“I did do it, didn’t I?” he said, sounding amazed.
“You are the best,” she assured him.
He laughed, the sound carefree and joyous.
After that, he was rushed on all sides by well-wishers. They’d enjoyed the fight and even though many had lost a wager against him, the sport was such that there could be no hard feelings. Before Grace knew what anyone was about, Richard was being dragged from her arms and carried away for a pint at the pub, but he shook them off.
He walked back to where McGowan’s manager knelt on the ground, still trying to bring his fighter to his senses. He had McGowan sitting up but the man sat with his head resting on his knees and didn’t appear ready to move any time soon.
“You owe me money,” Richard said.
The manager made a low growling sound in the back of his throat. “You’ve ruined him.”
“Nonsense. He can go on to fight Cribb. No one who is important will know about this.”
“Word has a way of being spread.”
“And you’ll deny it.” Richard held out his hand. “Double the purse for a knocking out, remember? A hundred pounds. I’ll thank you kindly for it.”
At that moment, McGowan came to his senses with a snort and a groan. The manager shrugged Richard off. “I must see to him first.”
Richard took the manager’s arm and brought him to his feet. “I have no desire to interfere with McGowan’s fight with Cribb, but I might change my mind.”
The manager reached into his pocket and pulled out the purse. He began counting money into Richard’s hand.
McGowan lay back on the ground with a groan. Grace was concerned but one of the elderly ladies who had watched the fight told her, “Don’t be worried. It’s his pride that is keeping him down there.”
“You are certain?” she asked, concerned.
The woman made a blowing noise through her lips, dismissing any doubts.
“A hundred pounds,” the manager said, having counted out the money. “Now take off. I never want to see your likes again.”
Richard looked to Grace, both of his hands full of money. He had done it. He’d told her that he would win the fight and he had. Her heart brimmed with pride in him.
And then his gaze slid to the young pregnant couple she had noticed earlier, the ones who the manager had tossed out of the competition because they lacked the fee to compete.
Before Grace knew what Richard was about, he walked over to the couple and, offering them a handful of his winnings, said, “Here, buy something special for your wife and the baby.”
The husband was speechless. “Sir, you, you—”
“You are to be thanked,” said his practical wife. She held out her apron and Richard poured the money into it.
Everyone watching was touched by the gesture. Grace most of all. She’d thought him so wrapped up in the fight he hadn’t noticed earlier the plight of the couple.
Richard looked to the crowd, who now gave him unwavering support. “Is there a pub in this village?”
The answer was a hearty chorus of “ayes.” Someone mentioned the Crown’s Thistle.
“I think we should celebrate. I’m buying the first round.” Richard said. That’s all he needed to say. Such an announcement was met with an even louder shout of approval. Richard took Grace’s arm before they were swept away from each other by the tide of people happy to show him to the pub.
The crowd carried them through the maze of streets to the hewn oak door of the Crown’s Thistle, a public house and inn down the row from St. Nicholas Church. They all squeezed through the door and drinks were quickly poured all around. Richard went up to the bar while Grace lingered by the door.
Two serving girls began filling tankards from a tapped keg as fast as they could. The tankards were picked up and handed around the room to man and woman alike. Even the vicar who had thrown them out of the church was amongst their number. If there were any hard feelings over losing a wager over Richard’s fight, they didn’t appear in evidence as the Scots raised their drinks to salute Richard’s health.
“A good man you have there, missus,” someone said to Grace’s right.
The gent on her left quaffed his ale as he approvingly added, “Knows how to use his fists.”
“Well, I had some worries in the beginning. McGowan leveled him with a powerful blow,” another commented, and talk about the fight was on. It was almost more entertaining than the fight itself.
Richard listened, throwing in a word or two that everyone in the room held their breaths to catch—and from her vantage point, Grace realized he had come the distance. He’d not bothered to retie his natty neck cloth. His jacket was open and the shine had long ago left his boots. But he looked younger and more at ease with himself. No one would call him a prig now, not with two days of whisker shadow on his jaw. It gave him a rough, dashing air, and more than one woman in the room had her eye on him.
The men were all reliving the fight with him. The women closed in around him, caught up in the men’s excitement and in being close to the hero of the hour.
Grace leaned against the door frame and watched Richard bask in being the center of attention, and realized this was what he’d once dreamed of—to be included. He was especially celebrated because apparently from what she could overhear McGowan had not endeared himself to the villagers. During the two days he’d set up camp here, he’d chased their daughters and bullied their merchants into providing him free food, drink, and whatever else had met his fancy.
“He’s already packed and out of here,” a man proclaimed who had just joined them. “His wagon and everything is gone. So here’s to John Bull.” Another round of toasts ensured.
For his part, Richard smiled with modest good humor. He didn’t brag or boast like so many men would have. He let the villagers tell the story of the fight back to him, and they enjoyed every moment of it.
And Grace fell deeper in love.
She’d known many men in her life but this bear of a man with a lawyer’s mind, an accountant’s habits, and a knight’s spirit outshone them all.
At that moment, Richard looked around the room, his brows coming together in concern. He caught sight of her at the doorway and the tension eased. He held out his hand, motioning her forward and bringing the attention of everyone in the room to her—especially that of several comely village girls standing as close to Richard as they could.
A man’s voice called out, “To John Bull’s lady and the bundle of joy that will soon grace their lives.”
Both Richard and Grace were startled until they saw the toast came from the “Chicken Man,” who had given them a ride that morning. He stood against the back wall with a few of his mates.
“Ah, a baby,” one of the matrons interpreted with approval. “Are you bearing, lass?” she asked Grace.
Thankful she still had her cape on, Grace nodded.
Tankards and glasses were lifted higher as toasts had to be announced for the baby. Grace joined Richard, who brought his arm around her shoulder as he offered her a glass of golden ale.
He didn’t move that arm as the toast was repeated but left it resting there with easy possessiveness.
The village girls backed away, losing interest now that they knew he was taken.
“See what happens when you tell a fib?” Grace whispered to Richard.
He laughed, the sound free of his usual tightness. “It’s not such a bad thing, is it?” he offered. “In fact, I like the feeling of having you mine.”
And she liked the idea of being his…but had never thought to hear it from his lips when first they’d started this trip. Words couldn’t form in her mind, other than a desire to throw herself into his arms and tell him to never let her go.
He leaned close to her ear and gave it a kiss, a sign the ale was having its effect. “Don’t tell me I have shocked Grace MacEachin?” He sighed and said with the candor of ale, “I can’t help myself, Grace. Every time I look at you I turn buffle-headed.”
“Buffle-headed?”
“You know what I mean.”
She did.
“I turn buffle-headed around you, too,” she confessed.
Time stopped.
The crowd, the noise, the drinking good humor around them faded.
There was just him.
He brought his other arm around her, hugged her close. He understood. He knew…because he felt the same?
His lips brushed her hair. Several women cooed an “ah,” and someone murmured, “That’s so sweet.”
A man standing close said, “Here, mate, have another drink before you do something you’ll regret.” His wit was met with several guffaws over how he already had done something he’d regret. Married humor, the sort couples with longstanding affection understood.
She, Grace MacEachin, was part of that conversation.
Richard wasn’t the only one to have his life changed this trip.
A yawn escaped her.
“It’s been a long day,” Richard murmured.
She nodded. “You are holding me up.” But she wasn’t thinking about sleep.
A glance up at the look in his eye told her he wasn’t either.
“Come along,” he said. “Ladies, gentleman, good night,” he announced.
They didn’t want him to leave, convinced him to have just one more ale. Some of the lads that had more than their fill started to follow them out the door, but Richard gently pushed them back.
In the hallway, they came upon a red-haired woman with two chins wearing a mob cap and a clean apron over her dress. A set of keys was at her waist. Earlier, she’d been in the taproom serving drinks.
“Excuse me,” Richard asked. “I need to see the innkeeper about a room.”
“You are looking at him, or her,” the woman said with a smile. “I’m Mrs. Fraley. I prefer being called an inn mistress over innkeeper.”
“Well, inn mistress,” Richard said with the good humor of ale, “we need a room. Do you have one available with hot bath, soap and razor, a good comfortable bed?”
Mrs. Fraley laughed. “I believe I do.”
“Is the bath big enough for two?” Grace wondered. At the other woman’s raised eyebrows, she explained, “My husband”—how sweet those words were—“is a good-sized man.”
The inn mistress nodded agreement. “Aye. As of fact, my late husband was a good-sized man. I happen to have such a tub. Come along.”
“We’d like a good meal, too,” Richard said.
“Roast duck?” the inn mistress suggested.
“Perfect,” Richard answered.
“One moment please,” Mrs. Fraley said and disappeared down the back hall. When she returned, she said, “We have the water heating for your bath and the girls will be up with the tub soon.”
“I can carry it up,” Richard offered.
“Absolutely not. You are our guest of honor,” Mrs. Fraley said, indicating they should follow her up the stairs. “Business has not been so brisk,” she confided. “’Tis a good thing you came to town, sir. We’ve not come together for a good evening at the pub for a long time.”
“Why is that?” Grace asked. The pub was the center of village life.
“The times,” Mrs. Fraley answered. “The world is changing. The old ways no longer matter the way they once did. The landowners talk about raising sheep instead of taking care of their kinsman. But then, missus, you are Scottish and know what I mean. Ah, now, here we are,” she said as she stopped at a door. She used one of the keys on the ring tied to her waist and opened the door on a charming room that made Grace gasp in delight.
A lovely four-poster bed covered in a blue counterpane and stacked with several large feather pillows took up a good amount of the floor space. In one corner were two upholstered chairs beside a small side table. Mrs. Fraley lit the lamp on the table and then went to work lighting the fire in the grate.
There was a knock at the door and a serving girl entered with a covered tray full of delicious-smelling food and a stoneware jug. Grace’s knees went weak from hunger. It had been a while since they’d had a decent meal.
Behind the girl came a hired man carrying a huge ornate tub.
“Set it in front of the fire, Olin,” Mrs. Fraley instructed. “And go fetch the water.”
Within twenty minutes, Olin had carried enough buckets up and down the stairs to fill the tub full of steaming water. Mrs. Fraley provided milled soap scented with roses, a razor, and linen towels. She smiled as she closed the door on Grace and Richard.
Grace poured each of them a glass of cider from the stoneware jug. She now raised it in a salute to Richard. “To Sir Galahad.”
He laughed at her reference and set down his glass. Placing his arms around her waist, he drew her to him. “I fear I’m no celibate.” His arousal, strong and insistent between them, gave proof to his words.
She set down her own glass and looked up to him, so full of love she could have burst from it.
“Very well,” she said softly. “So what shall it be first—the bath and shave, dinner or—”
She stepped back, reached behind and unlaced her dress, letting it fall to her ankles before she finished her question. “Or do you want me first?”
Grace knew the answer she wanted. Her body ached to join with his.
And to her everlasting gratitude, he came straight to her.
Chapter Seventeen
Richard was a God-fearing man, but he had not expected God to bless him. He prayed but hadn’t believed in divine intervention or that God truly knew his deepest secrets, his doubts, his wants—until now.
Taking Grace in his arms, having her cling to him as tightly as he held her made him realize how deeply he’d lacked faith. Her love defied rational explanation. He was a lump of a man, full of human failings. She’d seen him at his worst and at his best—and loved him anyway.
And if that wasn’t a gift from God, Richard didn’t know what else could be.
He carried her to the bed. They didn’t speak as they undressed each other. He was so nervous his fingers shook. She seemed just as anxious.
They worked together. While he unlaced the back of her bodice, the one she’d ripped from her skirt to save his life, she unbuttoned his breeches. Throwing their clothes to the floor, he leaned Grace back on the bed.
She was so very precious to him. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her chin, the curve of her breast. Her lips curved into a smile. Her hands ran down his arms, over his chest, along his side.
Richard took his time making love to her. They’d been through so much together. In the short span of their acquaintance, he’d come to know her almost better than he knew himself…and that’s because he loved her.
Her legs parted, cradling him. Richard reached for her hand. He pressed a kiss in her palm, closing her fingers over it before slowly sliding himself inside her.
Grace’s eyes widened and then her lashes lowered as she made a satisfied sound. “My man,” she murmured.
He leaned over her, brushing a stray curl back from her cheek. She turned, kissed his hand, and he said what was in his heart. “I love you, Grace. I adore you.”
Tears came to her eyes. Richard wasn’t certain what he’d done. He’d upset her. He’d held very still, enjoying the sensation of being joined with her, but now, he started to pull out. She stopped him, her hand on the back of his neck.
“Don’t you dare stop now,” she warned. “We’re only beginning.” She began moving her hips, letting him know what she wanted, and he was only too happy to oblige.
Together they moved, his rhythm matching hers.
“What did you say to me?” she whispered in his ear. “Please tell me.”
“I love you, Grace. I love you, I love you.”
She purred at what he was saying as if she could not hear it enough. The intensity built between the two of them, and he realized this was what making love was. It wasn’t just the coupling. It was this need to be closer, to share not only their bodie
s but also their lives.
There were no barriers between them. The act of sex was no longer about lust, but about giving. Not about desire, but about sharing. Not about that moment of release, but about that moment of life, of creation.
Richard felt the quickening inside her. Deep muscles tightened, held him, melded with him. Her eyes had closed, her lips parted as she drew a deep wavering breath, and he didn’t think she could ever be more beautiful to him.
He found his own release. He buried himself deep, losing his mind, his soul, his very being, in the wonder of her.
This was his woman. The one he wanted by his side forever.
She’d branded him. Marked him. He’d never stray. In this moment, he was hers.
Grace held Richard tight.
She’d not known the act of mating could be like this.
It wasn’t just that her body joined with his. There was more. They fit together. He, a giant of a man, and she, as petite as they come—they meshed like pieces of a puzzle. And it wasn’t just their bodies that perfectly connected. Their minds and hearts were in harmony, too.
At last, she understood. Life, her life, suddenly made sense.
Grace had been looking for him. All her experiences, all the trials, the evils, the small successes had been bringing her closer to him—and to being the woman he needed, too.
She loved him.
And miracle of miracles, he loved her, too.
The world came back into focus in that persistent way. She melted into the comfortable softness of the mattress, playing with his hair, stroking it. His weight felt good on her.
He raised himself up to look down at her. Their noses were inches from each other. He smiled. She smiled back.
“I love you,” he said.
Grace could have laughed with happiness and that wonderful sense of completion. “I have never loved anyone,” she said. “But I love you, Richard Lynsted. I love you with all my being.”
“You must,” he agreed. “You’ve put up with my whiskers.”
She ran the back of her fingers along this jaw. He turned his head and kissed them. “Let’s have a bath now,” Grace suggested. “And then I’ll give you a shave.”
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