Bride of a Scottish Warrior

by Adrienne Basso

  True. Yet somehow this time it felt different. Very different. Grace didn’t understand why she should feel such intense emotion. Aileen was right—Brian had proposed other possible matches to her before.

  But never to a man as handsome and appealing as Sir Ewan Gilroy.

  There was something undefinable about him, something that fairly knocked the breath out of her lungs when she stood near him. And it appalled her. She didn’t want to feel an attraction for him. And she was ashamed that she could be so easily impressed by a handsome face. Was she truly that shallow? That lonely?

  Brian appeared. He stepped into the solar, sparing not a glance for Grace, but heading directly for his wife. Grace moved forward to intercept her brother. Enough was enough. If she did not find a way to exert some control over the situation, she’d find herself wed to Sir Ewan before the week was done.

  “Ye ambushed me, Brian,” Grace said, quite loudly. “’Twas mortifying to have ye propose a match so publicly. It took a great effort to keep my composure.”

  Brian’s back stiffened, yet he did not turn to face her until after he had properly kissed his wife. “My dear little sister,” he replied, his tone reproachful. “Is it so very wrong of me to want yer happiness?”

  “We agreed it would be my decision.” Grace dragged in a deep breath. “Ye said it when the Macgregor made an offer and again when Sir Alfred broached the idea of an alliance between our clans. What makes things so different with Ewan Gilroy?”

  Brian’s expression didn’t soften. “He’s a fine man. He’ll do right by ye.”

  “He’s near as handsome as I remember him,” Aileen mused. “I bet there’s many a lass who sighs with longing the first time she sets eyes upon him.”

  “Aye, and there appears to be plenty of charm to go along with those good looks,” Grace replied wryly. “It makes no difference. I’m not interested in having another husband.”

  Grace noticed her brother’s brow tighten. She wondered if he had heard her, for his attention was centered utterly upon Aileen. “Ye think Gilroy handsome, wife?”

  “I do. Though he cannae hold a candle to yer rugged appeal, milord,” Aileen replied, bestowing her husband with a saucy wink, successfully deflecting the temper brewing in his eyes. “Why are ye considering him as a husband fer Grace?”

  Brian folded his arms. “He is a worthy man. Grace would be blessed to have such a husband. Though I expect him to know his place and be respectful of other men’s wives.”

  Grace could not contain a small smile as she watched her proud brother refuse to acknowledge his jealousy. Whatever this past relationship was between Aileen and Sir Ewan, it still had the power to rankle her brother. It wasn’t much, but ’twas the only weapon she had at her disposal and Grace had no hesitation using it.

  “Though I know not all the details, I find that I must question the honor of a man who resorts to kidnapping innocent females, no matter how worthy ye believe him to be,” Grace said pointedly.

  Brian favored her with a reproving frown, but it was Aileen who answered. “The incident occurred years ago, before Brian and I married. Sir Ewan seized an opportunity and I was caught in the middle. Yet when danger presented itself, he fought bravely to keep me safe, and thus I must agree that he would be a good match fer ye to consider.”

  A sharp slice of betrayal cut through Grace’s heart. She had always believed that Aileen was on her side in the matter of a remarriage. It was an unhappy surprise to hear that Aileen, an independent thinker and an outspoken woman, would agree with her husband.

  “Ye are to give him a chance, Grace,” Brian commanded.

  “Fer what?”

  “To state his case and win yer hand.”

  Grace felt her back bow with indignation, yet what could she say? ’Twas not an unreasonable request. As it was, Brian was allowing her far more power than most women of her station were awarded.

  And if circumstances were different, perhaps she would look more kindly upon the notion of having Sir Ewan for a husband. But it could never happen. The actions of her past defined her future. Grace had accepted it, had tried to embrace it with as much dignity as she could muster.

  She must atone for her role in Alastair’s death. She must devote the rest of her life to prayer and servitude to God in hopes that would be enough to forgive her sin. For she carried no remorse or regret over the deed, knowing deep in her heart, that given the chance, she wouldn’t hesitate to do the same again. No living creature deserved such a harsh, painful fate, such an agonizing death.

  Grace closed her eyes, willing her fluttering heart to cease tightening in her chest. Oh, how she wished she could confess her deed to Brian and Aileen! But that was impossible. A large part of the burden of her sin was the necessity of carrying it alone.

  “Chin up, Grace,” Aileen admonished with a sly grin. “There are far worse things than being courted by a handsome rogue.”

  Grace refused to smile. As a vision of Sir Ewan’s sensual grin and sparkling eyes appeared in her mind, ’twas very difficult for her to think of any.

  “What will ye wear this evening, milady?” Edna asked. “The blue silk? Or perhaps the red? The blue deepens the color of yer eyes. But the red brings out the bloom in yer cheeks.”

  Grace turned to her maid in astonishment. “Why would I change my gown?”

  “For Sir Ewan. I’ve yet to cast eyes upon him myself, but two of the kitchen maids could not stop talking of his handsome face and form.”

  “Saints preserve us, not ye too, Edna.” Grace drew in a deep sigh. “’Tis bad enough I have to listen to Brian and Aileen sing his praises.”

  Edna’s lip curled. “Perhaps ye should take heed of their words. Ye might like what ye discover.”

  Grace heaved a deep breath. “The very last thing I desire is to encourage Sir Ewan—not that much is required on that front. I swear he’d have me as his bride even if I possessed two heads and the temperament of a shrew.”

  Sadness glistened in Edna’s eyes. “Will ye not at least consider him? Ye deserve a chance at happiness.”

  “I cannae marry him, Edna. I cannae marry any man.”

  Regret flared across Edna’s face, followed quickly by resignation. Slowly, she placed the two gowns on the bed. She remained silent as she poured water from the pitcher into the washing bowl and brought it to Grace.

  Grateful for the quiet, Grace washed her hands, face, and neck, then sat patiently while Edna loosened the pins in her hair and brushed it. For just a moment, Grace closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the brush gliding through her long tresses, easing the tension in her neck and shoulders.

  It felt heavenly.

  Edna moved away, but Grace kept her eyes closed a moment longer, savoring the peace. When she opened them, Edna once again stood before her, holding up the red and blue gowns.

  “It might lift yer spirits if ye wear something pretty,” the maid said temptingly.

  Feeling too languid to scold, Grace merely shook her head. “The only way to lift my spirits is to find a way out of this mess.”

  “The laird willnae force ye to wed.”

  Grace bit her bottom lip, hoping that was still true, but no longer as sure. “Sir Ewan is my brother’s friend and fer some unknown reason he wants this alliance. ’Twould in truth be far easier fer Brian to accept the decision if Sir Ewan found me disagreeable and rejected me.” Grace sat up straighter, her even mood giving way to alertness. “Do ye think that’s possible?”

  Edna frowned. “To make yerself unappealing to Sir Ewan?”

  Grace nodded her head vigorously. “Fetch my oldest gown. Wait, nay, bring me a gown that needs washing. And the veil that has mud stains from Malcolm’s dirty little fingers.”

  The disapproval in Edna’s eyes deepened. “Ye think a bit of dirt will be enough to put him off?”

  “Dinnae forget the smell. I’ll be sitting beside him as he eats his meal.”

  Edna scrunched her nose. “’Tis a ridiculous notion, but
I can tell by the tilt of yer chin that ye are determined to see it through.”

  “I am.”

  Edna stood silently for so long Grace thought she might refuse to do as she was told. But then the maid let out a lengthy sigh and shook her head with resignation. “May Laird McKenna forgive me fer encouraging ye, but I believe I have a better idea.”

  Grace could feel the stirring of interest and curiosity among the crowd the moment she entered the great hall. The tables and benches were filled with various retainers and clan members, the male and female voices raised in relaxed conversation. The seats at the high table were also occupied, except for her empty chair. Nervously fingering the edge of her gossamer veil, Grace moved forward.

  She kept her gaze on the mighty timbers crossing the roof as she made her way to her seat. Although she had been forewarned that she would sit beside him at the meal, ’twas still disconcerting to catch a glimpse of the broad-shouldered figure hovering near her place.

  “Good evening, Lady Grace.” Sir Ewan bowed.

  Hearing her name, Brian glanced over at her, then quickly swung his head back for a second look. Grace ignored him. She sank regally into her seat, tipping her chin in what she hoped was a superior manner. “Sir Ewan.”

  Sir Ewan’s blue eyes regarded her appreciatively. “Ye look beautiful. I’m honored.”

  Grace’s heart sank. Damnation! Sir Ewan obviously believes all this finery is for his benefit.

  Frustrated at the poor start to the evening and needing a bit of fortification, Grace reached for her wine goblet. As she lifted it to her lips and took a large swallow, the gold and silver bracelets on her wrist clanked noisily.

  “Ye misunderstand, Sir Ewan. I dress only to please myself, no one else. I simply adore pretty, luxurious things,” Grace said loftily, placing the goblet down. “Silks, satins, jewels, they are all essential items fer a lady’s wardrobe, necessities that any worthy husband provides fer his wife.”

  She waved her hand dramatically, nearly poking herself in the eye with the large ring she wore on her right hand. Drat. She had told Edna the ring was too big, but the maid had insisted that she wear every piece of jewelry she owned. ’Twas an essential part of the plan designed to showcase a frivolous, empty-headed female.

  “’Tis obvious that ye deserve only the best and finest.” Sir Ewan smiled charmingly. “When I have coin to spare, I’ll shower ye with gifts fit fer a queen.”

  “Coin to spare?” Grace lifted her brow. “My needs are to be an afterthought? I dinnae like the sound of that, Sir Ewan. Not one bit.”

  “We must provide fer our people first,” he said gently. “As fer yer needs, well, I vow that I shall see to them far better than a cold necklace of gold and gemstone.”

  Grace felt an unaccustomed warmth flood her cheek. His tone was so smooth, so inviting, it made her blush. This was not going according to plan. Edna had assured her that Ewan would find her avarice repellent. Instead, he seemed to find it amusing.

  Switching tactics, Grace launched her next volley, filling every bit of silence with a constant stream of the most inane chatter she could devise. The best way to make soap, the preference for beeswax candles over tallow, the difficulty in finding good weavers to make quality cloth. Whenever Sir Ewan tried to respond, or make a comment of his own, Grace rudely interrupted, dominating the conversation like a king leading an army.

  After exhausting every domestic item she could think of, Grace switched to complaints. ’Twas too cold in winter, too hot in summer, too rainy in spring. She babbled as her food congealed on her trencher and her voice grew hoarse, all the while waiting for Sir Ewan’s eyes to glaze over with boredom or annoyance or both.

  It never happened.

  Finally, when she had to take a sip of wine to ease the dryness in her throat, he clasped his tankard of ale in his right hand and looked her dead in the eye. “Why have ye taken such a dislike to me, lass?”

  The wine hit her empty stomach in a rush. “Why ever would ye say such a thing?”

  “The looks.”

  “What looks?”

  “The ones darting from yer lovely eyes telling me ye’re wishing I’d fall into a deep, dark hole and disappear from the earth.”

  “Not the earth, good sir. Ye need only disappear from McKenna Castle.”

  A small tick of amusement crossed his face. “I willnae overstay my welcome. But when I leave, I plan on taking ye with me.”

  Grace’s shoulders sagged, but she was not yet ready to admit defeat. “I should like to save ye a good deal of time and breath, Sir Ewan, and tell ye—”

  “Ewan.”

  Grace blinked. Had she misheard him?

  “I want ye to call me Ewan. Is that acceptable, Grace?”

  No, ’tis not. Familiarity was the last thing Grace wanted, knowing it could make her more vulnerable to him. But her brother might object if she refused and claim she was not holding to her end of the bargain. And that could spell disaster.

  She could ill afford to risk Brian’s wrath, for if pushed hard enough, her brother might decide to ignore her objections and force her into the marriage. She must therefore give every appearance of being open-minded to Sir Ewan’s—Ewan’s—proposal.

  “This is not the first time the possibility of a second marriage has been raised by my brother, Ewan.” She paused. He smiled when she spoke his name. A lopsided grin that was so boyishly disarming she nearly smiled back, before blinking rapidly and regaining control of her senses. “Ye do me a great honor by asking fer my hand. Yet my answer remains the same to ye as it was to the others. I wish to retreat to the convent and a life of religious reflection. I know ’tis best fer me.”

  She said the last forcefully, then felt a stab of worry that she had gone too far. Men did not like being told they were not in charge, in control, especially of females. Yet Ewan did not appear annoyed; his eyes were still dancing with merriment.

  “They willnae allow ye all yer pretty baubles in the convent,” he said innocently.

  “I shall manage without them,” Grace bit out.

  He looked at her inquiringly, his head tilting slightly. “I’ve been told that silence is a virtue well regarded and sought after among the good sisters. Will that be difficult fer ye to endure day in and day out?”

  Grace squirmed in her seat, though she supposed she deserved this bit of teasing. “I will strive and struggle day and night to hold my tongue.”

  “Or ye could avoid these restrictions completely and marry me.”

  “Nay,” Grace gritted out.

  Sir Ewan’s jaw bulged as he clamped it together. She waited for the explosion of anger, but he was somehow able to conquer it.

  “Women are known for changing their minds. ’Tis one of their many appealing traits.” His voice dipped lower, honeyed and coaxing. “What can I do to influence yer mind, fair Grace?”

  “Accept the truth, good sir. I willnae change my mind nor my answer.”

  She spoke each word crisply and held Ewan’s eyes as she uttered them. It seemed the best way to make him understand the depth of her feelings, the extent of her determination to remain unwed.

  She braced herself, fully expecting him to cast off his flirting smiles. But he surprised her with a gentle look she found even more disarming. “I enjoy a challenge, especially one from a worthy opponent. It makes victory all the more sweet, fer nothing of great worth in this life is ever easy to obtain.”

  “Yer pretty words have no effect on my decision.”

  “Aye, ’tis the deeds that matter.” His eyes filled with warmth. “I willnae threaten nor cajole ye, lass. Instead, when the time is right, I’ll make my appeal to yer heart. Directly from mine.”

  Oh, my. It took an extreme effort not to look away. Or down. To keep her eyes steadily focused on him without betraying a single ounce of emotion that was spreading through her body.

  “Well, then, I suppose I cannae prevent ye from trying.” Thanks to years of practice, there was no wavering in her
voice. But the same could not be said of her emotions.

  Grace’s back went rigid. Who was this man? Somehow, he possessed the power to make her want the things she had never had. But worst still, he possessed the power to make her dream they were possible.

  Chapter Five

  Ewan peeled open his eyes as sunshine poured in through the narrow bedchamber window. Feeling an odd combination of exhaustion and exhilaration, he rolled to his back. With morning came the chance to achieve his most important task—marr ying a lady with a substantial dowry. He had stayed up most of the night with Brian, plying his host with ale, then whiskey, in hopes of gaining some much-needed insight in wooing Grace.

  Unfortunately, Ewan had not received the answers he sought. After the fifth tankard of ale and the third dram of whiskey, it was clear that Brian had no useful advice to impart. The McKenna had no idea what Ewan could possibly say, or do, to win his sister’s hand in marriage.

  All Brian did confirm, with a deep thread of reluctance flowing through his voice, was his promise not to force Grace into a union she did not want, fearing the wrath of his sister, but more importantly, his wife, were he to go back on his word.

  Ewan’s head ached—and not just from too much ale and whiskey. ’Twas obvious that Grace was not going to be an easy conquest. Her behavior at the evening meal had confirmed her desire to remain unwed. It would take time and charm and more than a wee bit of luck to change her mind. And the only way to accomplish that was to spend as much time as possible in her company.

  Yet it was clear from their conversation last night, Grace was not going to cooperate. Nay, she would do all that she could to avoid him, of that Ewan felt certain. Yet she would quickly discover he was not a man who easily accepted defeat, especially with something as important as his future. She might be a clever lass, but she’d soon learn there were few on this earth as wily as Ewan Gilroy.

  Ewan threw back the covers. As his bare feet touched the hard floor, the sound of church bells rang in his ears. Fighting his way through the cloud of sleep and drink, he realized it was a call to Mass. It took a moment for the importance of that fact to sink into his skull, but when it did, he smiled. Broadly.