Bride of a Scottish Warrior

by Adrienne Basso

  Roderick did not betray an ounce of surprise. Instead, he reached down and patted the neck of his dancing horse, his smile gleaming much too brightly. “I warn ye to tread lightly. My brother met a gruesome end with Lady Grace as his wife.”

  Ewan cocked his head, feigning puzzlement. “Sir Alastair’s death had naught to do with my lady. Or do ye have proof to the contrary ye wish to share?”

  Ewan knew it was a risk provoking Roderick, but it was obvious if the man had any sort of proof of the deed, he would have used it, instead of threatening Grace to confess.

  Roderick lifted his eyes skyward and laughed. “She is a comely lass. I’ve heard tell that a woman’s beauty can rob a man’s mind of wit and thus she has bewitched ye with her pretty smiles and innocent looks. If ye value yer life, ye’ll turn tail and run as fast as yer horse can carry ye away from her.”

  “I need no advice from ye.” Ewan allowed himself but a few words. To say more would prolong the conversation and he wanted to avoid having Roderick voice his vile allegations against Grace publicly.

  Roderick stared back at him with an inscrutable expression. Ewan clenched his hand as his foe shifted in the saddle, waiting for him to draw his sword. Indeed, almost wishing for it, as it would give Ewan the chance to end it all and run him through.

  But Roderick paused, seeming to weigh his options. His eyes drifted down at the plaids, then narrowed. “This is far from over, Gilroy,” Roderick snarled as he turned his horse and spurred the animal into a full gallop.

  His men followed, a long line of sturdy horseflesh, a budding army that would one day prove formidable. Ewan waited until the dust had settled before guiding his stallion around and heading back to the abbey.

  Back to his bride.

  The courtyard was empty when Ewan and his men rode through the open abbey gates. For an instant Ewan feared he had been tricked, that somehow Roderick had circled around and attacked the defenseless convent, but then the chapel door slowly creaked open. The abbess poked her head out, then turned and spoke to whoever else was hiding with her.

  The women calmly filed outside, their heads bowed, their hands clasped. A tidy row of brown wrens, along with his own gray dove. He dismounted and looked over at Grace. “Milady?”

  She straightened and met his gaze, her chin up, her back stiff, as if she faced an executioner. “Has Roderick gone?”

  “Fer now. But I’ve no doubt he’ll return. ’Tis imperative that ye not be here when that happens.”

  “I beg yer pardon fer eavesdropping, but I overheard yer request for a priest,” the abbess interjected. “If ye still desire to be wed, Father Mark is glad to oblige.”

  “I must speak with Sir Ewan privately,” Grace insisted, her voice high and tight with agitation.

  The abbess looked to him for approval and Ewan nodded. At her signal, everyone melted away.

  “One of my men is riding hard to reach the Westland Keep, as it is the closest fortress,” Ewan said. “The Wallace Clan will guard the abbey and speak with the other clans to ensure it is protected.”

  “What will ye tell them?”

  “That Roderick bears an unfounded grudge against my bride and has threatened the nuns.”

  “’Tis a lie.” She took a step closer to him and he immediately noticed the sadness in her eyes. “I am not innocent.”

  Ewan sighed. “The past is over, Grace. I care naught for it.”

  His words seemed to snap her composure. She let out a sharp shriek. “Are ye truly that desperate fer my dowry that ye’ll turn a blind eye to the reality of my past? Merciful heavens, ye cannae simply ignore the truth because it doesn’t suit ye, Ewan.”

  She paced back and forth as she spoke, flaying her arms in distress. Ewan grasped one. Turning it palm up, he gazed at the soft, delicate center and long, tapered fingers. By all the saints, this could not be the hand of a cold, bloody murderess.

  “How did it happen, Grace? Did ye run him through with a dirk? Smother him with a pillow? Pay another to accomplish the deed?”

  Grace froze. Her eyes widened in horror and he regretted causing her this pain, but he realized she was right. The past could not be laid to rest until they confronted it. Together.

  “Alastair died by my hand,” she whispered. “I, and I alone bear the guilt.”

  Ewan felt a rising tide of panic. Truth could be ugly and unforgiving. Was he truly prepared to hear it?

  “Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

  She shook her head violently. “Nay, there’s no point.”

  “Tell me.”

  She took a deep breath, then folded her arms. Foot tapping, she stared at him with hard eyes, but he refused to be denied. Finally, she sighed and lowered her chin.

  “Alastair was gored by a wild boar while hunting,” Grace said quietly. “The wound slashed his leg down to the bone in several places. It became putrid, the flesh rotting, dying. No matter what medicines were used, what care he was given, the wound would not heal.

  “Roderick brought a monk from Turriff Monastery to tend him, but it made little difference. Alastair grew worse each day, each week. The fever raged, his body weakened, he was in agonizing pain. The monk wanted to amputate his leg, yet he admitted there was but a slim chance that would save his life. Alastair begged me to prevent it, begged me to allow him to die in peace, as a whole man.”

  “What did ye do?”

  She looked at him a moment. Her eyes filled with tears, yet she made no motion to brush them away. “I stole the medicine from Brother John. Small amounts over several days, so he would not notice any was missing. Then one evening I poured it in Alastair’s wine.”

  “Did Alastair know?”

  “Aye. His mind would drift in and out of consciousness. I needed to wait for a lucid moment so I could ask him one more time, if he truly wanted to end his life. He assured me that was his final wish.

  “He was so weak. I brought in extra pillows and stacked them high so he could sit upright. He couldnae reach the goblet, so I placed it in his hand.” Her voice choked. The tears flowed freely now, creating a dampness on the front of her gown. “I’ll never know where he found the strength to hold the vessel to his mouth, but somehow he managed. The goblet fell from his fingers the moment it was empty. I placed it on the table beside his bed.”

  “Did he die quickly?”

  “It felt like an eternity, though in truth it was no more than twenty minutes. I knelt at his bedside, held his hand, and prayed. His breathing grew shallow, slowed, then stopped. That’s when I knew it was over, when I fully realized what I had done.”

  Ewan closed his eyes. His sense of relief was so strong he felt guilty for harboring even a shred of doubt. From the first he had seen the kindness in Grace’s heart, had glimpsed the goodness of her soul. The mere fact that she harbored such a strong sense of guilt over her actions spoke to her character.

  Grace shifted her feet as she waited for Ewan’s judgment, his condemnation, knowing it was going to hurt. He would be horrified, shocked, repulsed by her and her deeds. There would be no more talk of marriage. He would forsake her now, turn and stalk away.

  She wanted to escape, to run away and hide, yet she knew that her past would always follow. So instead she wiped the tears from her face, the moisture dripping from her nose, straightened her spine, and squared her shoulders.

  She risked a quick glance at Ewan, then she wished that she had not given in to the temptation. He was staring at her wide-eyed, his face pulled in surprise. She swore she could see the puzzle pieces moving around in his mind as he digested what she had told him.

  Ewan took her hands in his and stared into her eyes. Grace’s knees started to buckle when she realized there was gentleness and kindness reflected in his expression. He did not think she was a monster!

  “Ye do not condemn me?” she whispered.

  “I’ve no right to pass judgment on ye, Grace, nor to offer forgiveness. That is between ye and the good Lord. But I can say that I hones
tly believe ye did the right thing. Ye acted with courage and humanity. Ye dinnae allow yer husband to live in unbearable and increasing pain. Instead, ye gave Alastair precisely what he asked of ye—the gift of a peaceful death.”

  Grace stared at Ewan in wonder. Feelings welled up inside her. She still believed her actions had been sinful, yet the greatest part of her guilt had always been knowing she carried no regrets for what she had done. It had been a difficult, heart-wrenching choice, yet given the same set of circumstances a second time, she would make the same choice.

  “He gave me his blessing,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  It was hard to speak, because her voice had swelled so tightly with emotion. Grace swallowed and repeated the words. “As he died, Alastair opened his eyes a final time, thanked me, and gave me his blessing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ewan said. “I’m sorry that ye were ever put in such a moral quandary, yet I’m proud of ye, lass. For being so courageous. Proud, too, that ye finally yielded yer trust to me and revealed the truth.”

  Grace couldn’t speak. She could only nod. He was a good man, who had treated her far better than she had ever dared hope. He opened his arms and she moved into his embrace. He was strong, solid—the kind of man who made a woman feel safe and protected.

  She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, far calmer than her own. Ewan tilted her chin up so she could see his face. His blue eyes were searing with intensity.

  Though she was expecting it, his kiss startled her. The comforting scent of his body filled her being, soothed her soul. He kissed her slowly, as if they had all the time in the world to savor each moment, brushing her mouth gently with his, moving back and forth so slowly it ignited a fire low in her belly.

  “Grace,” he breathed, slipping one hand around her neck. The deep, husky sound of his voice made every nerve within her dance on end. He kissed her again, deeply, and when he was done she was shaking from head to toe.

  Ewan drew his head back, his strong hand still cupping the back of her neck. He searched her face intently and he must have been pleased with what he found, for he smiled broadly.

  “So, I’ll ask ye one final time. Will ye wed me, Grace?”

  The moment hovered between them, full of possibilities. It stretched into a future that Grace never believed was possible and she felt humbled by it. A second chance. ’Twas here, within her grasp. All she need do was reach for it.

  Did she dare?

  “Aye, I’ll marry ye, Ewan. And I vow that I shall honor ye, care fer ye, and work tirelessly to please ye. And I shall do everything within my power to be the best wife in all the land.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Grace’s fervent vow to be the best wife in all the land was put to the test immediately. And by the fourth night of her married life, she had true doubts in her ability to fulfill that promise. Or retain her sanity. All that she thought she knew was false; all that she believed to be true made no sense. And somehow in the confusion of it all, Ewan had become a stranger to her.

  She had been filled with hope as she stood beside him in front of the chapel doors and recited her vows, clutching a wilting bouquet of wildflowers that one of the novices had presented to her.

  A rather solemn gathering of women from the convent and Ewan’s soldiers gathered to witness the event. Father Mark led the brief service, his face pale, his hands slightly trembling. Grace was uncertain if that was a result of the priest’s age or his opinion of her hasty, unexpected marriage.

  No matter. The deed was soon accomplished, a blessing delivered, and then Ewan vanished, shouting at his men to stand guard. Tensions mounted as everyone waited for the Campbells to arrive, secretly fearing that Roderick might decide to return.

  A hearty cheer went up when the captain of the Campbell guard led his men through the abbey gates. It was the only demonstration of merriment the entire day and Grace repeatedly told herself that was not a reflection of her wedding, but rather a reaction to the relief they all felt. With the arrival of the Campbells, the danger that Roderick had posed was no longer an imminent threat.

  Freed of his obligation to protect the abbey, Ewan elected to depart, despite the lateness of the hour. Grace would have appreciated being asked her opinion of this plan, but as there was no chance for a private discussion, she decided not to voice her objections. They set out at a grueling pace, spending the first night camped on the edge of a small river, the second in a glen surrounded by tall trees, the third in a shallow valley.

  And each night, Grace slept alone.

  The situation left her completely dumbfounded. She was not so vain as to exaggerate her feminine appeal, but she knew that Ewan found her desirable. His kisses before they were wed had been passionate and eager. She had felt the physical proof of his desire pressing hotly against her on more than one occasion, had seen a gleam of seduction in his eyes directed her way.

  Yet somehow, once she became his wife all that changed. Ewan was polite, respectful, and decidedly distant. He rode with his men, took his meals surrounded by them, conversed with them. Grace was always included—protected on all sides when they traveled, given the warmest spot in front of the evening fire, encouraged to join in the mealtime conversation.

  Yet she was rarely alone with her husband, most notably throughout the long night. It was a disturbing situation that she pondered for hours each day as they rode through the hills and valleys, pressing farther north and home to Tiree. It nagged at her mind constantly as she wondered how things had gone so wrong.

  Wondered, too, how she could fix them.

  Weary from another long day in the saddle, Grace entered her tent, Edna by her side. Candles and lanterns had been lit, bathing the interior in a soft, golden glow. Grace slowly drew off her leather gloves and surveyed her surroundings, immediately noting that someone had made an effort to improve the crude furnishings and make the tent more inviting. Ewan?

  Her heart surged with hope at the notion, but she realistically dismissed it. Most likely it was Alec who had gone to the trouble of making her comfortable—and he had done a fine job.

  Three large rugs cushioned the majority of the dirt floor while lengths of gossamer fabric had been draped from the pole supports to cover the canvas walls. They added a splash of color and elegance and a surprising air of romance. There was a table and two chairs in one corner and a raised bed covered in luxurious furs in another.

  “How did they ever find a bed that size around here?” Edna asked in astonishment. “And how did they get something that large through the much smaller tent opening?”

  Grace eyed the tent flap and shrugged. “They must have erected the tent around it.”

  She stepped forward, running her fingers over the soft pelts, then pushed downward, testing the firmness of the straw mattress. Perfect. Firm, yet there was some give. Two pillows, side by side, were placed at the top of the bed. Grace inhaled. The intimate setting brought on a rush of longing, and a stark reminder of what was missing in her marriage. Turning away, she caught sight of the final item filling the tent—a round, wooden tub.

  “Och, how marvelous,” she cried. Though it had only been a week, it felt far longer since she had been able to take a proper bath. She had made due with washing from a basin of cold water each morning and evening. Adequate, but not ideal.

  Edna eyed the tub dubiously. “Ye cannae be thinking of bathing in here? Ye’ll catch yer death of cold.”

  “Not if the water is heated,” Grace replied. “It will warm me through.”

  “Ye’ve a husband now to keep ye warm,” Edna clucked.

  Aye, a husband. A husband who has little interest in sharing my bed.

  Ewan had not openly confessed his regret at their marriage to her, but his actions spoke for themselves. Thinking about it brought a sinking sensation to the pit of Grace’s stomach. Feeling agitated, she twisted a bit of fabric at the end of her sleeve until it grew tight around her wrist, bringing numbness to her hand.
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  Why had everything changed so suddenly? When Father Mark had said the final blessing at their marriage ceremony, an odd sense of rebirth had washed over Grace. If not for Ewan, she would have spent the rest of her days locked behind the walls of the abbey. Instead, she was being given the hope of a new life and a partner with which to share it.

  Abruptly she let go of the fabric. Her fingers tingled as the blood once again rushed through her veins.

  “I believe a hot bath is exactly what I need to shake off this melancholy,” Grace said decisively. “Instruct my husband’s man-at-arms to have the tub filled with hot water as soon as possible.”

  Edna snorted with disapproval, but a glare from Grace had the maid following orders, though she grumbled with every step.

  In little more than an hour a seemingly endless line of men arrived, a bucket of hot water in each hand. In no time the tub was more than half full. Billowing clouds of steam rose invitingly from the water and moved through the tent.

  As Edna continued fretting and clucking her tongue in worried disapproval, Grace disrobed, then twisted her hair into a knot and pinned it atop her head. The sides of the tent shook as a breeze blew. Feeling chilled, Grace scrambled to the tub.

  Gingerly, she dipped her toe into the water, gasping at the heat. Knowing she would get no sympathy from Edna, Grace stalled for time. She scampered back to her small trunk, impatiently shuffling through the contents until she found a sack of dried herbs.

  She tossed them into the water, grit her teeth, stepped into the tub, and quickly sat down. The water rose to her shoulders. Hunching forward, Grace tucked her knees under her chin and took a deep breath while she waited for the temperature to become bearable.

  “Shall I scrub yer back?” Edna asked.

  “Nay,” Grace answered, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. ’Twas odd that the extreme heat would cause such a reaction, but she knew the water would cool and be far more comfortable soon. “Just leave the pot of soap and washrag within my reach.”