Bride of a Scottish Warrior Page 9

  As they looked below into the bailey they saw a large circle of men. The air hung with a palpable sense of excitement and Grace soon understood why. Her brother stood next to his squire, who was carefully extracting the laird’s sword from its scabbard. Ewan stood opposite him, claymore already in hand. ’Twas clear they were preparing to spar, just as soon as the two men currently engaged in swordplay were finished.

  “Watch closely, lads,” Brian shouted, as he and Ewan took to the practice field. “And ye’ll learn a valuable lesson.”

  To the delight of the crowd, Brian swaggered around the courtyard in his usual fashion, raising his sword above his head to loosen his limbs. Ewan smiled at his opponent’s antics, his eyes dark with anticipation.

  The ringing was nearly deafening as the pair slammed their swords together in a series of powerful blows. They spun and pounded each other back and forth across the bailey, as the men surrounding them shouted and cheered. ’Twas not only the skill of the swordplay that drew such enthusiasm and awe from the crowd; Grace could see that the men respected Brian’s and Ewan’s fearlessness, the way they attacked with lethal intent, even though this was only a practice session.

  Both men had discarded their tunics and fought bare-chested. Grace noticed Ewan’s muscles rippling with every move he made, bulging in his upper arms and chest. He attacked without hesitation, the hardness of a determined warrior blazing from his eyes.

  Suddenly, Brian let out a roar and charged, his sword held high. With a swift stroke, Ewan blocked the blow, then swung around. He caught Brian on the chin with his elbow, then whirled behind him and struck him on the arse with the flat of his weapon.

  The watching men broke into gales of laughter, jeering and yelling. Twirling, Brian faced Ewan and spat a mouthful of blood on the ground. “If it’s playtime ye’re seeking, I’m happy to oblige.”

  “Ye always wield yer sword with a high swing,” Ewan shouted cheerfully, wiping the sweat from his brow. “’Tis easy enough to defend against it when I know it’s coming.”

  “Then I’ll need to try something a wee bit different,” Brian countered, as he swung at Ewan’s legs.

  Anticipating the move, Ewan jumped over the blade, throwing Brian off balance. Through sheer strength, Brian managed to stay upright. Unprepared for the swift recovery, Ewan was knocked on his back as Brian drove his shoulder into Ewan’s gut.

  Grabbing hold of Brian’s ankle, Ewan pulled his opponent to the ground. Dust flew as the pair wrestled, rolling across the bailey. A raucous cheer went up from the men and the wagering on which man would be victorious escalated.

  Scrambling back to their feet, Ewan and Brian once again reached for their weapons. Breathing hard, faces lined with dirt and sweat, they faced each other, each searching for a weakness to exploit.

  “Will they ever tire?” Grace asked.

  “Aye, eventually, and then a blade will slip and one will be injured.” Aileen positioned herself fully in front of the window. “The match is a draw,” she shouted.

  All heads turned in their direction. Instinctively, Grace shrank back from the sea of male eyes, while Aileen leaned forward.

  “Milady, there needs to be a clear victor,” one of the men yelled.

  “The sun will long be set and the torches lit before either of them bests the other,” Aileen replied. “’Tis obvious they are equals in skill and tenacity. I say we declare this a draw and invite all into the great hall to toast the match with ale and whiskey.”

  A weak cheer was heard from a few of the men, but many more grumbled. “They dinnae seemed very taken with yer suggestion,” Grace muttered from the shadows.

  “I dinnae care,” Aileen hissed. “I need to give Brian and Ewan a way to end this with their pride intact.”

  “Ye cannae believe they will truly hurt each other?”

  “Accidents happen, even while practicing. They’ll fight until one presses a sword against the other’s throat. Whoever loses will be humiliated and that could sour their friendship and our alliance.”

  “Riders approach!”

  The shout from the guard tower quickly put an end to the match. Without needing to receive any orders, the warriors in the courtyard took off at a run, each man hurrying to his post. Grace saw Ewan fall in behind Brian and accompany him to the wall.

  Grace and Aileen exchanged a worried gaze as they anxiously watched the hasty preparations. ’Twas hushed as all eyes, including Grace’s, strained toward the road, waiting to see what colors the men approaching were wearing. She could tell from the amount of dust swirling along the path that they were sizable in number, a full complement of armed men.

  Though not currently engaged in any open feuds, there were several clans that the McKennas counted more foe than friend. Grudges between clans were held for years, often passing from one generation to the next. It was thus essential to always be vigilant whenever a mounted group of warriors displaying such a show of strength rode this close to the castle.

  The suspense throughout the keep was unbearable. Then Grace heard Aileen gasp, her hand reaching upward to cover her mouth. “ ’Tis the Sinclair colors,” Aileen announced, relief filling her voice. “I can see the banners of green and gold.”

  Grace relaxed. Aileen was the only child of the Sinclair laird; obviously she was pleased to welcome her kinsmen. “Is yer father among the riders?”

  “Aye, front and center, leading the way.” Aileen smiled ruefully, amusement lighting her eyes. “I told him to wait until I sent word that the babe had safely arrived, but he’s never been one to follow another’s orders.”

  “Hmm.” Grace merely smiled, not needing to comment on how much the daughter followed her sire. “I’ll hurry to the kitchens to make certain a proper welcome is prepared.”

  “Thank ye, Grace. I know my father and his men will appreciate a good meal.”

  Glad to be of service, Grace made her way down to the kitchen. The cook, a stout, heavy-jowled man who clearly enjoyed the fruits of his labors, favored her with a panicked look the moment she entered his domain.

  “Are we under attack?”

  “Nay.” Grace cleared her throat, bringing her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. “’Tis the Sinclairs who ride into the courtyard. Naturally, Lady Aileen would like a feast prepared to welcome her father and his men.”

  “I have fresh venison, fish, and mutton,” Cook said, as he lumbered to the storeroom. “The breads are ready for the ovens, there’s meat jelly from yesterday, and plenty of dried apples and pears to make some tarts.”

  “Do ye have enough honey?” Grace asked.

  “Aye, the hives were stripped of their combs last week. But I’ll need more help to prepare a feast that is worthy of our guests.”

  Grace nodded. “I’ll send some others to assist ye, then I’ll fetch the spices ye’ll need.”

  The cook gave her a happy smile, then started shouting orders at his helpers. Grace had a few additional servants fetched before going back into the storeroom. Some of the more precious spices, such as salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon, were locked away, brought out only for special occasions. Grace assumed Aileen would consider a visit from her father an opportune time to raid the spice supplies.

  After handing Cook the spices, Grace stayed to help peel vegetables, paying no attention to the curious looks she was given by several of the women gathered around the worktable. Unlike many other ladies of her station, Grace was no stranger to menial tasks. Being raised in a convent had taught her that no chore was beneath her. In truth, Grace sometimes missed the quiet solitude that came with performing a simple, mindless job.

  “I thank ye fer yer help, milady,” Cook said, as he pointed a large wooden spoon in her general direction. “I couldnae have managed without ye. But ye best join the others at the high table before we bring out the food.”

  Grace nodded. She placed the last carrot on the pile and wiped her brow. She had never met Aileen’s father and was curious to discover what sort of man would raise s
uch an outspoken, confident female.

  The fresh air in the great hall felt cool and refreshing after the heat in the kitchen. Grace breathed deeply, then quietly slid into a chair at the end of the high table. She was still arranging the folds of her gown when Ewan took the chair beside her. His hair was wet, his tunic clean. Clearly he had taken the time to bathe and change before coming to the table. Suddenly nervous, Grace glanced down at her gown, hoping she had not gotten any spots on it while working in the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was to offend Aileen’s father.

  Introductions were made as the food was brought into the hall. Laird Sinclair was not particularly tall and his short stature made him appear almost round, but his proud bearing proclaimed him a respected leader. There was gray in the hair at his temples and his skin was tanned from being outdoors.

  He looked strong and capable, despite his years. Aileen favored her father in few ways, except for his erect bearing and confident air. Those traits had clearly been passed to his daughter.

  He examined Grace with an unwavering intensity, the scrutiny making her rather self-conscious. “My sympathies at the passing of Sir Alastair,” Laird Sinclair said as his gaze continued to travel over her. “Ye’ll be taking a new husband soon, I expect, Lady Grace.”

  “No, milord, I will not,” she replied through clenched teeth.

  “My sister asks to return to the convent where she was raised,” Brian said, helping himself to a portion of venison stew.

  Laird Sinclair raised his brow. “Do ye not wish fer a home of yer own? A babe in yer arms and another grabbing at yer skirts?”

  The words pierced her heart. “Alas, that shall not be my fate.” She shrugged philosophically, trying to appear calm yet knowing she failed miserably.

  “’Tis unnatural for a female to remain unwed,” the laird said, shaking his head.

  “Which is precisely why I am trying to change the lady’s mind,” Ewan interjected smoothly.

  Laird Sinclair ceased chewing. “I should not be surprised to hear that ye’re sniffing around her, Gilroy. Ye always were an ambitious cur.”

  “I’ve an eye fer beauty and an appreciation of a noble and gentle soul,” Ewan protested.

  Sinclair scoffed. “Ye’ve the need fer a bride with a rich dowry and an alliance with a powerful clan like the McKennas.”

  “Are ye suggesting that the lady is not incentive enough on her own?” Ewan asked, rising to his feet. “I take great offense at that insult!”

  “Sit down,” Sinclair said, the humor evident in his voice. “No need to preen like a peacock in front of the lass.”

  “Ye do me, and the lady, a grave injustice,” Ewan insisted, casting a reproachful look at the older man as he once again took his seat.

  “I speak honestly, as ye well know,” the laird replied. “Any alliance with the McKennas becomes an indirect alliance with me, so I too have an interest in who the lass weds. I admire yer skill on the battlefield, Gilroy, and would much prefer to have ye fighting beside me than against me. But even ye’ll admit that the land ye were given is in the farthest reaches of the kingdom. By the time a message reaches ye, and yer men are mustered and on the march, the battle will be long over.”

  “I hold and keep what is mine,” Brian retorted, a warning light in his eyes. “I value the friendships I share with many clans, but I can protect my lands without the aid of any allies.”

  “Enough of this talk of battles!” Aileen sighed. “The war has finally ended and yet all ye men can speak of is the next one. ’Tis putting me off my food.”

  Both Brian and Sinclair reached for Aileen’s hand at the same moment. She resisted for a second, then allowed first her husband and then her father to placate her.

  The remainder of the meal passed in relative peace as everyone’s attention was diverted by the fine food and ale that had been placed before them. Grace slowly let out a breath, but there was no time to relax, as Ewan began whispering in her ear.

  “Did ye hear, Grace? Laird Sinclair also thinks it would be best if ye marry me.”

  Gracious, was there no escape from overbearing men? “He thinks that all women should be wed,” she replied tartly. “And as I recall the conversation, he had a rather low opinion of me making a match with ye.”

  “That might have been his initial reaction,” Ewan conceded. “But once he’s had a chance to think it over, he’ll agree I’m the best husband ye can find.”

  Grace shot him a sharp look before picking up her goblet. Thankfully, the talk turned to politics and the policies of King Robert. Like many independent-minded chieftains, Laird Sinclair did not approve of all of the king’s actions and he never hesitated in expressing his opinion or arguing his point.

  “Lady Grace, tell us what ye know of the Fergusons’ troubles?” Laird Sinclair asked, staring down at the empty bowls and trays that covered the table. The savory smells of the now-eaten food still hung in the air and most were lingering over the delicious meal.

  “Nothing.” Grace lifted her chin and willed herself not to blush as all eyes were suddenly on her. “I am unaware of any particular difficulties.”

  “Och, ’tis a sad business that’s plaguing the Fergusons these days. They say Roderick Ferguson is burning with resentment over not being chosen as chieftain. He’s dividing the loyalties of his clan, persuading some of the men to his side.”

  Brian shook his head. “’Tis bad enough when the clans fight each other, but discord within a clan will tear it asunder. Mark my words, if this isn’t settled soon, without too much bloodshed, it will be the undoing of the Fergusons.”

  Grace noticed many heads nodding in silent agreement. The mention of Roderick brought a myriad of images and emotions to mind, none of which were pleasant.

  “Roderick has challenged his brother’s rule,” Laird Sinclair elaborated. “He claims Alastair’s death was hastened by foul play and blames his brother.”

  “Shocking,” Aileen mused.

  “Aye, ’tis an unpleasant business.” Laird Sinclair wiped his hands on the front of his tunic, then sent Grace a calculated look. “Were ye with yer husband in his final hours, Lady Grace?”

  Grace felt her stomach jolt into a sickening twist. She was so overcome with surprise and fear that for an instant she was unable to speak. Quickly, she looked down at her trencher, not wanting anyone to glimpse the guilt she was certain was shimmering in her eyes.

  Ewan slammed down his tankard, his upper lip curling into a disapproving line. “’Tis clear that speaking of her husband is a painful memory that Lady Grace prefers to forget.”

  Grateful for the distraction, yet feeling unworthy of Ewan’s spirited defense, Grace sucked in a harsh breath. “Aye, it brings me pain and sorrow remembering Alastair’s last days. His wounds were grievous and he suffered mightily. God was merciful when he called him to his side.”

  “What of Roderick’s claims?” Laird Sinclair pressed, his voice challenging. “Do they have any merit?”

  “Nay. They are baseless and rooted in jealousy,” Grace replied, trying to speak calmly and with conviction. “The men elected Douglas chieftain, as is their right. Roderick divides the clan simply because he cannae accept that he was not chosen. ’Tis merely further proof that he wouldnae be a strong, selfless leader.”

  “Well said, lass.” Ewan nodded with approval.

  The protective gesture brought on a wave of calm, followed swiftly by guilt. Grace bit her lower lip. I dinnae deserve Ewan’s support.

  Sinclair shrugged. “Ye’d best be prepared for a visit from Roderick,” the laird said to Brian. “He’ll be seeking aid in his quest to be chieftain from even the slimmest of alliances.”

  Brian’s nostrils flared as though he had just caught wind of a foul and offensive odor. “He’ll not be getting any help from me. It pains me to hear of their troubles, yet I’m relieved to have my sister away from there. It lessens my worry knowing she’s not in any danger. She is back with her family and I’ll see to her protectio
n and future. Roderick has no business involving Grace in his quarrels.”

  “He does not strike me as a man who cares much about right and wrong,” Laird Sinclair commented.

  “I’ll make certain that the men know to be extra vigilant,” Brian declared, once again grasping his wife’s hand.

  Young Bess was summoned to entertain them. Well known for her lovely voice and witty songs, Bess executed a graceful curtsy and set to the task with obvious gusto. Needing to be alone with her thoughts, Grace seized upon the distraction, and quietly slipped away from the table the moment Bess started singing.

  Chapter Seven

  Grace stood in the shadows, trying to calm her racing heart and shaking hands. She despised Roderick and what he was doing to the Fergusons with every fiber of her being. His reckless, selfish quest for power was causing suffering and despair. The clan did not deserve such a dire, uncertain fate.

  Guilt plagued her, for deep in her heart she felt responsible for contributing to the misery of so many good, innocent people. If I had not aided Alastair in hastening his death, could this have been avoided? Yet even as the disturbing thought entered her mind, Grace knew it would not have mattered. Roderick was hell-bent on leading the clan and damn the consequences.

  Still, the ambiguity surrounding Alastair’s passing had given Roderick the opportunity to gain a substantial foothold in his challenge for power. And that Grace knew was her responsibility.

  “Are ye troubled?”

  Grace screeched in surprise, unable to contain the sound. Ewan stepped closer and extended a hand to steady her. “’Tis only me, Grace.”

  His hand tightened on her upper arm and he gently pulled her toward him. Badly in need of comfort, Grace allowed it.

  “Ye startled me,” she whispered, as her head rested against his broad shoulder.

  For a few moments she found relief from the cold chill of dread pulling at her heart, but then reality closed in around her and she reluctantly pulled away. “The talk of Roderick has rattled me. Though I am no longer among them, I wish only peace and prosperity fer the Ferguson Clan.”