Adrienne Basso (31 page)

“Would ye like to try and eat something?” Grace asked.

“I am hungry.”

She smiled broadly at his answer and lifted the tray his mother had brought. As Grace came closer, Ewan’s stomach rumbled at the enticing aromas. She fussed with the covers and his pillows, then settled the tray in front of him.

“Do ye need my help?” she asked.

Ewan gave her a hesitant look. The idea of being fed by his wife was completely emasculating. Yet would he appear more manly with food dribbling down his chin and falling onto his chest from an unsteady hand?

“Let me try on my own first,” he said.

She nodded. Ewan scooped a small portion of the rich broth onto his spoon and brought it slowly to his mouth. Absurdly proud not to have spilled any, he took a sip. It tasted like heaven on his tongue. Hunger building, he reached for another spoonful, this time snaring a small chunk of meat.

“Eat slowly,” Grace cautioned. “Ye’ve had nothing in yer stomach fer days except some broth and watered-down ale.”

Ewan obediently complied. After half the soup was gone, Grace dropped some pieces of torn bread into the bowl. Ewan eagerly ate those broth-soaked chunks, scraping his bowl when he was finished.

“May I have some water?” he asked as Grace took the tray away.

“Are ye thirsty?”

“Nay, not to drink. To wash.”

Grace looked horrified. “Ye cannae possibly have a bath so soon.”

“Not a bath, just a wash. The stench of illness engulfs me.”

Her features were suddenly stricken. “I washed and shaved ye as often as I could,” she whispered.

“Ah, lass, ye did a fine job and I thank ye fer it.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. The last thing he wanted was to appear ungrateful and demanding. But once expressed, Ewan’s need to clean himself grew.

Grace sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “I suppose it’s a good sign that ye are feeling the need to be clean. ’Tis late and the castle sleeps, but a small fire still burns in the great hall. I will heat some water there and return shortly.”

Ewan must have dozed while he waited. When he next opened his eyes, Grace was once again at his side. She laid a strip of cloth in the washbasin, then lifted a pitcher and poured a steady stream of hot water over it.

This time Ewan did not refuse his wife’s assistance. He lay contentedly against the pillows as she dampened his skin and swabbed it with a soapy cloth. Wetting a fresh cloth with clean water, she wiped the soap off, then dried him with a warm towel.

When she finished, Grace leaned down to kiss his cheek. Though still feeling weak, Ewan seized the opportunity and pulled her close. Grace gasped and lost her balance, tumbling onto the bed. When she lifted her chin, her face was mere inches from his own.

Precisely where he wanted it.

This might not be the memorable, romantic moment he had envisioned, but the ordeal he had just survived made Ewan realize how precious and fragile life could be, even in times of peace. He could wait no longer to tell her what was in his heart.

“I love ye, Grace,” he whispered.

“Ewan?”

“Aye, ye heard right. I love ye. I have fer a long time. Ye are special, lass. Courageous and loyal, smart and kind. Ye claimed my heart so thoroughly that I cannae imagine being without ye, fer ye are the person that gives my life meaning.

“Ye can lighten my mood with a simple smile, fire my blood with a single glance. I should have told ye sooner, but I was waiting fer the right moment. I wanted it to be special, unique, something that ye would always remember. Something that ye would hopefully treasure.”

Her eyes rounded in astonishment. She lifted her fingers and traced his lips, almost as though she hadn’t believed the words that had just spilled from them. For a very long minute she remained silent, holding his eyes in a look.

No matter. One day she would share in these wondrous feelings. One day she would say the words back to him.

“Ye love me, Ewan?”

“I do, Grace, with all my being.” Ewan leaned against his pillows and cupped her cheek. “Yer jaw has fallen open and I dinnae know what that means. Does this news displease ye?”

“Nay, Ewan.” Grace reached out to touch his face, then hesitated. “I am humbled by yer tenderness, by the gift of yer love. I, too, have feelings fer ye. They sneak up on me and when they strike, the need to be near ye goes so deep that I feel it in my bones. The intensity overwhelms me, almost frightens me it’s so strong.

“There’s something inside ye that calls to me, that touches me in a way I dinnae completely understand. All I know is that it is a feeling unlike any I’ve ever known. Ye have unlocked the secrets of my heart, Ewan Gilroy. I trust ye, I need ye, I care more about ye than I do myself. Is that love?”

“Aye, I believe so.”

Ewan felt his chest constrict so tightly with emotions it crowded his ribs. His heart hungered for her. His soul rejoiced in her. More than anything, he wanted to hold her in his arms and make love to her, affirming this emotional bond in the most primal, physical manner.

But alas, his weakened and depleted body would not allow it.

“Och, my love, now I know that ye are truly recovering when I see that spark of desire returning to yer eyes,” Grace said with a laugh.

“Even though ye know it will come to naught?” Ewan grumbled, and Grace giggled again.

She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and stared deeply into his eyes. “I can wait. There are days, weeks, months, years ahead to be spent in each other’s arms. I believe that with all my heart.”

Her words mollified him, for the future she envisioned brought Ewan joy. He, too, could imagine it. Time spent together, both in and out of bed. Love, laughter, joy.

Ewan pulled Grace down so she lay beside him. Having her near, her softness pressed against him, settled him. Belly full, mind clear, heart contented, Ewan relished the gift of calm that descended inside him.

Grace awoke with a jolt, startled by the clanging of a bell.
Is it time fer Mass already?
Jerking upright, she quickly realized that she was not at the convent, but rather in her own home, in her own bed, lying beside her husband.

She looked down and saw she was wearing her chemise. Though she had no recollection of it, she must have removed her gown sometime during the night before crawling into bed with Ewan.

The bell continued to ring. Ewan stirred sluggishly. Concerned, Grace touched his forehead. The flesh felt cool and dry. The fever had not returned, praise God.

Without even the pretense of a knock, the bedchamber door burst open and Alec came barreling through it. He held a sword in one hand, but his scabbard was missing. His hair was disheveled and his tunic askew, indicating that he had hastily dressed.

“Riders approach,” he declared.

Ewan moved so quickly Grace felt the mattress shifting when he sat upright. “How many?”

Alec grimaced. “Too many to count.”

“Is everyone from the village inside the walls?” Ewan asked.

Alec lowered his chin and shook his head. “There wasnae time.”

“Shit!” Ewan swung his legs over the side of the bed, but the moment he stood on his feet, he began to sway.

“Ewan, ye cannae go outside,” Grace cried, reaching out to steady her husband.

“She’s right,” Alec interjected. “I’ll go to the battlements and report back to ye.”

“I’m coming with ye,” Grace insisted.

She scrambled from the bed before either man could protest, pulled a fur from the pile of covers and wrapped herself in it. Barefooted, Grace climbed the stairs. The stones felt cold on her toes, the chill seeping into her bones, but she did not even pause to catch her breath until she reached the ramparts.

She walked until she found a section where she could see out without getting too close to the edge. Apprehensively looking over the wall, Grace hugged herself tightly when she beheld the sight that greeted her.

Soldiers were swarming all over the valley like a hive of angry bees, surrounding the keep on three sides. Some were still atop their horses, shields displayed and swords drawn. Others were busy erecting tents, building cooking fires and setting up camp. It would have been an impressive sight, were it not so terrifying.

“It looks like they’re preparing fer a siege,” Grace croaked.

“Aye, and doing a fine job of it,” Alec answered grimly.

She searched among the men on horseback, straining to see their leader, though in her heart she already knew his identity.

“Can ye see the banners they fly?” Alec asked, pointing toward the pennants that snapped and fluttered in the wind.

“Aye, ’tis Roderick’s colors flanking that large tent. It must be meant fer him.” Grace’s chest ached. This time Roderick was not leaving until he got what he came for—her.

“Why does he pursue ye, milady?”

Had the situation not been so dire, Grace might have smiled with appreciation at Alec’s perceptive question. “Roderick believes that I can help him disgrace his brother and thus aid his quest to become chief of his clan.” Grace shivered. “But I cannae.”

Swallowing her fear, Grace turned away. As she walked from the ramparts, she could hear the panic starting to catch in the bailey below. The clanging of metal, shouting of orders, the steady tread of running feet. There were cries of hysteria from a few of the women and sobs of fright from the children.

Her hands had barely stopped shaking when she arrived back at her bedchamber. Ewan had somehow managed to partially dress himself, but his face was pale and his brow moist from the effort. He listened silently as Alec made his report.

“What of our defenses?” Ewan asked.

Alec rubbed his chin. “Our food and water supplies are adequate. We can last at least two months, mayhap longer, depending on how many of the villagers made it inside the walls.”

Ewan’s brow creased with worry. “The south wall?”

“Should hold if it’s not bombarded. I dinnae see any catapults or ladders in the encampment, but they can easily be built. There are plenty of good trees in our forest that can be cut down and Roderick has more than enough men to put to the task.”

Grace shivered. She had never been involved in a siege, but had heard enough tales of them to be scared. Along with fear, they brought suffering and despair to those forced to endure them.

As supplies ran out and starvation ensued, many would be forced to eat anything they could get their hands on—rats, dogs, cats, even horses. Disease would spread, hastened by dead animal and human body parts that were hurled by the attackers over the walls.

’Twas not only the physical suffering, but the mental anguish, the sense of hopelessness that gripped a person as the siege continued and those around them died. Given the size of Roderick’s army, their only chance of survival lay in holding out until help arrived from an ally. But they were so far away!

Grace glanced at Ewan and Alec. Their heads were pressed close as they spoke, yet there was no mistaking the worry they each carried.

“What if we simply give Roderick what he wants?” Grace said softly. “Me.”

Ewan reared his head back in shock, his expression fierce. Ignoring her, and her suggestion, he turned to Alec. “Ready the men and weapons. Position the archers on the battlements and have my mother do a complete inventory of all our food supplies. I also need to know which villagers are still outside the walls.”

Alec nodded, then left to carry out the orders.

Ewan kept his back toward her, saying nothing as he continued to dress. She retrieved her rumpled gown from the floor and did the same, finishing first.

Grace stifled a gasp when Ewan finally turned. He looked pale and sweaty and ready to keel over.

“Ye should be in bed, resting, Ewan. Ye are not yet well.”

“I dinnae have time to be ill, Grace. I must find a way to defeat Roderick or we are all doomed.”

Grace forced herself to keep her trembling under control. This was all her fault. She was the reason they were all in peril, subjected to Roderick’s mad schemes. Ewan was their leader, yet she truly felt it was her responsibility to somehow set things to rights.

“Perhaps if I met with Roderick privately and told him the truth about Alastair’s death—”

“Nay!” Ewan shouted. “I know ye have suffered with guilt these many months, Grace. But ye must accept the fact that Alastair died by his own hand. Ye might have helped provide the means, but it was Alastair’s choice. That’s the truth. That’s the truth that ye must tell Roderick. And trust me, Grace, it’s a truth that no one in the Ferguson Clan will want to hear.”

“Oh, Ewan, dinnae ye see? This will end it once and for all. The truth will set us free. If not we will forever be at odds with Roderick.”

Ewan moved closer, his eyes blazing with determination. “Speaking to Roderick about what happened that night will only make matters worse. I’m certain of it. I forbid ye to say anything to anyone about Alastair’s death. Do ye understand?”

Grace swallowed hard. “It pains me greatly to reveal this act, and my part in it, but I have no choice. ’Tis all I can think of to try and save us.”

Ewan bit back a curse. “No matter what ye say to him, Roderick will find a way to place the blame on ye and make himself a hero to his clan in the process.”