Adrienne Basso (12 page)

“I’ve an eye fer beauty and an appreciation of a noble and gentle soul,” Ewan protested.

Sinclair scoffed. “Ye’ve the need fer a bride with a rich dowry and an alliance with a powerful clan like the McKennas.”

“Are ye suggesting that the lady is not incentive enough on her own?” Ewan asked, rising to his feet. “I take great offense at that insult!”

“Sit down,” Sinclair said, the humor evident in his voice. “No need to preen like a peacock in front of the lass.”

“Ye do me, and the lady, a grave injustice,” Ewan insisted, casting a reproachful look at the older man as he once again took his seat.

“I speak honestly, as ye well know,” the laird replied. “Any alliance with the McKennas becomes an indirect alliance with me, so I too have an interest in who the lass weds. I admire yer skill on the battlefield, Gilroy, and would much prefer to have ye fighting beside me than against me. But even ye’ll admit that the land ye were given is in the farthest reaches of the kingdom. By the time a message reaches ye, and yer men are mustered and on the march, the battle will be long over.”

“I hold and keep what is mine,” Brian retorted, a warning light in his eyes. “I value the friendships I share with many clans, but I can protect my lands without the aid of any allies.”

“Enough of this talk of battles!” Aileen sighed. “The war has finally ended and yet all ye men can speak of is the next one. ’Tis putting me off my food.”

Both Brian and Sinclair reached for Aileen’s hand at the same moment. She resisted for a second, then allowed first her husband and then her father to placate her.

The remainder of the meal passed in relative peace as everyone’s attention was diverted by the fine food and ale that had been placed before them. Grace slowly let out a breath, but there was no time to relax, as Ewan began whispering in her ear.

“Did ye hear, Grace? Laird Sinclair also thinks it would be best if ye marry me.”

Gracious, was there no escape from overbearing men?
“He thinks that all women should be wed,” she replied tartly. “And as I recall the conversation, he had a rather low opinion of me making a match with ye.”

“That might have been his initial reaction,” Ewan conceded. “But once he’s had a chance to think it over, he’ll agree I’m the best husband ye can find.”

Grace shot him a sharp look before picking up her goblet. Thankfully, the talk turned to politics and the policies of King Robert. Like many independent-minded chieftains, Laird Sinclair did not approve of all of the king’s actions and he never hesitated in expressing his opinion or arguing his point.

“Lady Grace, tell us what ye know of the Fergusons’ troubles?” Laird Sinclair asked, staring down at the empty bowls and trays that covered the table. The savory smells of the now-eaten food still hung in the air and most were lingering over the delicious meal.

“Nothing.” Grace lifted her chin and willed herself not to blush as all eyes were suddenly on her. “I am unaware of any particular difficulties.”

“Och, ’tis a sad business that’s plaguing the Fergusons these days. They say Roderick Ferguson is burning with resentment over not being chosen as chieftain. He’s dividing the loyalties of his clan, persuading some of the men to his side.”

Brian shook his head. “’Tis bad enough when the clans fight each other, but discord within a clan will tear it asunder. Mark my words, if this isn’t settled soon, without too much bloodshed, it will be the undoing of the Fergusons.”

Grace noticed many heads nodding in silent agreement. The mention of Roderick brought a myriad of images and emotions to mind, none of which were pleasant.

“Roderick has challenged his brother’s rule,” Laird Sinclair elaborated. “He claims Alastair’s death was hastened by foul play and blames his brother.”

“Shocking,” Aileen mused.

“Aye, ’tis an unpleasant business.” Laird Sinclair wiped his hands on the front of his tunic, then sent Grace a calculated look. “Were ye with yer husband in his final hours, Lady Grace?”

Grace felt her stomach jolt into a sickening twist. She was so overcome with surprise and fear that for an instant she was unable to speak. Quickly, she looked down at her trencher, not wanting anyone to glimpse the guilt she was certain was shimmering in her eyes.

Ewan slammed down his tankard, his upper lip curling into a disapproving line. “’Tis clear that speaking of her husband is a painful memory that Lady Grace prefers to forget.”

Grateful for the distraction, yet feeling unworthy of Ewan’s spirited defense, Grace sucked in a harsh breath. “Aye, it brings me pain and sorrow remembering Alastair’s last days. His wounds were grievous and he suffered mightily. God was merciful when he called him to his side.”

“What of Roderick’s claims?” Laird Sinclair pressed, his voice challenging. “Do they have any merit?”

“Nay. They are baseless and rooted in jealousy,” Grace replied, trying to speak calmly and with conviction. “The men elected Douglas chieftain, as is their right. Roderick divides the clan simply because he cannae accept that he was not chosen. ’Tis merely further proof that he wouldnae be a strong, selfless leader.”

“Well said, lass.” Ewan nodded with approval.

The protective gesture brought on a wave of calm, followed swiftly by guilt. Grace bit her lower lip.
I dinnae deserve Ewan’s support.

Sinclair shrugged. “Ye’d best be prepared for a visit from Roderick,” the laird said to Brian. “He’ll be seeking aid in his quest to be chieftain from even the slimmest of alliances.”

Brian’s nostrils flared as though he had just caught wind of a foul and offensive odor. “He’ll not be getting any help from me. It pains me to hear of their troubles, yet I’m relieved to have my sister away from there. It lessens my worry knowing she’s not in any danger. She is back with her family and I’ll see to her protection and future. Roderick has no business involving Grace in his quarrels.”

“He does not strike me as a man who cares much about right and wrong,” Laird Sinclair commented.

“I’ll make certain that the men know to be extra vigilant,” Brian declared, once again grasping his wife’s hand.

Young Bess was summoned to entertain them. Well known for her lovely voice and witty songs, Bess executed a graceful curtsy and set to the task with obvious gusto. Needing to be alone with her thoughts, Grace seized upon the distraction, and quietly slipped away from the table the moment Bess started singing.

Chapter Seven

Grace stood in the shadows, trying to calm her racing heart and shaking hands. She despised Roderick and what he was doing to the Fergusons with every fiber of her being. His reckless, selfish quest for power was causing suffering and despair. The clan did not deserve such a dire, uncertain fate.

Guilt plagued her, for deep in her heart she felt responsible for contributing to the misery of so many good, innocent people.
If I had not aided Alastair in hastening his death, could this have been avoided?
Yet even as the disturbing thought entered her mind, Grace knew it would not have mattered. Roderick was hell-bent on leading the clan and damn the consequences.

Still, the ambiguity surrounding Alastair’s passing had given Roderick the opportunity to gain a substantial foothold in his challenge for power. And that Grace knew
was
her responsibility.

“Are ye troubled?”

Grace screeched in surprise, unable to contain the sound. Ewan stepped closer and extended a hand to steady her. “’Tis only me, Grace.”

His hand tightened on her upper arm and he gently pulled her toward him. Badly in need of comfort, Grace allowed it.

“Ye startled me,” she whispered, as her head rested against his broad shoulder.

For a few moments she found relief from the cold chill of dread pulling at her heart, but then reality closed in around her and she reluctantly pulled away. “The talk of Roderick has rattled me. Though I am no longer among them, I wish only peace and prosperity fer the Ferguson Clan.”

“Yer concern and caring does ye proud, Grace. The clans have fought against each other and among themselves fer years, and though there are many that long fer it to stop, we know it willnae.” Ewan peered keenly at her. “Ye must learn to let go of the past and look toward the future. With me.”

Grace took a deep, shaking breath and placed a trembling hand to her throat. Potent emotions gripped her soul. “Wedding ye is not the answer.”

Ewan seemed to consider her words carefully before speaking. “What do ye truly fear, Grace? Please, tell me.”

Grace didn’t reply right away. She leaned against the stone wall and crossed her arms over her chest. What did she fear? Roderick’s retribution rearing its ugly head and threatening not only his clan, but the McKennas as well? Aye, that was a big worry.

As for marriage, well, she could not tell him the truth . . . that her past made her feel enormous guilt. That the only way to possibly atone for her actions was to seek a life of pious solitude and devotion, locked behind the walls of a convent.

“Dinnae press me, Ewan; I beg ye. All I can say is that I cannae be a wife to any man.”

“Not even me? I’m different from most others. I want more from my wife than to take complete control of her life. I want a companion, a woman who will share in my joys and burdens, who will advise me when it’s needed. A woman I can honor and cherish.”

And love.

He was not foolish enough to speak the words, for he must have known that any woman would be hard-pressed to believe them upon such a short acquaintance. But he was clever enough to know that was what many females craved most of all—to be loved.

Still, Grace clearly heard that magical word—
love
—in the sincerity of his tone, the wistfulness of his expression. It brought tears to her eyes. It would have been so much easier to turn him away if he were merely searching for an advantageous alliance. If he wanted a wife for the usual reasons of property and position.

She shivered, looking away. His tender, sweet words were difficult to ignore, yet she knew that she must. “Ye need a wife with a dowry, who has a family that will accept ye. There are many others that will do.”

“Nay, Grace. Ye. I only want ye.” He touched her cheek, then cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I cannae promise to be an ideal husband, but I will try to be all that you wish me to be, all that you need.”

She had to bite her lip to hold back the smile that lightened her heart, for it was cruel to encourage him and foolish to indulge herself. “Ye are without question the boldest man in the Highlands, Ewan Gilroy.”

He grinned at her. Grace felt her heart quicken and her throat go dry. She knew he was going to kiss her even before he leaned close and brushed his mouth against hers. And when he did, she forgot to breathe.

Her entire being was enraptured by the feel of his lips on hers. He put his arms around her and drew her close and Grace sighed with contentment. The sensation was so sweet, so perfect, she allowed herself to get lost in it.

The pressure on her lips increased and Grace clutched the muscular strength of Ewan’s arms, lifting herself up on her toes to get closer. Boldly, she parted her lips, gasping at the feel of his velvet tongue sweeping across hers. It made her tingle and tense, bringing on a restless urgency throughout her body.

Wanting, nay needing, more, she arched forward, tilting her head and kissing him back. He answered by moving his warm hands frantically up and down her back, molding her body against his. The exquisite pleasure seemed to fill her entire being. Like a fever it seemed to overwhelm her, making her almost dizzy with exhilaration.

His breathing was fast and hard and she could feel the thickening hardness beneath his braies pressing against her belly. She closed her eyes tightly, unable to control the trembling that shook her body. Their tongues continued to dance as their kisses grew bolder and Grace felt a quiver inside her, an ache of need, the restless urgency of unfulfilled passion.

Unfulfilled. And thus it must remain.

Regretfully, she twisted her lips away. Ewan groaned low in his throat. His hands were in her hair, holding her face between his palms. When her breathing finally slowed, Grace dared to look up at him.

Ewan’s eyes were glittering like fire. She recognized the intense need on his face, hardly believing that she had been the one to put it there. He wanted her. Badly. Not only for her dowry, not only for an alliance—he wanted
her
.

The knowledge rattled her. For a moment, a pang of longing for what could never be stirred inside her, but she quickly suppressed it.

“Ye will be mine one day,” he murmured.

Grace shook her head. His voice was a low rumble in her ear, deep and oddly comforting. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her ringless fingers. For a long tense moment they stared at one another.

Somewhere in the distance Grace heard people talking. It would be unwise to be caught alone with Ewan; castle gossip could force the issue of her marriage and cause Ewan greater humiliation when she refused. “We should not be seen in so intimate a setting together,” she muttered.

Grace nearly flinched beneath the kind stare he gave her, as it made her feel unworthy of his sympathy and understanding. “I’ll go back to the hall first,” he offered. “Then ye follow.”

Not trusting her voice, Grace nodded.
He will soon forget me,
she told herself sternly.
As I will him.

Yet she stayed rooted to the spot, her gaze following him long after he had disappeared down the lonely corridor.