“Dinnae push me, Grace. I’m well beyond the end of my patience.”
“And so ye’ll make war on a group of nuns? Innocent, defenseless women?” Grace shivered. “I never believed ye’d be that much of a coward, Roderick.”
Her words cut sharply in the night air. Grace regretted them instantly. Roderick’s bloodlust was already boiling. ’Twas foolish to provoke him, no matter how much she detested his threats.
“I’ll do whatever I must to gain my rightful place,” he cried with great vehemence.
“Ye’ll burn in hell, Roderick, if ye dare to strike down the Lord’s servants on holy ground.”
He laughed bitterly. “Ye’ll be there to keep me company, Grace.”
His tone was as cold as a gust of frigid Highland air. Grace pulled away and struggled to her feet. The abbey gates seemed so far away, but they were her only chance of safety, at least for the remainder of the night.
They stared at each other in the moonlight, eyeing one another like a pair of wary wolves. Grace knew she had been foolish to leave the protection of the convent, but she had no intention of compounding that mistake by being easy prey. If she could escape his clutches now, she might have a chance to avoid the fate he intended for her.
Though the trembling inside her had reached epic proportions, she forced herself to remain composed, keeping her breath calm and even. An owl hooted in the night, drawing Roderick’s attention. Deciding this was the only advantage she was likely to get, Grace swiftly pivoted and began to run.
With courage born from desperation she started her nerve-wracking escape, refusing to look left or right as she scurried toward safety. Her chest heaved from her exertion, her legs trembled. As she grew closer to the gate, she increased her speed.
“Sister Joan, open the gate,” Grace cried, no longer worried about waking the others. “Hurry!”
Steeling herself not to turn and waste any seconds by looking behind her, Grace continued to run. She bolted through the door, nearly knocking Sister Joan to the ground.
“Milady!” the nun yelped, as she stumbled against the door.
“Hurry, oh, hurry!” Grace sobbed, slamming the gate. She reached for the heavy plank, dragging it forward, but was unable to lift it without aid. “Help me!”
Blindly, Sister Joan followed her command and the two women successfully barred the gate. Grace pressed her back against it for good measure. Shivering, she pulled her cloak firmly around her body and waited for Roderick’s assault.
Yet there was only an eerie silence. Seconds ticked by, turning gradually into minutes. I’m safe.
The relief was so strong it buckled Grace’s knees. Quivering, she slid against the door until her rump landed on the floor. Sister Joan mimicked her actions and sat beside her. Grateful for the nun’s help, Grace reached over and squeezed her hand.
Terror gave way to relief and then a tiny burst of triumph. She had outwitted Roderick! At least for the moment.
Slightly calmer, Grace reviewed the events carefully in her mind. And her sense of victory rapidly abated as she realized the truth.
The only reason she had managed to escape was because Roderick had allowed it.
Chapter Ten
The early morning sky was dark and ominous as Grace waited in the small courtyard outside the chapel. The nuns were at Mass. From there they would gather to share the morning meal and then begin their daily tasks. Offering no explanation, Grace refused to join them. She had already placed them all in terrible danger—she did not deserve the comfort of their company.
Instead, she stayed outside and paced, awaiting her fate, desperately hoping a way to protect these innocent women would be found. She was unable to see beyond the abbey gates, but the sound of approaching horses was distinct. Many horses. Ears attuned, her body stiffened in alert.
Was it Roderick or Ewan who rode with such purpose? A fit of trembling seized her and she had to fight for control. For several long moments she stared unseeingly ahead with only an occasional shiver of fear racing through her blood. She wiped her cheek as a single tear trickled down it and sniffed to hold off any more. Crying did no good; nay she was beyond it at this point.
The sounds of hoofbeats grew stronger. Grace moved her position so she could see over the gates and sharpened her gaze. A long row of riders approached. Merciful Mary! They were too far away to distinguish either their features or the plaids they wore.
Grace made a fervent sign of the cross and began to pray in earnest, conscious of the fierce pounding of her heart. Though it felt an eternity, it was but a few minutes before the men were close enough to identify. She dipped her chin and squinted, her eyes straining so hard her head hurt.
Finally she caught a glimpse. God be praised! ’Twas Ewan riding in front, leading his men. Grace had never seen a sight so welcome in all her life. She dropped to her knees and finished her prayer. Then fortified by the discovery, she regained her feet and began moving her trembling limbs forward.
The fear she had fought so hard to keep at bay caught her the moment Ewan dismounted. Disregarding any sense of propriety or decorum, Grace broke into a run and flung herself into his arms. Lashing her wrists around his neck, she held him so tightly she could hear the breath being pushed from his lungs.
“Och, lass, not so tight.” He chuckled warmly. “Ye stay one night behind convent walls, then give me such a greeting. I dinnae dare imagine how ye’d react if ye were left here for a week without seeing me.”
“Oh, Ewan.” Her attempt at a laugh came out as a painful moan.
“Are ye cold? Ye’re shaking so hard it’s rattling my bones.”
Grace pulled back, struggling to speak, but couldn’t find her voice. Embarrassed, she turned to hide her tears from Ewan, but he caught her by the shoulders and cradled her against his chest. The final thread of her composure snapped. Curled within the safety of his arms, Grace let the tears flow. She’d tried so hard to be independent and strong, but it was all too much.
For a few minutes she allowed the feeling of protection he imparted to fully embrace her, allowed her terrifying burden to be shared. Just this once, she relinquished her fears and allowed Ewan to be strong for her.
“I was so afraid ye wouldnae come. That ye wouldnae get here in time,” she whispered.
She felt him pull away just enough so he could see her face. “In time fer what?”
“To protect the abbey. To keep the nuns safe.”
Ewan’s gentle eyes searched her face. “Grace, ye are making no sense. Why do the nuns suddenly need protection? Who threatens them?”
“Roderick Ferguson.” As she spoke his name, the desperation she had managed to hold at bay returned. “Ye must stop him, Ewan. Please, I beg ye.”
“What cause does Roderick have to attack the abbey?”
Grace could feel the sweat start to trickle down the middle of her back. Confession might be good for the soul, but she was loath to reveal her shameful secret to anyone, especially Ewan. She took a shaky breath. “Me. He comes fer me.”
“But why?”
Grace fixed her attention on the distant horizon, but she could feel the heavy weight of Ewan’s gaze upon her. “Roderick holds me accountable for Alastair’s death, claiming that he was murdered. He wants me to stand before the Ferguson Clan, admit my guilt, and say that it was all a plot devised by Douglas.”
“Och, lass, no wonder ye’re so distressed.” Ewan pulled her into his arms and squeezed. “Roderick’s lust fer power has addled his wits. No one with any sense will believe that ye are capable of such a heinous act. They will quickly see that Roderick is a fool and his words are lies.”
His words pierced her heart. Ewan never hesitated in his defense of her honor, in his belief of her innocence. If only she deserved it. Reluctantly, she pulled away from the safety of his arms.
“Fool or not, Roderick will have his way. He’s burning with resentment and resolves to have what he believes is his due.” Grace brushed back the hair that had
fallen across her eyes. “Can ye protect the abbey, Ewan? Can ye keep the nuns safe?”
Ewan was quiet for such a long time that her palms started to sweat. “I left most of my best fighting men at Tiree to defend my lands,” he replied. “My small band of warriors are no match fer Roderick’s troops.”
“Aye.” Grace hung her head in despair. Roderick had won. In order to save the nuns, she would have no choice but to go with him. The abbey was too far away for her to get word to her brother in time. Ewan had been her last hope.
She pivoted on her heel, but Ewan clasped her shoulder, preventing her from leaving. “Just because I have far fewer men, does not mean I willnae do everything I can to keep Roderick from harming the abbey. From harming ye.”
Grace exhaled a long breath as her pulse began to race with hope. “But ye are outnumbered. How will ye win?”
“By being clever.”
He flashed a winning smile and Grace felt her heart lighten. She believed him. Even with the odds stacked against him, she knew that Ewan would somehow emerge victorious. “Thank ye.”
A sardonic smile flitted across Ewan’s face. “I said that I would aid ye, and I shall. But I’ve one very important condition.”
“Oh?”
“Once I’ve set a defense for the abbey, ye’ll leave here and come with me to Tiree, Grace. As my wife.”
Her mouth twisted bitterly. ’Twas the same question he had posed to her for nearly two weeks, yet this time it struck her hardest. Those words stirred a deep longing inside her, one she had time and again refused to acknowledge.
She conceded now that under different circumstances she would happily comply with Ewan’s request. Heavens, she might have even been bold enough to suggest it herself. But he deserved a far better woman to stand beside him and share his life than she.
Though it pained her deeply, she knew that she had to reveal the truth—the whole truth. In her sleep-deprived state, the effort to maintain a clear head was exhausting, but this she knew was right. Ewan deserved an explanation, deserved to know the truth, no matter how reluctant she was to reveal it.
Grace rubbed her temples vigorously with the tips of her fingers, almost as if trying to will the correct words into her brain. Then she took a deep breath and spoke. “Roderick has gone witless in his quest fer power. His motives are selfish and self-serving, but there is more.”
Ewan cocked his head. “Grace, we shall talk of this later. I must gather my men and form a plan.”
“Nay! Ye must listen, Ewan. Roderick is not a complete madman. He speaks the truth.” She felt a fluttering churning in the pit of her stomach as she forced out the rest.
“I killed Alastair. I killed my husband.”
Ewan could not have been more shocked if she had announced she had grown wings during the night and could now fly. Killed her husband? Impossible!
Yet her expression was so earnest, her distress very real. Questions rattled and collided in his brain. Why? How? When? Unprepared to hear the answers, Ewan shook them off.
Long an admirer and connoisseur of the fairer sex, Ewan had no doubts a woman was capable of murder. All he need do was look to his own mother and her behavior for that truth.
But Grace? Nay, she was different. Sweet, pure, noble.
“Is that why ye are entering the convent?” he croaked out.
She nodded her chin sharply. “’Tis selfish, I know, but I am repentant fer my sin. Perhaps if I live a good and simple life, if I pray hard and long enough, God will be merciful and forgive me.”
Jesus, it is true! Ewan could hear the tremble in her voice, see the anguished truth in her eyes. But there had to be more. More that she wasn’t telling him. Did Alastair mistreat her? Beat her? Humiliate her? Forsake his marriage vows and take another to his bed? Jealousy was a powerful foe, easily turning heightened emotions into a rage. Is that how it happened? Had Grace been blinded by fury when she did the deed?
“Grace, ye must tell me exactly how this—”
“He’s coming!” Grace screeched. “Listen! Do ye not hear them?”
The courtyard went deathly still. Even the wind ceased to move, heightening the distinct sound. Approaching horses! Ewan was seized by a fit of urgency.
“To me,” he shouted, and his men immediately scrambled to their mounts and unsheathed their swords.
Ewan was debating whether they should face Roderick with swords drawn when he felt another presence near him. He turned and faced the abbess, who gazed up at him questioningly.
“What is happening, Sir Ewan? Why are yer men ready for battle?”
“There is trouble brewing and I propose to stop it.” Seized by an unaccustomed fit of foreboding, Ewan dropped to his knee and bowed his head. “I would ask fer yer blessing in my quest.”
The abbess laid her hand upon his head and closed her eyes in prayer. Ewan silently mouthed the words with her, then stood. As he turned to mount his stallion, he nearly collided with Grace.
“Here,” she said, thrusting an armload of fabric at him.
Ewan drew a short breath. “What is this mess?”
“Plaids,” Grace replied, bending to pick up two that had fallen. “From a few of the nuns and novices. They renounce all their worldly possessions when they enter the order, but the abbess allows those who wish it to keep a small token of their heritage.”
“Grace, I dinnae see—”
“Many nuns of the order are of humble origins or orphans who know nothing of their blood kin,” she interrupted breathlessly. “But others are daughters of noble families, connected to powerful clans. And there are young women who are fostered here, as I was when I was a girl, who have relatives who would avenge any harm that befalls them.”
Bewildered, Ewan stared down at the cloth. He recognized most of the clan colors, even knew some of the clan chiefs, as many of them fought with King Robert.
“These men will stand with me if Roderick threatens their women,” Ewan replied, understanding dawning. “I only wish there had been time to call for their support.”
“Roderick does not know that,” Grace said quietly.
Ewan nodded. “Aye. If I can convince him that others are already riding hard to protect the abbey, and those who reside within its walls, he will think twice about attacking. Clever, lass. This could very well turn the tide in our favor.”
His confidence seemed to divert some of Grace’s distress. She nodded encouragingly. “As for the rest, I understand that ye must withdraw yer offer of marriage after learning of my disgraceful past. Neither of us—”
“Withdraw?” He looked into her shameful eyes and banished any lingering misgivings. “Ye’ll not slip away from me that easily, Grace. Once I’ve dealt with Roderick, I’ll be back fer ye. Inform one of the priests to be at the ready.”
She winced. “Ye cannae be serious?”
“I most certainly am. And ye’d best be waiting fer me, lass. With a welcoming smile on yer lovely face.”
Ewan rode from the abbey with two columns of his men behind him and nearly a dozen plaids stuffed into his saddlebags. It was an uneasy feeling preparing to face an enemy that far outnumbered him, but this was not the first time Ewan had experienced these odds. As a young man he had spent several years successfully raiding the lands of his powerful half brother with a hand-picked group of outlaws. He knew firsthand that greater numbers were not always needed to be victorious.
But they certainly helped.
They traveled farther than Ewan expected and he realized the sound of approaching horses had been misleading—Roderick and his men were several miles away. Through the fog of a misty morning, Ewan could see the lines of men riding in tight ranks. He briefly considered, then discarded, the idea of hiding beneath the cover of the trees and ambushing the lot.
’Twould be a foolish risk that could end badly and would leave Grace, and the abbey, completely unprotected. Nay, negotiation and a wee bit of trickery would carry the day.
Eyes keen and ears alert, Ewan
scouted for an open spot before raising his hand and signaling his men to stop. This action forced the approaching Roderick to do the same, though judging by the scowl on his face, he was none too pleased with the delay.
His reins dangling loosely in one hand, leaving the other free to draw his sword, Ewan approached his adversary. “Have I the honor of addressing Roderick Ferguson?”
A surprised look, followed immediately by a guarded one, darkened Roderick’s bold features. “Who wants to know?”
“Sir Ewan Gilroy.”
“The earl of Kirkland’s bastard?”
There was no missing the disdain in Roderick’s tone, but Ewan refused to be baited. He studied his foe in the bands of cloudy light that dappled through the surrounding trees. Roderick’s bearing was haughty and proud, his weapons finely made. He was heavily muscled and fit and no doubt knew well how to wield the lethal sword slung over his back.
“I’ve heard tell that ye plan to visit the abbey on this fine morn,” Ewan said.
“’Tis no business of yers where my men and I go,” Roderick replied, his face hardening.
Ewan reached into the leather pouch hanging on his saddle and slowly pulled out a plaid with the Dickson colors. He next withdrew one of Clan Wallace and then the Campbells. “Protecting the defenseless has long been my business. ’Tis a trademark of a true Highlander to be passionate about keeping one’s kin safe. ’Tis also very interesting, is it not, to discover how many noble clans have gifted the convent with the presence of a female relation?”
Ewan continued pulling the pieces of fabric out of his bag, until the pommel of his saddle was covered in the brightly woven designs. The visual demonstration had a profound impact. He could see the men lined up behind Roderick shift nervously on their horses. Yet Roderick barely flinched.
“This has nothing to do with ye, Gilroy. I dinnae see the Gilroy colors nor any McKlendon plaid, though I doubt either clan claims ye as their own. Take yer men and ride off and we’ll speak no more of it.”
Ewan tensed. “The Lady Grace is to be my bride. Be forewarned, I hold and protect what is mine.”
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