

  The mood lightened as the line of travelers started moving through the bailey. Dogs began barking and children ran alongside, shouting and waving. Malcolm and James joined in, elbowing one another aside for a better view, though Grace noticed Katherine stayed in her father’s arms.

  When they reached the drawbridge, Grace turned and raised her hand in a farewell salute. Her vision was blurred by the unwanted tears that sprang to her eyes, but she did not right herself and face forward again until the bailey was no longer in her sights.

  It took a full quarter mile until Grace had her emotions in check. Then, and only then, did she take a few moments to survey her escort. For her protection, she had been placed in the middle of the line. A group of soldiers scouted ahead while the packhorses and carts were set at the rear. Grace hoped that Edna was comfortable riding among the luggage. Her maid had insisted she make the journey, though she would return at a later time to McKenna land.

  Grace’s mount twisted its head and for the first time she noticed how tightly the guard had hemmed her in between them. She glanced at the men who rode on either side and realized she did not know them. That was, of course, no great surprise; not all of the McKenna retainers were known to her.

  Yet as she took a few minutes to closely examine the others in her entourage, she realized there was not one man she recognized. Startled, she pulled herself up, squinted and strained to see the soldiers at the front of the line.

  Nay, it cannae be!

  Grace’s back stiffened as she caught sight of the man leading her escort. Telling herself she was being fanciful, Grace tamped down the flutter of alarm that rose in her stomach. But her worst fears were confirmed when the leader turned to the man on his left and she caught a clear look at his profile. There was no mistaking those features and that tall, straight bearing.

  Saints alive, it’s Ewan!

  Without missing a beat, Grace urged her palfrey forward, breaking through the ranks, ignoring the shouts of the men who reluctantly allowed her through.

  “I dinnae understand,” she muttered when she reached Ewan’s side. “Why are ye leading these men?”

  “’Tis simple. I’m leaving and ye needed an escort. It seemed logical to combine the two.”

  “Nay!”

  “Aye!”

  “Was this yer idea?” Grace asked, trying to sound calm and failing completely. “Or do I see my brother’s meddling hand in this officious plan?”

  “The McKenna thought it a fine idea, but I heartily agreed.” Ewan offered her a cocksure grin, his white teeth flashing. “Ye’ll not be rid of me so easily or quickly, Grace.”

  She shot him a look of bored indifference that fooled neither of them. A part of her balked at falling so compliantly into this little scheme, cooked up by her brother and his good friend, but her choices were few. If she refused Ewan’s escort, Brian could delay her departure for weeks, if not months. It had been difficult enough leaving the first time; she doubted she would be able to do it a second.

  Being duped was not a pleasant feeling, but Grace decided she must rely on her inner conviction and faith. A few additional days in Ewan’s company would change nothing. Yet as she looked ahead to the path they were taking, she added a prayer for the good weather necessary to hasten their journey and end it as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Eight

  The scenery changed little as they broke through the McKenna woods, though the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance had Ewan and his men looking toward the sky. Feeling the same sort of prevailing tension he experienced when preparing to face an enemy in battle, Ewan urged his mount forward, pulling alongside Grace.

  “If we keep to this steady pace, we should reach Glenmore Keep before the rain strikes. We can take shelter there fer the night.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Of course we can stop fer a short rest, if ye feel the need. Just say the word and I’ll have Alec scout for a safe, private spot.”

  Grace clamped her lips together in a tight line and shook her head.

  “Are ye hungry? I’ve oatcakes and dried fruit and there’s a flask of wine in my saddlebags.”

  Grace pushed a tendril of hair off her cheek and sniffed delicately. Ewan waited, but it soon become clear she wasn’t going to answer.

  “Jesus, are ye ever going to speak to me again, Grace?”

  Her back stiffened. She took in a deep breath, then turned and stared at him with wide gray eyes. “I highly doubt ye’d be wanting to hear what I have to say.”

  “Grace, please, be reasonable.”

  “Dinnae ye dare start acting indignant, Sir Ewan. We both know my displeasure with ye is more than warranted.”

  “How so? I did a favor fer a good friend, by offering my sword and men to protect his sister on her journey. Is that so very wrong?”

  “Och! Dinnae pretend to be a chivalrous hero coming to the rescue of a helpless maiden. Yer actions are wholly self-serving.”

  “I hadn’t realized what a suspicious nature ye have, Grace. ’Tis refreshing, really, to discover ye do have a fault or two.”

  “I’ve more than one. And I’d be cursing yer deception with vigor if I knew any appropriate words.”

  “Shall I teach ye a few? It might make ye feel better.”

  Grace lifted her eyes to the clouds, but he caught sight of the grin she tried to hide. Heartened, Ewan smiled at her. She pretended to be unaware, but he was not discouraged. Bit by bit he would wear down her resistance. ’Twould be a four-day journey to the abbey that could easily stretch to five or six if the weather worsened and the roads became muddy.

  Kicking his horse forward, Ewan glanced at the sky and silently prayed for rain.

  They reached Glenmore Keep as dusk was falling. Laird Kilkinney was not in residence, yet upon being told that the McKenna’s sister rode with them, the gates were open in welcome. The laird’s nephew, Simon, stood in the bailey as they entered. A short, stout, balding man of middle years, he cast a glowing smile in Grace’s direction and hurried over to assist her from her mount.

  The sight of those beefy hands clasped around Grace’s waist had Ewan gritting his teeth and tightening his grip on the reins. When the man had the boldness to reach out and touch the edge of her veil, Ewan was hard-pressed not to succumb to the urge to pull his sword and run it through Simon’s protruding belly.

  “Steady.” Alec’s calm voice cut through Ewan’s rising agitation. “We’ve come in peace, remember.”

  Ewan let out a snort. “What do ye know of him?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Grace’s slight form as she stood beside their host.

  “Nothing. Kilkinney fought with the Bruce, but I never heard any talk of his nephew.”

  Ewan spat. “By the looks of him, he was left at home to oversee the lands while others went to war.”

  “Aye. He hardly looks like a fighting man, strutting and posturing like a damn peacock. He’s no threat to Lady Grace or us,” Alec concluded cheerfully.

  “I’ll be the one to make that judgment,” Ewan snapped. “In the meantime, tell the men to keep a sharp eye. I want to make certain nothing odd is afoot. This place gives me an uneasy feeling.”

  Ewan’s gaze drifted to the gray stone steps and the dark wooden door that Grace and Simon had just passed through. With an aggravated sigh, he followed quickly behind them, arriving in the great hall as Simon was assisting Grace to a bench s
et before the fire.

  Two large hounds ceased their scavenging in the rushes and lifted their heads. Ewan reached for the hilt of his sword as one lumbered curiously toward Grace. He was nearly at her side when he heard a high-pitched scream.

  “Get away, ye dirty beast!” Simon shrieked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Och, I do beg yer pardon, Lady Grace. I hope this mangy cur dinnae frighten ye too badly.”

  “I’m used to dogs freely roaming the castle,” Grace replied, a light of humor in her eyes. She scratched the dog affectionately behind the ears and he obligingly rested his head in her lap.

  Simon’s startled expression soon turned envious, and Ewan could easily imagine the other man fantasying about switching places with the beast. Over my dead body.

  “Aye, it takes something much fiercer to distress Lady Grace,” Ewan interjected.

  Simon’s brows knitted together, puffing his jowls and narrowing his eyes. “Who are ye?”

  “Sir Ewan Gilroy, commander of Lady Grace’s escort,” Ewan replied, watching with pleasure as Simon flinched at his thundering tone.

  “Ye and yer men are welcome to set up camp within the bailey,” Simon grudgingly offered. “Lady Grace will naturally be given our guest chamber in the north tower.”

  Ewan’s gut tightened. Unless the weather was bitterly cold, ’twas not uncommon for unexpected guests to sleep in the courtyard. Keeps of this size seldom had enough space in their great hall to house others as most of the servants and soldiers already slept in the hall.

  Yet Ewan had no intention of laying his head down that far away from Grace. Especially with a host like Simon ogling her so blatantly.

  “Yer hospitality is appreciated, sir,” Grace said, with a winsome smile.

  “’Tis my pleasure, milady,” Simon replied, his chest puffing with importance.

  Then, before Ewan realized his intent, Simon lifted Grace’s hand to his face and noisily kissed it. Ewan’s sword was out of the scabbard in a thrice.

  “Ewan, no!”

  Grace reached out and touched his arm. The contact brought him back from the pounding rage. He narrowed his gaze on the slack-jawed Simon. “Lady Grace is under my protection,” he snarled.

  Simon’s nostril’s flared. “The lady is completely safe under my roof, Gilroy.”

  Ewan’s reply was a feral glare that brought a flash of alarm to Simon’s ruddy face, followed by a pathetic, helpless gaze directed toward Grace. Coward.

  “I confess my throat is parched,” Grace interjected hastily. “Might I trouble ye fer a drink?”

  “Of course! I do beg yer pardon, milady. This unpleasantness has caused my manners to go missing.” Simon shot Ewan an accusatory glare, then turned and bellowed for a servant.

  The moment he was otherwise occupied, Grace leveled her full attention on Ewan. “Sit,” she hissed beneath her breath.

  Ewan opened his mouth to protest, but Grace glowered at him and shook her head in warning. Grumbling, he followed her order, placing himself so close beside her on the bench their thighs touched.

  He heard her startled gasp and felt her muscles flex against his. A bolt of heat seared his loins, sending a wave of lust through his entire body. The luscious lavender scent of her hair teased his nostrils. How could she smell so enticing after riding all day? Ewan was certain his own flesh wafted the odors of sweat and horse.

  Grace wiggled away, then primly adjusted the skirt of her gown around her. The pink color rose high on her cheeks, but she refused to look at him. He exhaled briskly in an effort to bring his lusting body under control. It didn’t help.

  “Behave,” she admonished.

  Ewan glanced over at her, amused by the command. Her show of spirit and inner strength aroused him even more. Her eyes sparkled, vital and alive; her mouth took on a pouting countenance that begged for a kiss.

  As if reading his thoughts, Grace narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him for a moment, then whirled to face Simon, who was now directing a bevy of servants. In addition to the ale and wine Grace had requested, platters of artfully arranged food appeared. Meat pies, cured tongue, roasted birds, hard and soft cheeses, dark crusted bread, custard tarts, and stewed fruit were all set on a table that had been brought over and placed in front of them.

  “Ye must forgive our humble offerings,” Simon fussed. “Had I known of yer pending arrival, Lady Grace, I would have held the evening meal so ye could partake of some hot dishes as well.”

  “’Tis more food than I could eat in a week,” Grace replied in amazement. “Thank ye.”

  Without being invited, Ewan reached for a roasted capon. He ripped off the leg with one hand and sank his teeth into the succulent meat, while casually placing his other hand possessively at the base of Grace’s spine.

  “I also had food prepared fer yer men, Gilroy,” Simon said, nodding his head toward the trestle table set on the far side of the hall. ’Twas clear Ewan was expected to remove himself and sit with his men. Not likely. He made a noncommittal grunt and reached for another piece of capon.

  “Ye are the very model of consideration, Simon,” Grace said. “I shall make certain to mention yer kindness when I next correspond with my brother.”

  Simon fairly beamed. “My uncle will be most pleased.”

  Ewan snorted. Fuss and bother, what a pile of horseshit! Can she not see the man is a preening lack-wit? Moodily, Ewan shoved another bite of capon in his mouth, barely tasting the succulent bird.

  Unable to take his gaze off Grace, Ewan sulked through the remainder of the meal. While not precisely encouraging the attention, Grace allowed Simon to keep her fully occupied in conversation. Ewan could have been a stone statue for all the regard either of them paid him. Deciding he’d had enough, Ewan tossed a picked clean capon bone on the table and stood.

  “We’d best get some sleep,” he announced.

  Both Grace and Simon turned simultaneously.

  “Now?” Simon whined.

  “Aye.” He gave Simon a hard look. “We’ve a long way to travel on the morrow. Lady Grace needs her rest.”

  Simon bared his teeth back, but thankfully Grace had already risen. Ewan met her gaze, but she gave away none of her thoughts or feelings. “At least she still remembers how to follow orders,” Ewan grumbled to himself as they left the hall.

  Instead of delegating the task to one of his servants, Simon insisted on escorting Grace to her chamber himself. Determined not to give Simon a moment alone with Grace, an uninvited Ewan trailed along.

  Clearly annoyed, Simon somehow squeezed himself beside Grace as they climbed the narrow staircase and stayed by her side until they reached her chamber. As Ewan watched, the other man made an exaggerated bow to her. Grimacing, he caught the bold, assessing stare Simon dared to bestow upon Grace just before finally taking his leave and retreating down the corridor.

  “I’m placing a guard outside yer bedchamber door,” Ewan stated flatly the moment they were alone.

  Grace placed her hands upon her hips and smiled. “There’s no need. Besides, Simon might take offense at the gesture.”

  “I dinnae care one wit about what Simon thinks,” Ewan huffed. “The man bears watching. I swore to protect ye and I take that oath most seriously.”

  “He’s harmless,” Grace insisted.

  “Ye are too trusting.”

  “Simon fancies himself a sophisticated gentleman, a courtier with refined tastes and sensibilities.”

  Ewan looked suspiciously at her. “And that appeals to ye?”

  “Well, he did spend the entire evening singing my praises. He said repeatedly that I was a priceless treasure, a woman possessing a face and figure as soft and alluring as the angels in heaven.”

  “Pure rubbish.”

  Grace dropped her hands and straightened her spine and Ewan belatedly realized he had inadvertently insulted her. Feeling contrite, he tempered his expression. “Simon mostly enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice. He wouldnae recognize a true beauty like yers even if
it reared up and bit him on the arse.”

  Grace smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. When yer face clouds like a rumbling thunderstorm, I cannae resist teasing ye.”

  “My man stays outside yer chamber.”

  “’Twill be as ye command, Sir Ewan.”

  “Aye, and dinnae forget it, lass.”

  Acknowledging his concern for Grace’s safety would afford him little sleep, Ewan decided he would be the one to guard her bedchamber door. He constructed a makeshift pallet out of a thin blanket and his cloak, laying it across the threshold. Grousing to himself about how he should be sleeping on the other side of the door, Ewan squirmed to find a position that wouldn’t leave him stiff and aching come morning.

  Ears attuned to the sounds of an unfamiliar household, Ewan drifted into a very light sleep. A cloudy edge of a dream invaded his mind; a redheaded beauty with a winsome smile and sparkling gray eyes first beckoned, then pushed him away. He strained forward, eager and desperate to capture this elusive prize. ’Twas close, so close . . . ewagh.

  Ewan came fully awake as the distinct sound of a creaking wooden floorboard alerted him to the presence of another. Body on edge, his first instinct was to spring forward, weapons drawn, but he caught himself before yielding to that warrior urge.

  Feigning the deep, even breaths of slumber, Ewan opened his eyes a crack and peered into the darkness. Menacing shadows appeared. A trick of the moonlight? Ewan squinted harder and caught sight of a barrel-chested man lurking at the end of the corridor.

  Simon.

  Yet Ewan’s feeling of vindication at his correct assessment of their host’s true character was short-lived as Simon moved forward. Didn’t the man notice him guarding the door?

  Steadying his breath, Ewan waited. Simon continued to advance. Ewan could see no weapon, but a dirk could easily be concealed within the fold of Simon’s clothing. The moment the other man was within reach, Ewan caught the edge of his tunic and pulled. Careening off balance, Simon landed with a thud on the wooden planks. Wasting no time, Ewan swung wide, his closed fist connecting with Simon’s jaw.