Adrienne Basso (25 page)

Ewan’s lips slanted across hers with an almost desperate intensity. She shifted and allowed him to lift her in his arms. He carried her to the bed.

She watched him with hungry eyes, saying nothing as he removed his clothing, smothering her gasp of delight as he turned to face her, a thick erection jutting eagerly toward her. The soft mattress sank under his weight and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Her nostrils flared when she caught his beguiling, familiar scent, setting her heart racing.

There was no other man who affected her so deeply, who enticed her so completely. Aye, his skillful fingers and wicked mouth could quickly ripen her body with pleasure, but it was more than her flesh that responded to him.

It was her heart. It was her soul.

They kissed until their lips were swollen and tender, until they were gasping and arching against each other with passionate need. He entered her in one fluid motion and she cried out, moaning his name. It was wild and torrid and she relished each powerful thrust, welcoming him into her body, into her heart.

He collapsed on her slick and spent, bellowing deep breaths. Grace held him against her breast, welcoming the crushing weight, the solid strength. It gave her a strange comfort, an affirmation of the bond they had forged.

After a few minutes, Ewan rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him. She snuggled against his broad chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as he gently stroked her hair.

It
will
be all right,
she told herself.
We
will
overcome these problems and find the happiness we seek.

Then, with those thoughts echoing faintly in her mind, Grace drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Grace awoke alone in bed the next morning in a different frame of mind. She had but two choices—to waste her time lamenting the unfairness of Lady Moira’s attitude, or devise a way to take her rightful place in the household. Neither appealed. She pulled the covers over her head and lay beneath them for a moment, contemplating how peaceful it would be to remain there for the rest of the day. Or the rest of the week.

But wallowing in self-pity was not her way, so Grace emerged from beneath the blankets. Merely thinking about Lady Moira was enough to set Grace’s blood boiling. Normally she would shy away from such a bold confrontation, making the strong urge she felt to confront Lady Moira even more surprising.

What was causing this uncharacteristic response? Was it merely her pride being stung? Or was being the wife that Ewan desired so important to her that she would do whatever was necessary and damn the consequences? It was a startling revelation to realize she had such fire in her belly, such passion in her soul.

Yet as she pondered her approach to this dilemma, Grace concluded that causing undue strife among the household was not the answer. She was intelligent, clever, and patient. Her future might be at stake, yet she firmly believed she could conquer Lady Moira in a peaceful, harmonious manner. ’Twould be more difficult for her, but better for everyone else.

Her arrival at her new home might not have been what she had hoped, but there had been a cautious acceptance by nearly everyone—except Lady Moira. For now she would gracefully endure her mother-in-law and focus her efforts on becoming acquainted with the members of the household and village.

The sounds of activity from the hall below carried up the stairwell to her chamber. Grace could hear a door bang shut, benches and tables being moved on the stone floor, muffled voices giving and receiving orders.

After dressing in a simple gown, Grace walked through the hall, down a set of steps, and into a bustling kitchen. The cook, a gaunt, drawn woman with a sour face, gave her a suspicious glare.

“Was there something ye’d be needing, milady?”

Grace smiled in what she hoped was a cheery manner. “A pleasant good morning to ye. I was wondering if I could be of any help.”

The cook ceased chopping, her frown deepening. “Are ye displeased with my meals?”

“Not at all.” Grace smiled encouragingly, though the oddity of having such a thin cook running the kitchen bespoke of the true state of affairs. Ewan had hinted that he needed to find a wealthy wife, but she now realized the clan barely had enough food to feed themselves. “The evening meal was very tasty. I commend ye on producing such fine dishes on such short notice.”

The cook gave her a tense smile, her expression apprehensive. Grace understood. The cook was loyal to Lady Moira and that lady’s opinion of Grace was clear to all.

“Have ye broken yer fast yet?” Cook asked.

Grace shook her head. The cook handed her a crust of bread, a wedge of cheese, then poured her a cup of cider. Grace sat at the worktable, keeping a careful distance from the root vegetables that were being chopped with a lethal-looking knife. The cook seemed a bit annoyed at her presence, but dared not voice an objection.

“I’ve brought spices with me,” Grace said casually, as she nibbled on her cheese. “Do ye have a proper place to keep them?”

The movement of the knife abruptly ceased. “Spices?”

Grace nodded. “Cinnamon, ginger, cloves, nutmeg, pepper.”

“Pepper? Ye’ve brought black pepper?”

“Aye. And nearly a half barrel of salt.”

Grace struggled to remain nonchalant, though the cook’s astonishment and delight was contagious. Spices were expensive, precious, and sought-after commodities, especially black pepper and salt. Their addition to food elevated the taste considerably and enhanced the reputation of the individual preparing that food.

“We have a spice chest in the cellar, though little is kept inside,” Cook said. “Lady Moira has the key.”

That was no surprise. It was the duty of the lady of the keep to manage all aspects of the household.

“Though I know that it is well within my rights, I hesitate to demand the key from Lady Moira. I would not wish to insult my husband’s mother.”

Cook raised an eyebrow. “Aye, she willnae take kindly to being pushed aside.”

“I shall think upon it and try to devise a way to handle the matter delicately,” Grace said as she took another bite of cheese. “Did I mention that I also brought seeds? Beans, turnips, peas, parsnips, cabbage, carrots, and several others.”

The cook’s eyes glowed. “I could start a kitchen garden again. A few weeks back I had one of the lads repair the fence and till the soil, but had naught to plant.”

“I’m sure I can spare a goodly amount of seeds to get ye started again. Some must be saved fer the fields, but I find many of these vegetables grow best in smaller plots.” Grace popped the final piece of bread into her mouth, then brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “Do ye think we should ask Lady Moira’s opinion before we begin?”

A bit of the excitement waned from Cook’s expression, but then she drew herself up and faced Grace. “Ye are Sir Ewan’s wife. If ye want a kitchen garden planted, then it must be done.”

Grace nearly cried out with delight, as a rush of elation coursed through her veins.
My first victory!
“We shall speak of this later and see which lads we can find to help with the work. Young fellows do love putting their hands in the dirt and mud.”

The cook smiled, then bobbed an awkward curtsy. Her mood considerably lightened, Grace headed outside. The clouds were hanging low and a chill was in the air, but no raindrops fell. It was the perfect weather to do some exploring.

There were few signs of life in the bailey at this hour of the morning. As she strolled through it, Grace saw the spot for the kitchen garden, the pens for the animals, and stables for the horses. She could hear the squawking of a few chickens, the baying of goats, and the occasional shout of a child.

As she walked, she found herself making lists in her head of things that needed to be done, improvements that should be made. A chair for Lady Moira was the first order of business, and a tapestry for the great hall should be designed and woven. The seeds must be unpacked, distributed, and planted, and the threadbare clothes for the servants replaced.

Hopefully there was some cloth available; if not it would have to be woven. Her eyes scanned the bailey for a weaving hut, disappointed not to find one. She had brought one loom with her, but others could be built. She hoped that at least a few of the women possessed the necessary skills, but if they were lacking, Grace could teach them.

All these tasks would require a great deal of time and effort, but Grace realized the challenge appealed to her. When she was mistress of Alastair’s castle she had overseen the women’s work, but everything ran so smoothly. The servants all knew their jobs and did them—they required little guidance from her.

But here it was different. Here she was truly needed. ’Twas an overwhelming responsibility, but one she welcomed. If not for the disagreeable presence of Lady Moira, Grace would have already begun her work.

Shaking off that gloomy thought, Grace continued her exploring and her mental list-making. As she strolled near the kennels, a sound distracted her thoughts. Craning her neck, she looked over the chest-high stone wall. Her face broke into a smile when she caught a glimpse of the occupants. A brown and white bitch lay peacefully on her side while her litter of pups nursed.

Delighted, Grace watched them feed, amused by the sounds of contentment they made. Tummies full, jaws slack, several dozed off to sleep, but two of the bolder pups decided to play. They began climbing and wriggling over their brothers and sisters, trying to boost themselves onto their mother, but their legs were too short to carry them up her body.

Turning, the female gave them an exasperated look. She nudged them with her nose and the pair tumbled onto the others. After a few quick licks on the top of their heads, the mother stood. Frantic cries soon filled the air, as those who were still eating were now denied their meal. Rooting blindly, they fell over each other as they tried to find a nipple. The mother gave herself a long shake, from head to tail, then eyed Grace suspiciously.

“Ye’ve a fine brood,” Grace said calmly.

The bitch moved closer, favoring her with a low, rumbling growl. Grace nodded respectfully, keeping her distance. She would have dearly loved the chance to cuddle one or two of the fat, frisky pups, but knew well the mother would not appreciate the gesture.

“Och, is that a growl I hear?” Deirdre asked as she approached the kennel, a wooden bucket in her hand.

“Aye.” Grace turned with a friendly smile. “She’s a protective mother, but I cannae fault her instincts to care fer her young.”

“She’s a fine hunter, and a favorite of Sir Ewan,” Deirdre said. “The pups were born a few weeks ago and all seem healthy.”

The maid cautiously opened the gate and carefully set the wooden bucket in front of the dog. The animal sniffed, then wagged her tail, yet she still stood guard, refusing to eat.

“Best if we leave her in peace,” Grace suggested. “She’ll not eat with us so close and she’ll need her strength to take care of all those puppies.”

“Lord above, can ye imagine having so many at once?”

“Nay. ’Twould drive any sane woman to drink, I’m sure of it.” Grace fell in step beside the maid. As they walked away she could hear the dog heartily enjoying her meal. “What about ye, Deirdre. Do ye have any bairns?”

The maid shook her head. “I’m not married.”

“Really? A pretty lass such as yerself.”

Deirdre smiled and lowered her chin modestly. “Truth be told, fer years there has not been anyone to marry. Nearly all the men were killed when they refused to yield the keep to King Robert’s soldiers. ’Twas a long siege, followed by a fierce battle that lasted fer days. Those that did survive swore allegiance to the king and were taken away to fight.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“It was horrible.” Ashen-faced with the memory, Deirdre sighed. “We barely survived the next few years, with little food and no one to protect our village.”

“War is so senseless, so brutal.” Grace covered Deirdre’s hand with her own. “I’m sorry fer all yer suffering.”

The maid sniffed, then tried to smile. “Mercifully, that has all changed now that Sir Ewan has arrived. ’Tis good to have a knight as our leader, to protect and watch over us.”

“Aye, and now there are more than enough handsome rogues in yer midst to consider fer a husband. Tell me, is there any man in particular who’s caught yer fancy?” Grace said the words teasingly, but Deirdre’s telltale blush let her know the remark had struck close to the truth.

“Sir Ewan has many fine-looking retainers,” Deirdre said demurely. “Though I doubt they all wish to marry. Not all men do, and when that is the case, ’tis best they shy away from it.”

Grace nearly stopped walking. ’Twas true that many men chaffed at the bonds of matrimony. Had Ewan been one of them? He had never made a secret of the fact that he needed her dowry. And after arriving at Tiree Keep she well understood that need. Yet she could not help but wonder if he would have chosen to remain without a wife under different circumstances.

“Fie, any man who isn’t proud to have ye as his wife is a half-wit,” Grace declared.

Deirdre smiled at the compliment. As they walked to the edge of the bailey, Grace could see the area that had been marked for a second wall to be built, recognizing this usual manner of defense. With a smaller garrison of soldiers to protect them, a second wall could prove the difference between victory and defeat.

This would be an expensive, time-consuming undertaking, but a necessary one. Most castles had two walls and in the strip of land between them a pattern of long, sharp wooden spikes was stuck into the ground. Dangerous and lethal, they stood ever at the ready to shred an enemy if he managed to breach the first wall.

They turned the corner and Grace could hear the sounds of sawing and hammering, along with some cursing and good-natured arguing. It seemed as though every man was there, working on the construction of a pair of outbuildings. Including her husband. ’Twas an odd sight indeed to see a hammer, instead of a sword, in Ewan’s hand and a stark reminder of how different his life was from most lairds.