Ewan set his hands on the ground in front of his knees, then tipped forward and dunked his head in the water. He came up with a shout, no doubt shocked from the cold. Still laughing, his hand moved to the laces on his braies.
Grace swore she could feel her heart stop. If he removes those, then I shall . . . I must . . . Saints alive, what shall I do?
Thankfully, she didn’t have to decide. Rubbing his hands vigorously over his face, Ewan stood. Trying to keep the relief from her eyes, Grace struggled to assume a calm expression. Drops of water flew in all directions as Ewan shook his head like a large hound. He then picked up his shirt and tunic, draped them around his neck, and moved away from the stream.
Grace flattened herself against the tree trunk as a bare-chested Ewan strode toward her. He stopped when he drew near and stepped close to her, his eyes glittering in the sunlight.
Water dripped from the ends of his hair, beading on his shoulders and chest. There were even a few droplets on his eyelashes, reflecting the blue of his eyes.
’Twas mesmerizing.
He spoke not a word, merely leaned in closer. Then closer. Grace could feel the shock of cold as his chest pressed against hers, dampening the front of her gown. The air between them hummed with tension.
He lifted his hands, pressing them against the tree trunk on either side of her. The tingling warmth of his breath brushed against her cheek, sending a spiraling shiver down her spine. Grace caught the edges of her cloak and dug her fingers into the fabric.
He touched his lips to hers almost glancing, but that gentle touch soon grew bold. Grace shivered, but didn’t move. The kiss was sweet and slow and masterful, raising gooseflesh all over her arms. He made a sound deep in his throat and ran his tongue over her teeth. She tasted the cleanness of the water he had just drunk, and tried not to groan.
His breath grew rougher. So did hers. She wanted to throw her arms around him and pull him closer, to beg him to caress her, but she restrained herself. She tensed at the feel of the hard bulge of his arousal pressed insistently against her thighs. Sweat broke out on her palms as she tried to control her rising passion.
Ewan eased the kiss to its conclusion, pulling away slowly, pressing his lips to the corners of her mouth, then rubbing them sensually across her cheek. Grace’s heart pounded as the heat between her thighs rushed up through her entire body. She felt her back digging into the tree trunk and realized it was the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Ewan straightened. The smile was back in his eyes, along with a smoldering heat so intense it nearly scorched her. “Just a wee reminder of what ye’ll be missing when ye lock yerself behind those convent walls,” he whispered.
His hand settled on her cheek and she fought hard against the urge to turn into the caress. He moved his hand slowly, up and down, once, then twice, then one final time before breaking contact. Grace heard herself moan with objection, but Ewan never reacted. Without saying or doing anything else, he turned and walked away.
He was nearly out of her sight before Grace regained her wits. With a firm shake of her head, she calmed her erratic breathing, gathered her cloak firmly around her, and followed in his wake.
Ewan kept his eyes sharp as he stared into the darkness that surrounded the camp. Time was running out. Grace needed to change her mind about her future and agree to a marriage between them. Very soon.
He had summoned every ounce of charm he could muster these last few days, wooing her, impressing her, enticing her. There had been a few glimmers of success. She smiled more easily and was certainly more relaxed in his company. He even believed that she liked him. Yet there were times when she seemed so far away. Aye, he could be standing right beside her, yet she seemed so distant, unreachable.
He felt a small qualm of guilt strike at his conscience for his deceptive behavior. The convent was a mere four-hour ride from where they made camp. Two nights ago. Aye, he’d been leading them all in a wide circle for two days, hoping that would give him the extra time he needed to change her mind.
Ewan reached for his sword at the sound of the rustling underbrush, but it was Alec who emerged from the woods.
“Feels like rain,” Alec pronounced as he came to stand beside his leader.
“Aye. I’m thinking there’ll be no need for an early departure come morning.” Ewan looked up at the starless night sky. “In fact, we might not be able to travel at all. If the rains fall heavily, the carts will get stuck in the mud. There’s a village less than ten miles from here. We could spend the day warm and dry inside the local tavern.”
“I dinnae think that Lady Grace would appreciate passing the day drinking cheap ale and wine, gambling, singing, and watching our men seek the company of prostitutes,” Alec grunted.
“Maybe we can find a more genteel setting for her,” Ewan mused. “I’m sure she would appreciate a day out of the saddle.”
“The lady would be grateful to reach her journey’s end,” Alec said, turning to meet Ewan’s gaze. “A circumstance that should have happened two days ago.”
“All in good time,” Ewan replied.
“When?”
“When I say!” ’Twas impossible not to notice the tightening around Alec’s mouth, but Ewan refused to consider it.
“God’s wounds, Ewan, get yer head out of yer arse! ’Tis clear that Lady Grace is unused to travel, but she’s an intelligent woman. Eventually, she’ll get her bearings and realize that she’s seen that same grove of trees, winding stream, and low-lying hills three times. And she willnae be happy about it.”
“Aye, ye’re right. We should alter our course. South or north, which do ye think would be best?”
Alec let out an exasperated sigh. “We should go west, to the abbey.”
“But that’s less than a day’s ride from here!”
“Aye.”
“Nay. ’Tis too soon,” Ewan replied, biting out the words. “I need a wee bit more time to convince her to be my bride.”
Alec fixed him with a piercing stare. “Ye need more than time, my friend. Ye need a miracle.”
Angry words of denial sprang to Ewan’s lips. Yet he was a fair man and could not argue with the truth. Why was it so hard to let go of the dream? Could he possibly hold fast to it for a few more days?
“Another day,” Ewan muttered under his breath. “Mayhap two.”
Alec slammed his fist into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Och! Ye’re the most stubborn, hardheaded man I’ve ever known.”
“I thank ye.”
“’Tis not a compliment, Ewan.”
“I know.” An unfamiliar pang of failure twisted in his gut. He had not felt this helpless, this powerless, since he was a lad. “What would ye have me do, Alec? I need Grace to become my wife.”
Alec slowly shook his head. “Ye’ll have to stand down. I know it goes against yer grain to admit defeat, but ye cannae simply will this marriage to happen. The McKenna gave his sister the right to choose and she has taken it into her head to enter a convent. Ye must honor her decision.”
Guilt crashed down on him. Alec was right. He could stall no longer.
“Tomorrow we shall reach the abbey,” Ewan announced, a coldness gripping his heart. ’Twas the only honorable course and he must follow it. He was certain.
Yet why did he feel such a crushing blow of regret?
They arrived at the convent as dusk started falling. Despite the light drizzle, they had traveled at a steady gait, avoiding the mud and ruts in the road. The moment they were sighted, the heavy gates of the abbey were thrown open in welcome.
Grace urged her mount forward, her face splitting into a grin as she caught sight of many familiar faces. She had been raised in this convent, and many of the girls she had been fostered with were now women, dedicated to the service of the Lord.
Her heart lifted when she curtsied before the abbess. She had been a kind and loving substitute mother to Grace and her cheerful face was a soothing balm, an affirmation that Grace had made the correct
decision in coming here. Here, among these good and decent women, she could atone for her sins, she could strive to be a better person, a better Christian. She might not achieve the happiness that came from being a wife and mother, but she would be content.
Sternly, she told herself it would be enough.
“We expected ye days ago, child,” the abbess declared, as she hugged Grace tightly. “I’m relieved to see that our prayers fer yer safe journey were answered.”
“I am grateful to finally be here,” Grace replied with a shy smile. “All is as I remember.”
“Aye, we have changed little over the years.”
Though she wore the simple, plain gown of a nun, the abbess possessed a regal air of authority. Grace noted that Ewan and his men bowed especially low when they were introduced. Then the men quickly unloaded her possessions and the carts of supplies she had brought. With a hushed rumble of conversation, the nuns exclaimed their pleasure over the unexpected bounty.
Task accomplished, the men returned to their horses. All except Ewan. He was waiting expectantly, his expression unreadable.
Under the abbess’s watchful eye, Grace turned to him. Her heart thudded and her knees shook, yet she maintained a pretense of calm.
“’Tis time to bid ye farewell and thank ye fer yer escort, Sir Ewan.”
Her voice rang with forced cheer. She had never expected it would be easy, but until this moment she had not realized how ill-prepared she truly was to forsake the outside world. And those who occupied it.
Including Ewan.
Especially Ewan.
Clasping her hands in his, Ewan regarded her solemnly. “’Tis too late fer us to begin our journey home. We’ll make camp a few miles away and take our leave after sunrise. I’ll say my good-byes to ye on the morrow, before we depart.”
Grace felt her bottom lip start to tremble. “I shall be busy with other duties in the morning. ’Tis best if we say farewell now.”
“Nay, in the morning.”
Grace’s chest felt tight at the thought of prolonging this good-bye. She withdrew her hand and he flinched. It seemed as though they both knew she was pulling away more than that single body part.
Ewan’s eyes flared with anger. He leaned closer and repeated in a whisper, “We shall say our farewells in the morning. Ye owe me at least that much, Grace.”
He did not wait for her reply. Stalking away, he mounted his horse, yanked the reins, turned, and led his men away. Heart accelerating, Grace stood rooted to the spot for several minutes watching the cloud of dust they raised and listening to the sound of the horses’ hooves fade into the distance.
Then she turned and resolutely walked through the arched doorway of the convent.
Grace didn’t sleep that night.
Her mind refused to rest, and try as she might, she was unable to tuck Ewan’s face and form in some distant place in her memory where it could be forgotten. Her limbs were bone tired from the journey, but that did not seem to matter. Wearily, Grace exhaled, stretching her patience, seeking inner calm. Then she turned on her narrow pallet and faced the stone wall of her simple cell, commanding herself to sleep.
It didn’t work.
A gentle knock was heard. Confused, Grace looked over her shoulder. The door cautiously opened and a shadowy figure stepped into the tiny, spartan chamber. “Lady Grace? Wake up. Please.”
Grace sat upright. Squinting hard, she tried to discern the features of the woman who had spoken. “Who’s there?”
“Sister Joan,” the shadow replied. “I’m sorry to wake ye, but ’tis important. Ye must come with me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I dinnae know exactly. My quarters are the first in the hallway, so I was the one asked to summon ye.”
Grace sat forward on her pallet. “The abbess has need of me at this hour of the night?” she asked incredulously, yet even as she posed the question Grace was searching for her shoes. No matter how peculiar the request, she would naturally obey.
“’Tis not the abbess, but young Charles who delivered the message. From a knight, he said.”
“There’s a knight here? Inside the convent?”
“Nay.” Sister Joan’s head lowered. “He knew that men are not allowed, so he enlisted young Charles to aid him. That lad never stays where he should and no doubt was found outside the walls. The knight insisted the matter was so urgent it could not wait until morning. He’s waiting fer ye just beyond the walls.”
Grace swallowed a gulp of astonishment. “The abbess agreed that I should meet him?”
“Nay. I was asked not to waken anyone except ye.”
Ewan! It had to be. What other man would possess the audacity to entice a nun into a forbidden act? Besides, no one else knew she had arrived at the convent.
Grace pulled on her shoes, stood, then halted. What in the name of all that was holy was she doing? It was ludicrous to give in to Ewan’s demand, possibly even dangerous.
“I dinnae know. . . .” Grace’s voice trailed off in confusion as she tried to deny the strange force telling her to go to him.
“Forgive my boldness in offering an opinion, but I think it wise to see what is so important,” Sister Joan said.
Grace thought another moment and then decided the nun was right. Who knew what Ewan might do if she denied his request?
Cautiously the two women made their way through the long corridors of the abbey. Together, they lifted the heavy wooden plank securing the gate, setting it on the ground.
“I’ll wait here fer ye to return,” Sister Joan said kindly.
With a nod, Grace slipped outside. The clouds had cleared and the moon hung low and full. Still, it took a moment to get her bearings. It was all darkness and shadows, but then a few feet beyond the protection of the gate she could see the broad shoulders of a man. Boldly, she charged forward, but soon her steps faltered as a strange sense of foreboding gripped her.
Suddenly, the figure turned. Grace felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck raise. She debated backing away, retreating to the sanctuary of the convent, but he had already seen her.
Blessed Mother, Ewan Gilroy is a trial that will follow me for the rest of my days. Grace opened her mouth to tell him just that when a shaft of moonlight drifted across his face.
Grace gasped. ’Twas not Ewan’s grinning face she beheld, but another.
Roderick!
For an instant her heart seemed to stop beating. Her mouth opened and closed several times. Stunned, she could find no words.
“Surprised to see me, milady?”
The quiet menace in Roderick’s voice startled her. Mutely, Grace stared up the long muscular length of him. She had forgotten how big a man he was as he towered above her, his arms folded sternly across his broad chest. Tamping down her instinct to shrink back in fear, Grace at last found her voice.
“What are ye doing here, Roderick?”
“Why, I’ve come to speak with ye. We’ve unfinished business that cannae wait any longer.”
His animosity was evident in every word. Despite her attempts not to, Grace fell back a step, her mind empty. She felt a small bead of icy sweat trickle down between her breasts, yet conscious of his arrogant stare, she fought to regain her composure.
“We can talk tomorrow, in the light of day, as is proper.”
Roderick sneered. “Why the sudden need fer propriety? Ye came quick enough tonight when I summoned ye. Or were ye expecting someone else?”
“Ye know full well I wouldnae have come if I knew ’twas ye.”
“Ye wound me,” Roderick mocked. He drew closer, halting just in front of her.
Grace clamped her cold hands together and daringly asked, “What do ye want from me?”
Roderick did not reply at once. “I seek justice. So that I may rightfully lead my clan.”
Grace felt her face flush with heat. “They elected Douglas as chieftain. They chose him, not ye.”
Roderick’s eyes branded her with spite and malice
. “Only because they dinnae know the truth,” he said with a growl.
“What truth?”
“Do ye think me a complete lack-wit?” he said, his voice laden with scorn. “Alastair was murdered and ye played a key part in the plot that Douglas devised.”
“Nay, Douglas is innocent!”
“But ye are guilty,” Roderick concluded, his voice triumphant.
“I . . .” Words of denial rushed to Grace’s lips, but there was little she could truthfully say. Ashamed, she hung her head, but Roderick’s next words chilled her to the bone.
“Ye will admit this crime in front of the entire clan, Grace, speaking word fer word what I command ye to say. Ye will tell them all that Douglas killed Alastair.”
Grace felt the breath catch in her throat. The day of reckoning had come far sooner than she expected, bringing with it some very ugly consequences. “’Tis a monstrous lie and I willnae say it!”
“Yer confession is of no use to me unless my brother is implicated,” Roderick insisted.
So, it was as she feared—Roderick was not here for justice for his brother. Nay, he was here for himself and he intended to use her to help him get what he wanted.
“Are ye not weary of fighting?” she asked quietly. “Do ye truly wish to cause such strife among yer clan, to weaken them, to make them vulnerable to their enemies? ’Tis bad enough when there is fighting among the clans, yet ’tis far worse when ye make war upon yer own kin.”
His glare intensified. “I’ll battle anyone who stands in my way.”
“I willnae do it, Roderick.”
He jerked her elbow hard enough to pull her to her knees. His face was a medley of shades of anger and for an instant Grace worried she would faint from fear.
“I said I would attack anyone, Grace. And that includes yer precious nuns.”
Grace felt the tears prickle behind her eyes. “Ye would not dare!”
Bride of a Scottish Warrior Page 13