Love in Ruins

by Erin Grace

At his abrupt comment, her simmering interest cooled into frosty defiance.

  "You think to—to make love to me right now, after that wonderful greeting? I don't think so!"

  She pushed back the furs and jumped out of the bed. If it was a fight he was after, she'd preferred to be standing face to face with him. She glanced up sharply and met his piercing glower. A lump formed in her throat.

  Well, at least she would be standing.

  "Why are you so angry? Isn't it acceptable for me to send you a message? It's not like I can email or you anything."

  "Ee-male?"

  "Never mind. The point is, you took off so suddenly yesterday, I didn't even had a chance to talk to you about what was going on. I merely wrote that I had some theories about your father, and what was happening with the land. I didn't beg you to drop everything and come back. Besides, I was worried about you. I thought you might have been in danger in the MacTavish keep."

  His chest heaved as the last of his garments slid to the floor.

  Scorching fire curled her toes, then rushed up along her body at the sight of him. He never did seem the least bit uncomfortable about getting naked. Typical.

  "You have to understand, Ellie. Danger is everywhere here. It's nae something I can avoid. I can’t have Liam, or anyone else, paging me from ma duties like I'm some kind of weak soul tethered to ma wife's apron strings."

  His words stung like a slap in the face.

  "You think that caring about me is a symbol of weakness, do you?"

  "Dinna twist ma words, woman."

  Her fists clenched. "I'll twist your bloody neck if you're not careful!"

  "Ellie . . . ."

  "Fine. Sorry I bothered you. Go back to your meeting and tell them all that you really put me in my place—And, bounced me off a few walls for good measure."

  A glint of hurt flickered in his eyes.

  "You honestly think I would ever raise a hand to you?"

  As Ewan bent down and scooped up his wayward plaid and shirt, she sat down on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes and released a deep sigh.

  She jumped at the sound of a door being slammed shut.

  Shit. Where was chocolate when she needed it?

  Chapter 22

  Through bleary eyes, Ellie watched the first pale rays of sunshine light up the morning sky.

  She'd barely slept a wink since Ewan stormed out of their room.

  For a while, she'd paced the floor, half expecting him to walk through the door at any moment and resume their shouting match.

  But he didn't.

  That in itself had caused her chest to ache in such a way she hadn't felt for a very long time—since her parents' accident. Blasted man! Everything was such a mess.

  What she wouldn't give for a coffee and catch up with some girlfriends. Though she couldn't claim to be the most social person at university, she did have a few colleagues she could vent her frustrations or share a laugh with.

  Now, she'd never felt more alone.

  At the sound of the bedroom door creaking, she wiped her eyes and pulled the covers tight around.

  She refused to let Ewan see her cry.

  If he expected her to be a tough Highland woman, then that's what he'd get—just as soon as she stopped shaking inside.

  The soft thud of clothing hitting the floor made her heartbeat race, head giddy. She swallowed and inhaled a deep breath.

  No. If he thought he could just come in here and try to make up for being such a bastard, he could think again.

  As the furs were lifted beside her, a cool trickle of morning air slipped in and sent goose bumps dancing across her skin. Flames of anticipation licked over her traitorous body, as heat pooled in her belly. Hell. How was she going to stay angry with him at this rate?

  Her frame shook with pleasure at the sudden touch of his hand on her thigh. It seemed her rational thought was fast losing the argument. And as a cluster of beautiful golden wildflowers came into view, she couldn't help a smile from creeping to her lips.

  Nothing said 'sorry' like a bunch of toxic yellow oxytropis.

  As Angus and several of the soldiers mounted up to leave for the MacTavish Keep, Ewan adjusted the pack on his horse and glanced at his sleepy wife yawning by the stone wall of the bailey. A sly smile of satisfaction curled at the edge of his mouth. Though he'd never actually apologized for the argument last night, he'd let her know just how sorry he was—twice.

  Just the thought of how damn good she felt as he'd entered her made every muscle in his body harden into rock.

  He shuddered and adjusted his plaid.

  If he didn't leave now, he'd have her back in their room within moments.

  "Ewan?" Her hand touched his arm, and he turned around. "Please be careful, okay? I know you're not afraid of anything, but I am."

  At her soft words, his heart melted. He'd never had anyone care so much for him—and only him.

  He reached out and touched under her chin, tilting her head up enough to allow his mouth to take hers in a deep and satisfying kiss. Soft moans from her throat sent burning sparks of desire hurtling through his body, threatening to ignite his need to take her once more.

  He couldn't return from his task soon enough.

  He pulled away from her lips, gazed down into her cool green eyes, and brushed a fiery red curl from her sweet face.

  Aye, but he did love her.

  His chest tightened at the frank admission, fearful that to all around him he was as transparent as spring water.

  He swallowed, then turned back to his horse. "David will see to your protection while I'm away. And before you think to argue with me . . . ."

  "I won't argue with you." Her beaming smile caught him off guard, making him realize what a truly beautiful woman she was. Hell. He was caught in her web; no doubt about it. Love would be the ruin of him.

  "But—"

  He let out a deep sigh as he mounted his horse. He'd expected there would be a catch.

  "—I would like you to allow me to go outside the keep. I promise David can accompany me; I won't go far."

  Lord, the lass was testing his resolve.

  He raised an eyebrow. "How far?"

  Why did he get the feeling he'd regret this?

  Her face lit up. "Just down to the lake. The cook was complaining about how the fish died again. I just want to see for myself and examine the water. I promise not to go swimming. After my dip trying to save Rory, I much prefer bathing indoors in a warm tub."

  He smiled at the thought of her naked body glistening with softly scented water as she bathed before a blazing hearth.

  He cleared his throat and shifted on his mount, his growing erection making it most uncomfortable indeed.

  "Verra well. But only as far as the lake. And David is to accompany you at all times. Make certain to return well before dark, do you understand?"

  She nodded.

  He leaned down to her. "And I fully expect to bathe with you soon, nymph. You shall have a tub ready in our chamber upon ma return in two days."

  Color rose to her cheeks as she winked at him.

  With Angus grinning and his smirking men looking on, Ewan shouted out the command to leave. His party made their way through the bailey and out the gate. He had four hours of hard riding ahead to cool his riled passion.

  Unable to resist, he glanced back and saw Ellie still waving goodbye.

  Christ. Love would be the death of him. Aye, but he would die a happy man.

  David stood on the edge of the bank, poking several floating fish with a long stick. According to the cook, they had begun dying about two days ago. Now almost the entire lake's surface was covered with bloated little bodies of not only fish, but frogs and other aquatic life.

  Such a tragic waste.

  Ellie wandered along the water's edge, gasping in dismay at the lifeless forms of various waterfowl stuck in the slimy mud.

  "This happens at least once a year." David's rolling brogue broke the stillness. "We dinna know w
hy. At first we thought of poisoning, but it is such a large lake, it can’t be possible. Besides, it's been happening for so many years, since—"

  "Since the night of the pagan priest's deaths?" She squatted down beside some fish that had washed up onto the bank. They were covered in a translucent greenish-yellow substance that looked familiar.

  "You know of the curse, ma Lady?"

  "I know of the incident when Laird MacKinnon's wife was . . . killed. But I'm afraid I don't believe in curses."

  As an historian and archaeologist, she'd become accustomed to being surrounded by the classic tales of curses and urban legend—everything from Egyptian mummies responsible for mysterious illness and death of their discoverers, to booby-trapped treasures buried deep in the Amazon that claimed the lives of ill-fated explores.

  All superstitious nonsense.

  She gazed out on to the lake, angered by the sight of a fine, oily residue that created a rainbow-like sheen upon the water's surface.

  No. Whatever the mystery here, it had a very real, scientific explanation behind it.

  "What are you doing, ma Lady?"

  Ellie turned with a start at the sound of Father Gregory's voice. "Father, don't do that! You frightened me."

  The poor priest blushed a burning crimson.

  "Ma apologies, I hadn’t meant to catch you unawares. Is there anything I may do to help you?"

  She'd been examining one of Father Martin's bags of herbs, when an idea came to mind. "Father Gregory, how many clans did father Martin visit as part of his area while he was here?"

  "Oh, at least six that I'm aware of. And now that I have taken his place, I'll too be travelling to pay them all a visit. I'm afraid there is nae many of us to go round in these parts."

  She smiled, pleased his answer had validated some of her hypothesis.

  "And do you know much about this 'curse' everyone talks of?"

  The priest paled a little.

  "Aye. Father Martin informed me of the troubles faced here. But, as a servant of the Holy church, I don’t believe in any pagan curses. If the people of these lands are suffering from such maladies, then they should be looking to see how they have angered God, and how they can redeem themselves in his eyes. For only He can make the lands whole again and bring back their crops and game."

  Perhaps. Though, it seemed just a little too coincidental that all the lands visited by the former priest faced the same problems as the MacKinnon clan.

  "Thank you, Father Gregory." She stood, then glanced back at the man. "Is Father Martin still in these parts?"

  "Aye. I believe so. He insisted upon visiting each of his clans before retiring to the abbey. Such a dedicated man."

  "Yes, he's a real saint." Confusion swept over the young priest's face. "Never mind. You wouldn't happen to know where he would be right now?"

  "Well, I can’t be perfectly sure. But he did mention that he would be visiting the clan MacTavish first. He may well still be there."

  A cold, hollow sensation filled her chest, making it hard to breathe as the name spilled from her lips. "MacTavish."

  "Are you well, ma Lady?"

  Catching her breath, she nodded. "Yes, thank you. I'll be fine."

  At least she would be, as soon as she got to Ewan.

  The loud sound of a familiar voice drew her to the small window overlooking the bailey. On tiptoe she peered out into the darkening courtyard to find Liam arguing with one of the MacKinnon soldiers.

  He must be returning with his uncle's horse.

  Without a word of explanation, she left the chapel and dashed across the hall toward the bailey.

  As she stepped outside, Liam was just mounting his horse. "Liam, wait."

  He smiled, obviously pleased to see her.

  And she was pleased to see him in one piece—literally. She knew the danger he'd faced by delivering her message to Ewan. Nothing and no one would have stopped her husband from finishing what he'd begun to the poor man, if given the opportunity.

  But, again, she needed his help.

  Liam dismounted and stepped forward to greet her.

  "You should be inside, ma Lady. Summer is near finished, and the nights are growing colder."

  "Don't worry, cold doesn't bother me." A shudder raced up her spine the moment she said it.

  Liar.

  She glanced around making certain no one was standing too close to listen. "Can you tell me, Liam, the direction of the MacTavish keep?"

  His brow furrowed, then he crossed his arms and scowled in that way that made him look like Ewan.

  Okay. So he wasn't stupid.

  "Sorry, ma Lady. What you are suggesting is a fast way to get me killed. Ewan would have me split into sixes if I took you to him."

  She shook her head. "No, you misunderstand. I wouldn't dream of asking you to take me. You have helped me quite enough. All I need is the directions. I'm sure I can borrow a horse form the stables."

  He let out a woeful groan.

  "Perhaps, ma cousin did me a great favor by marrying you first. I'm nae sure I'd like to be tethered to such a willful wench."

  She smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now, the directions? I have to get going."

  "But haven't you just seen your husband this morning?"

  Warmth rushed to her cheeks.

  Oh, yes. She'd seen, touched, and tasted almost every inch of the scoundrel. Ewan was proving to be an insatiable lover.

  She cleared her throat. "Yes, I did see him, but some vital new information has come to light, and I feel he should know about it."

  "Surely, it can wait 'til he returns?"

  "No, it can't. I appreciate your concern, Liam, but I've made up my mind. Look, the worse that can happen is that I may be wrong in my suspicions. If so, I will bear the brunt of Ewan's temper."

  He stood there, clearly unconvinced.

  "Aye, I'm sure that is all that'll happen to you."

  "You are?"

  "Certainly . . . After he's finished turning ma hide into a saddle, he'll nae have the strength perhaps to paddle your backside."

  Chapter 23

  Silence hung like a dark specter within the dimly lit hall of the MacTavish keep, making Ewan unusually on edge. What should have been cause for celebration had instead been shrouded in tense, even hostile, negotiations between his clan and the MacTavish. Feeling the frustration of futile hours of haggling, Ewan turned to his uncle, who was in the midst of finishing his fifth mug of ale that evening.

  A loud belch resonated throughout the room.

  The man wasn't being very helpful, though Ewan hadn't really expected him to be. MacPherson's presence was merely a distraction to allow him to investigate his suspicions about MacTavish further. For too long he'd allowed it to be taken for granted that Douglas was his father's oldest friend and, therefore, above any serious suspicion.

  But even friends can change.

  "I demand an even split of the Munroe lands." MacTavish paced the room, hands held behind his back. The man hadn't taken his watchful gaze from Ewan since he'd arrived. "I think it only fair and right considering that without our help, your clan would have lost the battle."

  Angus stepped forward at the jibe, but with a sharp glance Ewan halted his soldier's advance.

  "From all accounts, MacTavish, 'tis true you and your men played a part in the victory, and for that you shall be rewarded. But you can hardly claim the right to half."

  The man stopped and drilled him with a cold stare.

  "And what about your account? Aye, how can you claim to know what we are deserving of, when you were missing throughout the battle?"

  Ewan's hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Using every ounce of restraint he had to keep his simmering anger in check, he inhaled a deep steady breath. "Are you calling me a coward, MacTavish?"

  MacPherson raised his hand. "Now, no one is calling anyone a coward. MacTavish, hold your tongue man. 'Tis bitterness you speak with, nae sense."

  "Nae, uncle, let MacTavi
sh sling his accusations, for I have a few of ma own to introduce." He met MacTavish's stony gaze and held it.

  If the Laird was worried, he didn't reveal it.

  "What are you saying, Ewan?" MacPherson stopped pouring his ale and looked up at him.

  "Aye, I missed part of the battle, I won’t lie. But 'tis only because I was wounded." He walked around the table and stood by the hearth. "Stabbed in the back by ma own dagger, I suspect."

  Hatred gleamed in MacTavish's dark eyes.

  At last, he'd gotten to the bastard.

  "Are you accusing me of holding the weapon, MacKinnon?"

  "Aye. That and a great deal more."

  Macpherson's cup dropped to the floor, the crunch of breaking pottery shattering the rigid tension.

  MacTavish laughed. "That's an outrageous claim from someone I've known since he was a wee bairn, Ewan. I suppose I am responsible for the decline of your da as well."

  "You know you are. And I aim to prove it."

  A strange smile curled at the edge of the old Laird's mouth.

  Ewan's grip on his sword tightened. The bastard was up to something, he could feel it.

  "Tell me, Ewan, do you know what it is like, as a Laird, to watch your people suffer from the deeds of others, yet still have the courage to call the person responsible friend?"

  "You know as well as I, MacTavish, that the curse is nothing but a hoax. Ma Father was nae responsible for the ill that has befallen this land."

  "Oh, I beg to differ. Not only do I hold him responsible for the plight of ma people, but for the death of ma beloved Katie."

  Ewan recalled how devastated MacTavish had been when Katie had died of a terrible fever, near five winters ago. His father and MacTavish had rarely spoken since. In fact, Ewan had been shocked and surprised at MacTavish's sudden offer to help his clan fight the Munroe's.

  Surely, the prospect of gaining lands wouldn't have caused such a change of heart?

  "If you have allowed your heart to seek revenge after all this time, then, you are a fool, MacTavish."

  "Perhaps, but tell me, Ewan. You are married, aye? A pretty young English wench, I hear. What would it do to you to see her cold, lifeless body buried in the stony ground?" At the very suggestion of anything happening to Ellie, hate welled up from the pit of his soul and burned along every vein.