“Eve,” he said, his tone uneasy in a way she’d never heard before, “we must talk about Linlithian.”
The pain broke through her circle of rage, and she felt as if it would cleave her in two. Childless. Parentless. The words pounded in her head. She grasped frantically at the anger, yanking it up to use it as a sword. “Linlithian!” She curled her hands into fists, facing him once more. “Of course you wish to talk of Linlithian! Do not fear, Laird Fraser!” Wariness swept his face, and he removed his hands from her thigh. She fought the urge to touch him. She would not beg for him or his love—ever. “I will help you gain Linlithian even if it kills me to do so. It is all that matters now!”
To him, that was…
As the tears coursed down her cheeks, she realized that if someone told her Linlithian had burned to the ground, she might well cheer. “Leave me be now,” she finished in a near-broken whisper. “Leave me be.”
He rose without a word, without attempting to persuade her to let him stay. Her heart twisted, but she bit her lip until a metallic taste touched her tongue. She shoved the need for him as deep as she could and turned away. The moment the door closed, she buried her face in the covers and wept.
Chapter Sixteen
“How is she?” Clara and Esme asked the moment Grant had shut the bedchamber door.
“Nae good,” he replied, a strangling pain in his chest making him rub it. “She’s upset.”
“As expected,” Clara said. “Any woman would be upset to discover she likely could not have children.”
Millicent appeared around the corner holding wash. “What’s this?” she asked. “Yer new wife kinnae have bairns?” Her brown eyes warmed with mischief.
Grant narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Ye misheard,” he said. “Now move along and finish yer chores. When ye are done, come see me in my study.”
Millicent flashed a seductive smile that made his neck heat with embarrassment. He’d have to make her understand right away that nothing would be occurring between them.
“Of course, my laird,” she replied before taking her leave down the passageway.
Grant waited until she was completely out of sight and then turned to his sister and Clara once more. Both women were staring at him, arms crossed over their chests.
Before he could say anything, Esme snapped, “If ye are thinking of taking up with that woman again—”
“Esme,” he began, frustrated, but she ignored him.
“—I’ll brain ye!” She held up her fist threateningly. “I ken ye think ye need an heir—”
“Esme,” he said in warning now, his own temper flaring.
She scowled but kept going. “That woman is poison. She must be magical in the bed for ye to—”
“Cease talking now, Esme,” Grant cut in, “or ye’ll find yerself wed tomorrow.”
That finally, mercifully, got his sister to quiet, but the damage was done. Clara was glaring at him.
“The lass was my leman once, but I have need of her for what we discussed the other night outside of my bedchamber,” he explained to Clara, not wishing to expand in front of Esme. He loved his sister, but she was impetuous at best and she made dangerous decisions at worst. If she was irritated enough with him, she might just tell Eve.
Clara’s eyes widened, and she nodded. Esme looked as if she wished to ask, but he leveled her with a dark look. She pressed her lips together with a snort and muttered, “Men and their secrets.”
Grant took a long breath, seeking patience. “I’ve ordered Bryden to guard Eve.”
Esme plunked her hands on her hips. “And just where are ye off to, Brother?” she snapped. Grant was pleased his sister wanted to protect Eve, so he bit down on his reprimand. “Yer wife has been ill! Dunnae ye think ye should stay by her side?”
He was the last person Eve wanted by her side right now, but he hoped that if and when he returned with her sister, it would lessen her anger at him and help assuage her grief. “I’ve a matter to see to now, so—”
“Is Millicent the matter?” his sister demanded.
He slid his teeth back and forth as his eye began to twitch. “Esme, what I do as yer laird is my business, but ’tis nae as ye think.”
“Ye men,” she growled. “Ye think we women are but chattel!”
He put up a silencing hand. He knew his sister well. Once she had worked herself into a knot, it would take her time to undo herself, and he was hoping to depart before nightfall. “Now, keep yer opinions to yerself, especially around Eve, or I vow my threat to marry ye off will nae be a threat any longer.”
Eve awoke to an empty bed for the third day in a row, and pain lanced her heart once more. Devil take Grant for making her fall in love with him. She tried to call up the anger she’d felt toward him for giving her the bane weed, but that particular anger had dissipated and understanding had taken its place. If Grant had been dying and there had been something that could save him but leave him unable to give her children, she would have given it to him, too.
Sighing, Eve carefully scooted from the bed. She was pleasantly surprised to find she felt very strong today, unlike the past three. Clara had given her soup for all three meals yesterday and had insisted it was needed for her to heal, so Eve had to finish it all. It seemed Clara had been right again…
Eve made her way to the wardrobe and took out one of the gowns Esme had lent her until new ones could be made. As Eve slipped it on, her thoughts turned to Grant once more, questions and fears battering her. The question still remained whether he had judged her life as more important than her ability to give him an heir because of her own worth or because he needed her to gain the allegiance of her father’s men. As much as it may hurt, she had to know the truth. It would guide her in her own actions. It would help her determine whether to open her heart to him even more or to build a wall and protect it from him as much as she possibly could.
She also needed to speak with him about Mary. It may be hopeless to try to find her sister, but she must try, and she needed Grant’s aid. Eve bit her lip, recalling how young her sister had been on that fateful night. Eve’s own memories of the night were dulled. Would Mary, having been only five summers, even remember Eve?
With a sigh, she put on her slippers, stood, and ran a brush through her hair, which Esme, who had been unusually quiet the last few days, had washed for Eve. She hoped she looked presentable. She certainly did not want to look horrid when she saw Grant. The thought of him lying with another woman, even just to attain an heir, knotted her stomach and made her mouth go dry. She knew, without a doubt, that she could not tolerate such a thing. Where would it leave them if that was what he intended? The question twisted Eve’s insides even more, but she shoved it away for now. It would not do to fret over that which she did not yet even know.
She departed their chamber and made her way through the castle looking for Grant. She checked the great hall, and found it empty except for a serving wench. The woman was picking trenchers up off the table, so Eve strolled up to her and cleared her throat to get her attention. The young woman turned to her, and her brown eyes went wide. “My lady,” she said, dropping into a curtsy. “I’m pleased to see ye up and about. Can I get ye something to eat?”
Eve shook her head. “No, thank you. Have you seen my husband?”
“Oh, the laird is gone. I could nae say where, though, or for how long, but I would imagine Ross or Kade would ken.”
“Thank you,” Eve murmured, wondering irritably where Grant had gone. She headed to the courtyard and found Ross and Kade leading a training session. Thomas stood nearby, watching.
“Eve!” the lad cried out and rushed over to her. He gave her a quick hug. “Are ye better?”
“I’m much improved,” she said with a smile. “Can you tell me where Grant has gone?”
Thomas shrugged. “I dunnae. He did nae say to me, mayhap Ross or Kade ken.”
“So I’ve been told already,” she muttered, finding it odd that Grant simply left her and
was apparently quiet about where he was going. She looked toward Ross and Kade, who were sparring some distance away. “Where is Grant?” she asked, raising her voice.
Both men ceased their fight. Kade opened his mouth as if to answer, but Ross gave a quick shake of his head. Eve had the sinking feeling she was not supposed to see it. “Where has he gone?” she demanded now.
“He had business with another clan,” Ross answered. “Hopefully he will return tonight.”
Her heart clenched. He had not even told her he was leaving. But then, she had been angry at him when they last had seen each other.
“Ye should nae be out of bed,” Ross added. “Grant would nae like it.”
She frowned at him. “Well, since Grant is not here, I suppose it does not matter what he’d like,” she snapped. Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched off to the kitchens to find Clara, who had mentioned teaching the lasses in the kitchen how to cook better.
When she entered the kitchens and found Clara instructing the soup girls, Eve couldn’t help but laugh. Clara was as bossy in the kitchens as she was in everyday life, but Eve loved her for it.
Clara turned directly toward her. “You should not be out of bed!”
Eve was beginning to feel as if there was a conspiracy to keep her in her bedchamber. She pulled Clara to the side, away from prying ears. “Do you know where Grant went?”
“To the Calder clan’s holding,” Clara immediately replied. “I believe he had business there.” Her gaze shifted away from Eve.
Suspicion furrowed her brow. “That is exactly what Ross said. What sort of business?”
Clara slowly brought her gaze back to Eve’s. She nibbled on her lip for a moment and then said, “I believe he needed to speak with the Calder laird on a matter of importance.”
When Eve opened her mouth to ask exactly what, Clara exclaimed, “Oh dear me! The soup is boiling over! Take yourself back to the bedchamber, Eve. I’ll be there shortly to bring you some.” And then she turned her back on Eve before Eve could say more.
She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was going on, but something was afoot. She made her way out of the kitchen and, instead of going to her bedchamber, decided to look for Esme. But no one seemed to know where she was, either.
After a frustrating morning, Eve took the path down to beach and found Esme at the edge of the water practicing with her sword. Eve cleared her throat as she approached Grant’s sister.
Esme startled anyway. “Ye should nae be—”
“No!” Eve snapped. “I should not be abed. Why is everyone trying to force me to stay there? And why did your brother go to the Calder holding?”
“The Calder holding!” Esme gasped, lowering her sword point to the ground. “I kenned it! I did nae want to ken it, but I did.”
“You knew what?” Eve asked, alarm bells ringing in her head.
“I—” An anguished look swept across Esme’s face. “I really should nae say, but ye have a right to ken it. But first, Eve, I vow he cares for ye. ’Tis nae all his fault. Father raised my brothers to put duty before all else, before their hearts especially, and when Grant did put his wishes before his duty, trouble resulted—first for Grant and then our mother. So ye see—”
“Esme,” Eve said sharply, sensing by the woman’s increasing tone that she was just getting started, “I love your brother,” she blurted. Esme’s mouth formed an O, and Eve nodded at her obvious shock. “I was surprised to realize it, as well. So, you see, I must speak with him. I must learn if he saved me out of love, or for how I can aid him with the Decres warriors.”
“Oh, Eve,” Esme said, and Eve’s heart sank to her slippers. Esme rushed to her, clasped her arms, then hugged her. “I believe he loves ye and dunnae even ken it.”
Eve’s eyes widened, a bit of her fear subsiding until Esme shook her head.
“I dunnae believe for a breath that he saved ye because of Linlithian.” Esme paused then, nibbling on her lip. “He threatened me—aye, he did—but I dunnae care, I’ll run away if he tries to force me to wed.” She gave Eve an apologetic look, and on a large gulp of breath, she said, “Clan Calder is his former leman Millicent’s clan.”
Eve flinched as if Esme had hit her.
“I am scairt he’s putting duty before his heart,” Esme continued, every word like a fresh lashing. “I am scairt he went to speak with the Calder laird, as would be custom if he intended to put a bairn in Millicent’s belly.”
Eve pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling violently ill. She could not stay here. She did not know where she would go, but she could not stay here.
Esme sucked in her lower lip, then popped it out. “Eve, I am sorry. I should nae have told ye.”
Eve could not show Esme the depth of her despair. And Clara… Eve was positive that Clara knew what Grant was about and kept the secret from her. Eve fought back the tears that wanted to fall. She could forgive Clara for the secret she’d harbored about her uncle, but not for this. She had to flee. She didn’t care that she had nowhere to go; she simply wanted to get away. She forced a calm that she did not feel. Esme may well try to stop her if she knew Eve was going to leave. “I think I’ll take a walk to think upon all of this.”
“Let me accompany ye,” Esme said.
“No,” Eve replied. “I need to be alone.”
Esme shoved her sword at Eve. “Take Fate. ’Tis nae ever good to walk unarmed, and I have my daggers with me. I can wield daggers much better than the sword.”
Eve grasped it at the hilt, but Esme did not release it at first. “Eve, I’ve been thinking upon the bane weed, and I asked our previous healer if she had ever given it to a woman who had later had children. Though no one she gave it to ever conceived, she thought she remembered hearing of a woman who had at some point. I ken it’s nae much hope, but…”
Eve reached out and squeezed Esme’s hand. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. But Esme’s words did not offer her hope. Any hope for Eve and Grant had been completely destroyed the moment Esme had told her of Millicent.
Eve took her leave and made her way up the steep, rocky mountain to the bridge where she had first met Grant. Then she crossed the bridge toward the thick woods that led to the edge of the Fraser property. She could just walk away, but she had nowhere to go. Even if she somehow made it to Linlithian, Grant was legally the rightful laird now, as long as King Edward cooperated. All she was, was his barren wife.
Overheated and plagued by a pounding head, Eve sat on a stump, willing herself not to cry. What did she have left? Before she could form an answer, something rustled behind her, and when she whirled around, Bryden was there.
“God’s teeth,” she said, looking up at the man. “You scared me.”
Bryden raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the sun. In the other hand, he held his sword.
“Are you expecting trouble?” Eve asked.
“I’m always prepared when close to the border between our land and the MacDougalls’,” he replied. “What are ye doing so far out here?”
Something in his manner was odd to her. He was shifting a great deal, and he kept glancing around, as if he was expecting someone else. Eve curled her fingers tightly around the handle of Esme’s sword, her heart racing. Slowly, she rose from the stump to her feet. He had not answered her question, but she did not truly care. “Were you following me?” she asked, her heart now thudding in her ears.
Bryden flashed an odd grin. “Aye. Grant himself commanded it, which was perfect.”
“What?” she asked, searching anxiously for the meaning behind his words.
“What he means,” came a voice from behind her, “is that the Frasers will nae ever question, will nae ever even consider, that he might have been the one to hand ye over to us, Eve.”
She swung toward the voice, and her heart stuttered at the sight of Aros MacDougall. She clenched her teeth. “There is no point in taking me, Aros. I’m wed to Grant.”
“There’s every point,”
he replied. “Yer husband is riding into a trap at this verra moment, and soon, ye’ll nae be wed anymore.” She choked back a cry. “Soon, he’ll be on the road to return to Dithorn and his guard will lower, and my father and men will be waiting there in the woods.” Her stomach turned as she began to tremble. “They will cut him down, then take his head and put it on a spike.”
The absolute lack of emotion in his voice chilled her. Behind her, she could feel Bryden move closer, and she tensed, wondering if she could possibly kill them both. She had to keep their attention. “Do you truly hate him that much, or is it that you want Linlithian that bad?”
There was a long, brittle silence. “It’s more complicated than that, Eve,” Aros said.
She swung toward Bryden, who was directly behind her. She’d have to take a step back to even strike at him. “And you! Grant is your laird! Your cousin!”
“I should be laird,” Bryden snarled. Eve took a step back and hoped it appeared as if it was out of fright. “My father was the eldest son, but Grant’s father stole the lairdship when my father died, and it went to Simon and then Grant. It’s mine. I’m a better ruler!”
Eve took another step away, putting enough distance between herself and Bryden to injure him. She could cut him down at the legs, she was certain of it, and Aros would not harm her too badly if she could not disarm him. He needed her.
“Enough talk,” Aros said, slashing a hand in the air.
“Give me the sword, Eve,” Bryden demanded.
“You want the sword?” As he nodded, she whipped it hip height while drawing it toward him and sliced it straight across his legs. With a scream, he fell at her feet, reaching toward his bleeding shins. “There you go,” she snapped and turned to fight Aros.
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