Highland Avenger

by Julie Johnstone

  “If a woman could be taught to defend herself only when trouble came to her and there was no one to help her, then aye, I’d be wholeheartedly in favor of women learning to protect themselves. The problem is,” he said, purposely eyeing her, “that women are reckless and impulsive. They act afore they think, and once they feel adept with weapons, they falsely believe themselves invincible.”

  She surprised him again by setting a hand on his bicep. The innocent touch stirred his desire for her dangerously. Her slender fingers curled gently around his arm, and her eyes, brimming with tenderness, met his. “I’m certain that is not what your mother thought.”

  He stiffened at the confirmation that Esme had, indeed, been speaking of that which she ought not to have. “Ye kinnae ken that, Eve. Ye did nae even ken my mother.”

  “No,” she said softly, “I did not. But I am a woman who has been taught to wield a weapon, and in no way does it make me think I’m invincible. It makes me feel less helpless, but I’m very aware of the fragility of life. I watched my father be butchered before my eyes. I saw my mother lying in a pool of her own blood. My mother had no skills with weapons. If she had…”

  “If she had,” Grant finished for her, “she likely would have died anyway. My mother did have skills, which I showed her.” He could hear the intensity in his own voice, and he paused. He had not meant to say so much, to offer such a glimpse into himself. “Those skills did nae do anything but make her think she could go to the aid of our enemy with nary a defense but her sword.”

  Eve withdrew her hand and settled it in her lap. “You cannot keep the women in your life protected at all times, Grant.”

  “I can try.”

  “Women should be in the kitchens,” Ross piped up.

  “Aye,” Kade agreed, “where it’s safe.”

  Color rose in Eve’s cheeks, and she jolted to her feet. “My mother was supposedly safe in our castle, you stubborn, foolish men!” Eve plunked her hands on her hips and swept Grant, Ross, and Kade with a fiery gaze. “What if your women were attacked when you were not around? Or what if they were attacked when they were with you? Would you wish them helpless? Unable to defend themselves or help you?”

  “I will protect what is mine,” Grant said, feeling his own irritation rise, yet his vexation was not entirely aimed at Eve. She was asking the same questions Grant had long ago asked his father when his mother had first requested to learn how to use weapons. His father had made the same argument that Grant was now making to Eve, and Grant had ignored his father and aided his mother. Age-old torment twisted inside his chest. The doubts, the questions, the guilt came crashing back down upon him like a giant wave. He’d once believed just as Eve did, but his mother’s death had taught him he should have listened to his father.

  Grant stood, towering above Eve. He looked down at his new wife. He didn’t know what skills she had, but whatever they were, he did not want them making her bold. He wanted her cautious, because a cautious woman was a living woman. “I forbid ye from ever using yer knowledge of weapons.”

  “You forbid me?”

  He’d not particularly wanted to have this conversation in front of Kade and Ross, but have it, he would. “Aye, I forbid ye.”

  “Let me make certain I understand you… If someone attacked us this very night, you would want me to sit there cowering, or hide, or watch you get killed when I could pick up a sword or a dagger and save myself and you?”

  Her snide tone was not lost on him, and neither were her well-raised points. He jerked his hand through his hair. Esme had been much easier to force obedience from for the last six years since their father’s and mother’s deaths than his new wife was proving to be in the two days since they had met. His fear of what trouble Eve could get herself into warred with his understanding that what she said made sense; yet, when he pictured his mother’s and his father’s bodies as they’d been laid shamefully on the road up to Dithorn Castle, fear won out. “You will not cower. Ever. You are a Fraser now. There is a difference between cowering and being safe.”

  Eve scoffed, then poked him in the chest. “There is little difference if choosing not to pick up arms means being killed. Listen to me, Grant Fraser. If your sister was about to be ravaged, and all that stood between her and defilement was a dagger, you would want her to pick up that dagger and plunge it into her attacker’s heart.”

  Devil take the woman! He would want that. “Fine,” he growled. “If ever ye are under attack and I kinnae come to yer aid, pick up arms, but dunnae go courting trouble.”

  She grinned up at him, and the upper region of his chest, near his heart, squeezed into a tight ball. “I’m pleased to see you can be reasonable. Might I have a dagger or a sword?”

  “Nay!” he snapped, keenly aware he’d just fought a battle with his new wife and lost.

  She nodded. “All in due time, I suppose.” Eve plunked back down, but before she got all the way settled, she yelped, and in the flash of light from the fire, Grant saw why.

  Without hesitation, he lunged for the snake that was coiled to strike Eve and smacked it in midair. Fangs sank into his arm like a well-placed blade and sliced open his flesh with a sharp sting that instantly made his arm feel as if someone was bludgeoning it with a large rock.

  He flung the snake up into the air, and with his good hand, he grasped his dagger and sliced the head off the serpent. It fell to the ground with a thunk. Grant looked to the grass, trying to focus on the unmoving snake, but the ground tilted and his stomach roiled, and then he was sitting in the dirt with no idea how he’d gotten there. Eve kneeled beside him, worry etched on her face.

  “You’ve been bitten,” she said, her concern clear in her tone, as well.

  “Aye,” he replied, the word seeming to draw out for an eternity. “I feel it.”

  Eve grabbed his arm as Kade and Ross kneeled alongside her. She set his now-numb hand against her knees and ripped at the material of her léine, growling her frustration.

  “What are ye trying to do?” he asked, though God’s truth, it was hard to form the words with how sick he felt. He swallowed repeatedly to keep the contents of his stomach in place as sweat trickled down his brow and back.

  “I’m trying to help you, you daft man. You may count your blessings that I’m not a helpless woman.” With that, she turned to Ross and snapped, “Rip my léine,” before focusing on Grant again.

  Grant somehow found a way to chuckle at the irony of her claiming not to be helpless and then demanding Ross rip her léine. He forced his eyes to narrow as he met Ross’s.

  “Grant?” Ross asked.

  “If ye tear my wife’s clothing, I’ll rip out yer heart,” Grant growled.

  “Do not listen to him, Ross,” she ordered. “I need the strip of cloth to stop the spread of the venom. And I need it now.”

  “Venom?” he repeated, surprised at her knowledge.

  She nodded, pointing at the body of the snake. Ross still hadn’t made a move to help her. “If you are not going to tear a strip from my léine,” she said firmly, “then you must take one from your plaid.”

  The ripping of material filled the air as Eve focused once more on Grant. “’Tis an adder, which is venomous, but you won’t die.”

  “Hold in yer disappointment, aye, lass?” he managed to joke despite the throbbing pain.

  She smiled at him as she started to wind a strip of Ross’s plaid around Grant’s arm. “I certainly would not be pleased if you died,” she said, tying the material so tightly around his bicep that he hissed. She frowned. “Just because I do not wish to be your wife does not mean I want you dead. Especially since you just took a snakebite for me.”

  “Dunnae that at least make ye like me a little more?” he teased, trying to flex his fingers and failing on a wave of pain. “I’m going to toss all my food,” he grumbled.

  “Ross, Kade, do either of you have any wine?”

  “Aye,” both men answered at once, and they each thrust their wine skins towar
d her. Eve took one of the skins and pressed it gently to his lips. “Drink this for the pain.”

  He was only too happy to do as he was bid. When the last drop of wine was emptied from the skin, Eve took it. Then, much to his surprise, she bent forward and sealed her mouth over his wound. “What the devil are ye doing?” he demanded, reaching for her shoulder. Without coming up, she smacked his hand away. After a moment, she came to a seated position, then turned and spit.

  When she faced him again, she wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “I had to suck out the venom,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Grant saw Ross and Kade staring dumbfounded at Eve. Likely, he looked the same way. “How did ye learn to do that?” he asked.

  “The Summer Walkers,” she replied. “Ross, might I see your wine skin?”

  “Do ye wish a drink now, too?” Ross asked.

  “Don’t be daft,” Eve said, then snatched the flask Ross held out to her and dumped the contents over Grant’s arm, ignoring Ross’s protests. Eve scowled at him. “Grant needs his wound cleaned. Would you rather have wine than your friend keep his arm?”

  “Well, that was awfully good wine,” Ross teased, winking at Grant when Eve was not looking. She gasped, which only served to prompt Ross to continue. “I suppose,” he went on, catching Grant’s eye, “if ye only had one good arm, ye’d be a bigger pain in my arse.”

  “That’s a horrid thing to say!” Eve bellowed. “Grant—” she leaned close to him, the smell of freesia surrounding him “—you need to find better friends.”

  He had to rip his gaze from her enticing curves, and when he saw her angry scowl directed at Ross, Grant smiled, pleased that his wife was the sort of woman who was loyal to her husband. “He’s only teasing ye, bean bhàsail.”

  “I told you,” she said, huffing as she situated herself beside him and then, with a gentle pull on his shoulder, indicated her lap, “I’m no temptress.”

  He eyed her lap. “Ye wish me to lay my head in yer lap?” She nodded. “And ye claim yer nae a temptress,” he teased. Kade and Ross chuckled.

  “Oh, do hush. You need sleep so your body can properly fight the venom.” With that, she shoved his head in her soft lap and trailed her fingers lightly over his shoulder. He was certain she did not even realize what she was doing, because if she knew and understood how his body was responding, he was certain her fear of joining would make her stop. To his surprise, after a few moments, lust loosened its grip on him and was quickly replaced with grogginess.

  “Sing to me, lass,” he said, closing his eyes, reminded suddenly of long ago and how his mother would sing to him whenever he had trouble sleeping.

  Eve began to sing, her voice flowing over him with its richness as her fingers ran through his hair. His last thought before he drifted to sleep was that she was his to protect and he could not fail in the duty. Yet, the certainty that the greatest threat to Eve was his stubborn wife herself would not release him from its grip.

  Chapter Ten

  “How did ye do that?” Ross whispered to Eve.

  She looked down at Grant’s relaxed face nestled in her lap, and her heart tugged unexpectedly. She sucked in a breath, but because she felt Ross’s keen gaze on her, she forced her thoughts away from the surge of emotion for Grant and concentrated on the Highlander staring at her. “It was not truly me that did it. The poison attacks the body, and now his body is fighting off any lingering traces of the venom that I could not remove. That leaves him exhausted.”

  “Ah,” Kade said, nodding. “That explains it. I dunnae think I’ve ever seen Grant sleep when duty calls.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Eve protested. “No man can go without sleep.”

  “I’ve seen him sleep,” Ross said in a low, confident tone as he lay on his plaid and faced them. “In the middle of battle, he sleeps sitting up. Ye kinnae even whisper beside him without him awakening. He is always at the ready to put himself in peril, to do what he must for the good of the clan.”

  All three of them looked at Grant, and his response was a loud snore, which made Eve giggle. She slapped a hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her? Her brain must have been addled on the jarring ride here. Grant Fraser had wed her to use her. He just wanted her help in swaying the knights who guarded Linlithian Castle and getting them to pledge their loyalty him. He was obstinate. He was overbearing. He would expect her, as his wife, to bend to his will. A will that included her never taking up arms unless she had no choice, because a threat could not be avoided.

  Yet, she had discovered that he was so overly protective out of fear and guilt born from a tragedy in his past. He was honorable, she believed. She did not think many men would have waited to join with her and make their marriage true, yet Grant had agreed to wait. He was brave. He had risked his life for her without hesitation or thought. And he was a very good kisser. Or at least she thought he was. Since he was the only man she’d ever kissed, she supposed she did not know for certain, but she’d lost all her senses when he’d kissed her. All she’d wanted to do was kiss him back, the man she’d wed with no intention of remaining his wife. She wasn’t supposed to like him, but she did. Yet, no amount of liking or desire changed the fact that he did not want her for her, but for her castle, and she wanted more from her marriage than that.

  If she was smart, she would scoot out from under him, put a safe distance between them, and pray that she could somehow maintain that distance until she had Clara, and they could devise an escape plan. But as a scowl tugged Grant’s brows together in his sleep, she found herself rubbing his forehead lightly until his frown disappeared. Desire to learn more about him began to gnaw at her.

  “Has he always been so concerned with the clan’s welfare?” she asked, turning to Ross. Guilt niggled her for the leading question, yet she left it floating in the air between them. She wanted to learn more about Grant, but she certainly did not want his friends to realize she wanted to learn more. It made her feel vulnerable, and there was nothing she disliked more than that. She mollified herself with the thought that just because she was not planning on staying married to the man, it did not mean she should not discover all she could about him.

  Grant could someday be an ally. Or, she thought with a sense of dread, what if he was someday an enemy? She likely already should consider him her enemy since he was a Scot, and a Highlander at that. Her uncle was the King of England’s man, according to Grant, and Highlanders had killed her family.

  “He was raised to put the clan first and maintain discipline always, even as a child and young lad,” Ross said. “Though when he was a young lad, he fought against the strictures his father demanded. He was nae to be carefree but restrained.”

  “He and Simon were to train every day with the warriors,” Kade added, “then an extra two hours after the warriors quit for the day.”

  Ross nodded. “They were also nae to join with any lass but the ones they were promised to for the good of the clan.”

  “Grant was promised to another lass?” Eve asked, surprised to hear the news.

  “Oh aye. But it dissolved when he openly chastised the lass for hitting her lady’s maid. The wench took exception and persuaded her father to break the contract. The lass is Aros MacDougal’s sister. She’s wed to a Comyn now, and the Comyns are loyal to King Edward.” Ross paused, and both men suddenly eyed her warily. She was certain they were wondering where her loyalties lay. She could not say, since she hardly knew herself. Ross cleared his throat. “The MacDougalls took the Comyns’ side when John Comyn was killed by Bruce. The men were in an argument, and Comyn tried to stab Bruce, so Bruce defended himself. Anyway, Aros and his father sided with the Comyn family and against Bruce because of the connection to their family.”

  Ross eyed Eve for a long, silent minute, and she got the distinct feeling he was trying to convey something to her or expected her to make a connection, but she wasn’t. “And?” she asked tentatively.

  “And King R
obert told Grant recently, after the king had to flee, that the MacDougalls would likely still be his allies if Grant had done his duty and ensured his wedding proceeded with the MacDougall lass, whether she was a heartless, immoral wench or nae.” Ross ran a hand through his hair and stared silently into the dark night. “Bruce was angry, of course, at his own circumstances, and took it out on Grant, we all kenned that, but I think it’s stayed in Grant’s mind, like a splinter that’s worked its way deep under the skin.

  The connection finally formed in Eve’s mind. This marriage to her was Grant’s way of making up to the king and his father for his perceived failure when he did not marry a woman he’d seen as cruel. Sympathy coursed through her. She could not afford sympathy, understanding, and desire, but it was all blossoming nevertheless. She clenched her jaw and tried to will her heart to stay cold and still, but the blasted thing squeezed within her. If she fled him, his king would think Grant had once again failed him. Grant would believe it, as well.

  “’Tis a heavy burden he carries,” Kade said, “but his marriage to ye will help alleviate it. The king will be most pleased when Grant takes Linlithian Castle for him.”

  “Shut yer mouth,” Ross snapped, but he was too late. Kade’s words were potent reminders of what she already knew. Grant had wed her to ease his guilt and fulfill his duty. Love could not blossom from that.

  “I’m very tired,” she said, needing to put some distance between them now. “Could one of you help me ease Grant off my lap? I’d like to lie down.”

  Kade nodded and quickly aided her in sliding out from under Grant. He started to take off his plaid.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Kade motioned to the ground. “Making a pallet for ye. Grant would nae wish ye to sleep on the dirt, and we dunnae travel with blankets.”

  She didn’t particularly want to sleep on the ground, either, but she was not going to force Kade to do so in her stead. “Keep your plaid for yourself. The ground will not kill me.” With that, she moved to the only empty space around the dying fire, lay down, and closed her eyes. The ground was cold and hard, and there was barely any heat coming from the fire anymore. The temperature had dropped, and the breeze had picked up. She was certain sleep would never come, but Grant’s steady snoring was like a sleeping draught, and soon her eyelids grew heavy and oblivion claimed her.