Adrienne Basso (17 page)

Guilt crashed down on him. Alec was right. He could stall no longer.

“Tomorrow we shall reach the abbey,” Ewan announced, a coldness gripping his heart. ’Twas the only honorable course and he must follow it. He was certain.

Yet why did he feel such a crushing blow of regret?

They arrived at the convent as dusk started falling. Despite the light drizzle, they had traveled at a steady gait, avoiding the mud and ruts in the road. The moment they were sighted, the heavy gates of the abbey were thrown open in welcome.

Grace urged her mount forward, her face splitting into a grin as she caught sight of many familiar faces. She had been raised in this convent, and many of the girls she had been fostered with were now women, dedicated to the service of the Lord.

Her heart lifted when she curtsied before the abbess. She had been a kind and loving substitute mother to Grace and her cheerful face was a soothing balm, an affirmation that Grace had made the correct decision in coming here. Here, among these good and decent women, she could atone for her sins, she could strive to be a better person, a better Christian. She might not achieve the happiness that came from being a wife and mother, but she would be content.

Sternly, she told herself it would be enough.

“We expected ye days ago, child,” the abbess declared, as she hugged Grace tightly. “I’m relieved to see that our prayers fer yer safe journey were answered.”

“I am grateful to finally be here,” Grace replied with a shy smile. “All is as I remember.”

“Aye, we have changed little over the years.”

Though she wore the simple, plain gown of a nun, the abbess possessed a regal air of authority. Grace noted that Ewan and his men bowed especially low when they were introduced. Then the men quickly unloaded her possessions and the carts of supplies she had brought. With a hushed rumble of conversation, the nuns exclaimed their pleasure over the unexpected bounty.

Task accomplished, the men returned to their horses. All except Ewan. He was waiting expectantly, his expression unreadable.

Under the abbess’s watchful eye, Grace turned to him. Her heart thudded and her knees shook, yet she maintained a pretense of calm.

“’Tis time to bid ye farewell and thank ye fer yer escort, Sir Ewan.”

Her voice rang with forced cheer. She had never expected it would be easy, but until this moment she had not realized how ill-prepared she truly was to forsake the outside world. And those who occupied it.

Including Ewan.

Especially Ewan.

Clasping her hands in his, Ewan regarded her solemnly. “’Tis too late fer us to begin our journey home. We’ll make camp a few miles away and take our leave after sunrise. I’ll say my good-byes to ye on the morrow, before we depart.”

Grace felt her bottom lip start to tremble. “I shall be busy with other duties in the morning. ’Tis best if we say farewell now.”

“Nay, in the morning.”

Grace’s chest felt tight at the thought of prolonging this good-bye. She withdrew her hand and he flinched. It seemed as though they both knew she was pulling away more than that single body part.

Ewan’s eyes flared with anger. He leaned closer and repeated in a whisper, “We shall say our farewells in the morning. Ye owe me at least that much, Grace.”

He did not wait for her reply. Stalking away, he mounted his horse, yanked the reins, turned, and led his men away. Heart accelerating, Grace stood rooted to the spot for several minutes watching the cloud of dust they raised and listening to the sound of the horses’ hooves fade into the distance.

Then she turned and resolutely walked through the arched doorway of the convent.

Grace didn’t sleep that night.

Her mind refused to rest, and try as she might, she was unable to tuck Ewan’s face and form in some distant place in her memory where it could be forgotten. Her limbs were bone tired from the journey, but that did not seem to matter. Wearily, Grace exhaled, stretching her patience, seeking inner calm. Then she turned on her narrow pallet and faced the stone wall of her simple cell, commanding herself to sleep.

It didn’t work.

A gentle knock was heard. Confused, Grace looked over her shoulder. The door cautiously opened and a shadowy figure stepped into the tiny, spartan chamber. “Lady Grace? Wake up. Please.”

Grace sat upright. Squinting hard, she tried to discern the features of the woman who had spoken. “Who’s there?”

“Sister Joan,” the shadow replied. “I’m sorry to wake ye, but ’tis important. Ye must come with me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I dinnae know exactly. My quarters are the first in the hallway, so I was the one asked to summon ye.”

Grace sat forward on her pallet. “The abbess has need of me at this hour of the night?” she asked incredulously, yet even as she posed the question Grace was searching for her shoes. No matter how peculiar the request, she would naturally obey.

“’Tis not the abbess, but young Charles who delivered the message. From a knight, he said.”

“There’s a knight here? Inside the convent?”

“Nay.” Sister Joan’s head lowered. “He knew that men are not allowed, so he enlisted young Charles to aid him. That lad never stays where he should and no doubt was found outside the walls. The knight insisted the matter was so urgent it could not wait until morning. He’s waiting fer ye just beyond the walls.”

Grace swallowed a gulp of astonishment. “The abbess agreed that I should meet him?”

“Nay. I was asked not to waken anyone except ye.”

Ewan! It had to be. What other man would possess the audacity to entice a nun into a forbidden act? Besides, no one else knew she had arrived at the convent.

Grace pulled on her shoes, stood, then halted. What in the name of all that was holy was she doing? It was ludicrous to give in to Ewan’s demand, possibly even dangerous.

“I dinnae know. . . .” Grace’s voice trailed off in confusion as she tried to deny the strange force telling her to go to him.

“Forgive my boldness in offering an opinion, but I think it wise to see what is so important,” Sister Joan said.

Grace thought another moment and then decided the nun was right. Who knew what Ewan might do if she denied his request?

Cautiously the two women made their way through the long corridors of the abbey. Together, they lifted the heavy wooden plank securing the gate, setting it on the ground.

“I’ll wait here fer ye to return,” Sister Joan said kindly.

With a nod, Grace slipped outside. The clouds had cleared and the moon hung low and full. Still, it took a moment to get her bearings. It was all darkness and shadows, but then a few feet beyond the protection of the gate she could see the broad shoulders of a man. Boldly, she charged forward, but soon her steps faltered as a strange sense of foreboding gripped her.

Suddenly, the figure turned. Grace felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck raise. She debated backing away, retreating to the sanctuary of the convent, but he had already seen her.

Blessed Mother, Ewan Gilroy is a trial that will follow me for the rest of my days.
Grace opened her mouth to tell him just that when a shaft of moonlight drifted across his face.

Grace gasped. ’Twas not Ewan’s grinning face she beheld, but another.

Roderick!

For an instant her heart seemed to stop beating. Her mouth opened and closed several times. Stunned, she could find no words.

“Surprised to see me, milady?”

The quiet menace in Roderick’s voice startled her. Mutely, Grace stared up the long muscular length of him. She had forgotten how big a man he was as he towered above her, his arms folded sternly across his broad chest. Tamping down her instinct to shrink back in fear, Grace at last found her voice.

“What are ye doing here, Roderick?”

“Why, I’ve come to speak with ye. We’ve unfinished business that cannae wait any longer.”

His animosity was evident in every word. Despite her attempts not to, Grace fell back a step, her mind empty. She felt a small bead of icy sweat trickle down between her breasts, yet conscious of his arrogant stare, she fought to regain her composure.

“We can talk tomorrow, in the light of day, as is proper.”

Roderick sneered. “Why the sudden need fer propriety? Ye came quick enough tonight when I summoned ye. Or were ye expecting someone else?”

“Ye know full well I wouldnae have come if I knew ’twas ye.”

“Ye wound me,” Roderick mocked. He drew closer, halting just in front of her.

Grace clamped her cold hands together and daringly asked, “What do ye want from me?”

Roderick did not reply at once. “I seek justice. So that I may rightfully lead my clan.”

Grace felt her face flush with heat. “They elected Douglas as chieftain. They chose him, not ye.”

Roderick’s eyes branded her with spite and malice. “Only because they dinnae know the truth,” he said with a growl.

“What truth?”

“Do ye think me a complete lack-wit?” he said, his voice laden with scorn. “Alastair was murdered and ye played a key part in the plot that Douglas devised.”

“Nay, Douglas is innocent!”

“But ye are guilty,” Roderick concluded, his voice triumphant.

“I . . .” Words of denial rushed to Grace’s lips, but there was little she could truthfully say. Ashamed, she hung her head, but Roderick’s next words chilled her to the bone.

“Ye will admit this crime in front of the entire clan, Grace, speaking word fer word what I command ye to say. Ye will tell them all that Douglas killed Alastair.”

Grace felt the breath catch in her throat. The day of reckoning had come far sooner than she expected, bringing with it some very ugly consequences. “’Tis a monstrous lie and I willnae say it!”

“Yer confession is of no use to me unless my brother is implicated,” Roderick insisted.

So, it was as she feared—Roderick was not here for justice for his brother. Nay, he was here for himself and he intended to use her to help him get what he wanted.

“Are ye not weary of fighting?” she asked quietly. “Do ye truly wish to cause such strife among yer clan, to weaken them, to make them vulnerable to their enemies? ’Tis bad enough when there is fighting among the clans, yet ’tis far worse when ye make war upon yer own kin.”

His glare intensified. “I’ll battle anyone who stands in my way.”

“I willnae do it, Roderick.”

He jerked her elbow hard enough to pull her to her knees. His face was a medley of shades of anger and for an instant Grace worried she would faint from fear.

“I said I would attack anyone, Grace. And that includes yer precious nuns.”

Grace felt the tears prickle behind her eyes. “Ye would not dare!”

“Dinnae push me, Grace. I’m well beyond the end of my patience.”

“And so ye’ll make war on a group of nuns? Innocent, defenseless women?” Grace shivered. “I never believed ye’d be that much of a coward, Roderick.”

Her words cut sharply in the night air. Grace regretted them instantly. Roderick’s bloodlust was already boiling. ’Twas foolish to provoke him, no matter how much she detested his threats.

“I’ll do whatever I must to gain my rightful place,” he cried with great vehemence.

“Ye’ll burn in hell, Roderick, if ye dare to strike down the Lord’s servants on holy ground.”

He laughed bitterly. “Ye’ll be there to keep me company, Grace.”

His tone was as cold as a gust of frigid Highland air. Grace pulled away and struggled to her feet. The abbey gates seemed so far away, but they were her only chance of safety, at least for the remainder of the night.

They stared at each other in the moonlight, eyeing one another like a pair of wary wolves. Grace knew she had been foolish to leave the protection of the convent, but she had no intention of compounding that mistake by being easy prey. If she could escape his clutches now, she might have a chance to avoid the fate he intended for her.

Though the trembling inside her had reached epic proportions, she forced herself to remain composed, keeping her breath calm and even. An owl hooted in the night, drawing Roderick’s attention. Deciding this was the only advantage she was likely to get, Grace swiftly pivoted and began to run.

With courage born from desperation she started her nerve-wracking escape, refusing to look left or right as she scurried toward safety. Her chest heaved from her exertion, her legs trembled. As she grew closer to the gate, she increased her speed.

“Sister Joan, open the gate,” Grace cried, no longer worried about waking the others. “Hurry!”

Steeling herself not to turn and waste any seconds by looking behind her, Grace continued to run. She bolted through the door, nearly knocking Sister Joan to the ground.

“Milady!” the nun yelped, as she stumbled against the door.

“Hurry, oh, hurry!” Grace sobbed, slamming the gate. She reached for the heavy plank, dragging it forward, but was unable to lift it without aid. “Help me!”

Blindly, Sister Joan followed her command and the two women successfully barred the gate. Grace pressed her back against it for good measure. Shivering, she pulled her cloak firmly around her body and waited for Roderick’s assault.

Yet there was only an eerie silence. Seconds ticked by, turning gradually into minutes.
I’m safe.

The relief was so strong it buckled Grace’s knees. Quivering, she slid against the door until her rump landed on the floor. Sister Joan mimicked her actions and sat beside her. Grateful for the nun’s help, Grace reached over and squeezed her hand.

Terror gave way to relief and then a tiny burst of triumph. She had outwitted Roderick! At least for the moment.

Slightly calmer, Grace reviewed the events carefully in her mind. And her sense of victory rapidly abated as she realized the truth.

The only reason she had managed to escape was because Roderick had allowed it.

Chapter Ten

The early morning sky was dark and ominous as Grace waited in the small courtyard outside the chapel. The nuns were at Mass. From there they would gather to share the morning meal and then begin their daily tasks. Offering no explanation, Grace refused to join them. She had already placed them all in terrible danger—she did not deserve the comfort of their company.