Highland Avenger

by Julie Johnstone

Eve’s heart squeezed for Grant, imagining what it must have felt like to be banished. He sounded as if he’d been irresponsible, yes, but had that required banishment?

  “Anyway,” Esme continued, “Mother took Fate with her when she went to see the sick bairn.” She ran a finger down the shiny blade of her sword. “My father risked his life to save my mother, but they still killed her…and then him.”

  Eyes brimming with pain and helplessness met Eve’s. “I could nae help. My brother Simon was in England at the time, and Grant had nae yet returned. I was useless. My da and his men rode off to get my mother, and all I could do was stand and watch him go. I did nae have any skills. So we are alike, ye see.” Esme reached out and grabbed Eve’s hand. “I did nae dream of taking up arms with the men, either, but ’tis all I dream of now. I will nae ever be helpless again.”

  “How did you get Fate back?” Eve asked.

  Esme smiled sadly. “Word of what had occurred reached Grant. He returned to us at the same time as Simon. When Grant heard that Mother had gone on her own to the enemy armed with her sword, he blamed himself, I think. He and Simon killed them all, and Grant brought back the sword. I begged him to let me have it, and he did, but with a threat of banishment to any man who dared show me how to use it.”

  “May I?” Eve held her hand out, and Esme set Fate in it. The sword had a good heft to it. “You could learn to wield this with the right teacher.”

  “Maybe ye could teach me?”

  Eve’s chest tightened. She didn’t plan on staying. “Esme, I—”

  Suddenly, Esme pressed her finger to her lips and motioned to the door that had not quite closed. It swung open and Ross gave them a long look.

  “Is it time already?” Eve squeaked, her pulse spiking.

  The man grinned, his eyes shining with friendliness, and then he chuckled. It made Eve feel as if she could like him, but that was foolish. She needed to keep her guard up. “Nay,” he said. Eve blew out a relieved breath, which earned another chuckle from the man.

  Esme set her hands on her hips and scowled at the man in the doorway. “If it’s nae time for Eve to return to the great hall, why are ye here lurking outside my door, Ross MacLorh?”

  His brows pulled together in an affronted frown. “I dunnae lurk. Nae any woman has ever said that about me.”

  “Bah!” Esme said, waving her hand at him. “There has nae been a woman who has ever been braw enough to call ye a lurker, ’tis all.”

  “I assure ye, Esme,” he said, his gaze sliding over Grant’s sister in a slow fashion that made Eve’s breath catch, “the lasses beg me to lurk.” Eve had no doubt about that. The man was compelling, but not as compelling as Grant.

  A flush turned Esme’s porcelain skin deep red, but she did not turn away to conceal it. “I dunnae wish to hear about yer depraved life. Again, why are ye standing at my bedchamber door?”

  “Nae for ye,” Ross snapped.

  A hurt look crossed Esme’s face, and Eve stared pointedly at Ross, willing him to apologize, but he simply glared at Esme. Eve looked between the two, trying to decide if they liked each other or despised each other. If Ross did have a tendre for Esme, Eve doubted he’d get far with this tactic. Highland men were clearly obstinate fools. Eve cleared her throat, feeling compelled to alleviate the tension. “Surely, if Esme wished for your attention, you would be only too happy to give it. Isn’t that so, sir?”

  She could see his lips forming a no, so she cleared her throat again and glowered at him, until he said, “Aye. Of course.”

  Eve was breathing out a sigh of relief when a slow, devilish smile turned up the corners of the Highlander’s mouth, and his gaze locked on Esme. “Do ye need particular attention from me, Esme?”

  She gasped and so did Eve. The man had not said anything improper, but it was the way he had said it. The tone in which he’d said it had been like water sliding over one’s skin. It made her wonder if Grant had such a tone. Her cheeks heated at the thought.

  Ross swept his gaze over both of them with a laugh, and then he said, “Grant sent me to guard the door.”

  The nerve of the man! There was not a chance Grant feared anyone getting in his castle. It seemed practically impossible to her. “You tell your lord—”

  “Laird,” Ross corrected, to which she stuck her tongue out at the man, feeling extremely childish the moment she did it. He cocked his eyebrows at her, and she growled at him.

  “You tell your laird—”

  “He’s nae my laird,” Ross said with a wink. “He’s my friend.”

  “Bah!” Eve bellowed, stealing Esme’s word as it seemed to perfectly fit how the man was making her feel. She marched toward Esme’s door and slammed it in his face. Satisfaction poured over her, and then she turned to Esme and both women broke out into hearty gales of laughter.

  Esme took Eve by the hand and led her to the bed. Once they stopped laughing, Esme padded over to a table, picked up a brush, and indicated toward Eve’s hair with a sweep of her hand. “I ken the marriage is being forced upon ye, but I’m certain ye dunnae wish to attend yer own wedding looking as if a bevy of bees made a hive in yer hair.”

  Esme’s words gave Eve an idea. “As a matter of fact, I do. The more unappealing I appear, the better.”

  “Oh, aye?” Esme tilted her head. “Why?”

  Eve’s lips parted automatically to tell the woman who felt like a newfound friend, but she pressed them back together and shrugged. “I really should not say.”

  Esme’s smile faltered a bit, but then she nodded. “’Tis smart. I am Grant’s sister, after all.”

  “Yes, there is that,” Eve said apologetically.

  “So we shall leave yer hair?”

  “Yes,” Eve replied, then turned to look up at Esme. “You don’t happen to have spare braies that I can wear do you?”

  Esme offered an impish smile. “I do, but that will irritate Grant something fierce. He dunnae care for even me wearing braies. He says I look like a man and nae a woman.”

  Eve grinned. “That’s perfect! I shall live in braies henceforth.”

  A frown knitted Esme’s brow for a moment, but then awareness swept her face. “Ye dunnae wish my brother to find ye attractive?” It was not truly a question but a statement. Eve nodded, feeling it was all right to share that secret. “I’d ask why, but…”

  “It’s best you don’t know,” Eve stated. “I’d hate for your brother to place blame on you if my plan works.”

  Esme nibbled on her lip for a moment. “Does yer plan include ye nae living here with us as Grant’s wife?” Eve opened and closed her mouth, knowing she should deny it, but she did not wish to lie to Esme. Esme waved a hand at her. “Ye dunnae need to answer. I’ll keep yer secret. Grant has threatened to marry me off, and I fear he eventually will do so to make the clan stronger. If that happens, I’ve every intention of running off.”

  “I’m sorry, Esme. If my plan comes to fruition, know you can always come to me and I will give you shelter.”

  Esme grinned, then frowned again. “I like ye. I wish ye were staying.”

  Eve impulsively stood and hugged Esme. “I like you, too, but I cannot stay.”

  “What if ye fall in love with Grant? Would ye stay then?”

  “I’ll never fall in love with your brother,” Eve said with a laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth as she realized how rude she was being. “I’m so sorry. He’s handsome enough. Very handsome, but I wish for a husband who does not want me for my castle.”

  “But how will ye have that when ye’ll be wed to Grant?”

  Eve was spared having to remind the woman she did not wish to tell her by a banging at the door. “I’ve received word that Father Tavish is ready for ye,” Ross bellowed.

  All the air seemed to leave Eve’s lungs as Esme stomped to her door, slung it open, and snapped, “Ye go tell my brother and Father Tavish that Eve is changing, and she’ll be there when she’s good and ready. Grant can wait a spell. After all, Eve will b
e his wife for the rest of his life.” With that, Esme shut the door with a bang and turned to face Eve.

  Eve saw Esme’s lips moving, but she could not hear what the woman was saying. Her ears were ringing with Esme’s words about Eve being Grant’s wife for life. All her bravado, all her surety that she could undo what was about to be done wavered. What if he insisted on a joining? What if he forced himself upon her? She did not think he was that sort of man, but what did she really know about men? She began to tremble violently.

  “Eve?” Esme was by her side in an instant, gripping her elbow. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Eve’s throat constricted as memories of her parents and how happy they had been together flooded her mind. Fear knotted her belly, rushed through her veins, pounded her temples, and left her freezing. She wrapped her arms around her midriff to stave off the shaking, but it would not stop. Her eyes burned as panic welled in the chambers of her heart and flooded her with poisonous fear. She had to go through with the marriage for Clara’s sake.

  “Eve? Eve? Ye’re scaring me. Should I get Grant?”

  Tears began to leak out of her eyes. She let them flow and promised herself it would be the only time she permitted herself the weakness. “I’m afraid,” she choked out. “I…I always thought I’d wed for love. What if this is it?”

  Her eyes locked with Esme’s. She patted Eve’s hand. “If this is it for ye, then rest easy in the knowledge that my brother is a good, honorable man.”

  “Good and honorable do not equal love,” Eve muttered.

  “Nay, they dunnae,” Esme said with a sigh, “but better tied to life with my brother than with Aros MacDougall.”

  Eve shuddered, recalling how Aros had lashed the boys. “Yes, I suppose there is that,” she whispered. Still, it was precious little comfort for the possible loss of all the hopes and dreams she had clung to all those years in hiding, the ones that had kept her spirit alive.

  Grant turned from speaking with Father Tavish and looked at the door to the great hall as it squeaked open. He frowned when Ross strolled through the door alone. “Where are my sister and my bride?”

  Ross pointed over his shoulder. “In yer sister’s bedchamber. Esme said ye can wait, and yer bride slammed the door in my face after bellowing at me.”

  “Are ye trying to tell me ye could nae manage to get two women to follow ye down the stairs?”

  “That is exactly what I’m telling ye,” Ross snapped. He flopped into a chair, kicked his feet out in front of him, crossed them at the ankles, and then folded his arms over his chest. “That English lass is going to cause ye trouble, ye mark my words.”

  “I’m certain I can handle one wee little lass. I—” Grant’s words ground to a halt at the sight of Eve standing in the doorway. She had on braies exactly like the ones Esme wore, a léine, with a rope tied around the waist, and her hair was in wild disarray, tumbling over her shoulders in fiery red waves. She set her hands on her hips, and the motion caused the léine to slide down over one perfectly creamy shoulder and droop just enough that he got a glimpse of the top of her rounded breasts. His mouth went dry at the enticing picture. Eve Decres had to be the only woman alive who could make men’s clothing look alluring. But why the devil was she in them?

  “Why are ye dressed like a man?” he demanded.

  “A man?” she asked, giving him a ridiculous confused look. He did not know the woman, but any lass capable of persuading a man like Aros not to kill two relatives of his enemies was not a simple lass.

  “Aye,” he said, striding toward her and stopping a hairsbreadth away. “Why. Are. Ye. Dressed. Like. A. Man?”

  She pursed her lips. “Don’t speak to me like I’m simple.”

  “Then dunnae pretend to be,” he said.

  Her eyes widened at that, as if she’d only just realized her error. “Braies will be easier to ride in for our journey to the convent,” she said, motioning to the braies that hugged her hips rather nicely. He stared at her long and hard. He’d learned the trick from his own brother using it on him whenever he’d wanted to see if Grant was telling the truth. Eve began to fidget with her hands, and she motioned to the braies again. “They won’t allow me to be chafed,” she said, the inflection of her voice pitching ever so slightly. Most people would never notice it, but Simon had trained Grant to detect the changes in people’s tone when they were attempting to hide the truth.

  She was lying. He’d not embarrass her by stating so. Did her voice always go slightly higher when she lied? It was too enticing and would be too useful not to find out. He cocked his head. “So ye’re nae wearing yer gown because ye will be chafed.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, the inflection so slight but there again.

  “That makes sense,” Grant fibbed. “I suppose it’s nae of import. After all, this wedding is one of necessity, so it dunnae matter what ye wear, does it?”

  “No,” Eve said, her tone low and husky once again and laced with an odd sadness that made him want to ask her what was wrong. “It is of no import.”

  He had the sudden, distinct feeling it very much mattered to her, but he doubted she’d speak freely with him if he asked her. Even if she did, it would not change the truth of their marriage, though he did wish her to know he would be true to her and treat her with kindness.

  The great hall door creaked open once more, and Thomas poked his head in. “I wish to attend the wedding.”

  “Ye may,” Grant said without turning to look at his brother. Instead, he caught Eve’s frightened gaze, and his chest squeezed. “But wait outside in the corridor for a moment. I wish to speak to Eve alone.” He’d thought to get the wedding and the bedding over quickly, but he could see by Eve’s tense posture and pale face that she was very nervous. The least he could do was take a moment to put her at ease.

  “All of ye, out,” he commanded, sweeping his gaze around the room.

  The men, including Father Tavish, started to file out immediately, but Esme hesitated. He shook his head slowly at his sister. “I’m nae in the mood to tolerate yer obstinance, Esme. Time is of the essence for Eve’s companion, so out ye go. I wish to speak to Eve alone.”

  He didn’t know whether to be glad or irritated when Esme glanced at Eve questioningly and Eve gave an almost imperceptible nod. Eve had not even been at his home a full day and his brother and sister had already taken to her. He was, he realized, immensely pleased.

  When the great hall door closed behind Esme, Grant turned to Eve. She looked up at him with a shy, vulnerable expression that made him want to gather her close and ease her fears. It was strange to feel protective of the lass, but he supposed it was because she would be his wife. He tugged a hand through his hair, thinking of what to say and where to start. “I thought it would be good if we had a moment alone since we are about to wed.”

  Her frown surprised him. He had thought she’d be relieved, even grateful, that he was trying to be considerate. “Why do you wish to be alone with me?” she asked, her tone oddly suspicious.

  He frowned now. “I wanted to tell ye—” It was much more difficult to speak plainly with the lass than he’d imagined. “Well, I wanted to tell ye that ye need nae be scairt.”

  “I’m not—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips, and her eyes grew large. “Dunnae lie,” he chastised.

  She shoved his hand away from her face, anger overtaking her features and somehow making her even more beautiful. Her lavender eyes narrowed. “I do not lie.”

  “Nay?” He arched his eyebrows at her as a dare for her to continue.

  “No. I’m a very truthful person,” she said, the tone of her voice changing almost imperceptibly but just enough that he heard it.

  A smile tugged at his lips. He ought to keep it a secret that her voice changed when she was not telling the truth, but it was too irresistible to prove her wrong now. Plus, if she ever came in front of an enemy and her life depended on concealing the truth, she needed to be aware she wasn’t any good at i
t. “Yer voice goes up ever so slightly when ye are nae telling the truth.” Her lips parted, and her hands came together, her fingers twisting. He chuckled. “And ye fidget.”

  She immediately unlaced her fingers. “Bah! My voice does not go up, and I will henceforth never fidget.”

  He chuckled at that. “Most men would nae ever notice the change in yer tone, but I’ve been trained to detect such things, and a man who had been trained as I have, might take note as well, so take a care.”

  She bit her lip but nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “You could have used that weakness against me.”

  “Aye, I could have, but as I was saying,” he said in a gentler tone, “ye need nae fear me. Nay, we are nae wedding out of love, but I will be true, I will be kind, and I will protect ye always.”

  Some undefinable emotion seemed to spark in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip once more, looking as if she were considering something. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, her voice husky. “It’s just, well, I wanted to wed someone who cared for me and not my castle. I wanted—” She looked toward the floor, and he stared at the top of her head. “I wanted to wed for love,” she said in a suffocated whisper, “just as my parents did.”

  “Most marriages are nae made for love, lass,” he said, thinking of his own parents who’d wed to bring peace between their clans. His parents had seemed happy enough to him. True, he did not know what his parents’ marriage had been like in the beginning. He’d never spoken to either of them about it. Perhaps Esme knew, though. She had often sat with their mother, talking and knitting.

  Eve huffed, drawing him back to the present. “No, I suppose they aren’t, but I would think that when two people wed that they usually know each other for more than a few hours.”

  “Ye are likely correct,” he conceded.

  “And,” she said slowly, twisting her hands once more but then stilling her actions, “I imagine when two people wed who have known each other for a longer period than we have, if they are not in love, they at least are attracted to each other.”

  Was that why she was fretting?